Patrick O’Brian, the author of the Aubrey-Maturin seafaring novels, would have been 104 years old today. Mr. O’Brian passed away in 2000 but left behind a treasure of twenty meticulously researched historical sea novels set in the British Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. The books center on the friendship and adventures of its two main characters: Jack Aubrey, a British naval officer, and Stephen Maturin, the ship’s surgeon, naturalist, and part-time intelligence agent.
As a sailor, I appreciate the technical portions of driving a tall ship on the open sea. I’ll admit, even with many years of sailing experience, I don’t fully understand all the jargon that describes the maneuvering of these massive ships from 300 years ago, but I do get the gist of it. I delight in sailing along with Captain Aubrey from my comfortable armchair, plowing through hurricanes and typhoons, avoiding icebergs, clawing off a lee shore in a tempest, even fleeing an erupting volcano in the middle of the ocean. It’s not always foul weather and danger: I revel in the many lovely passages depicting beautiful weather, trade winds pulling the ship along at 12 knots over an easy rolling sea that brings smiles to the officers and crew alike. And of course, there are the gruesome depictions of sea battles, frigates gliding along through thick smoke, cannons blasting huge iron balls through the hulls and rigging of their enemy, spars shattering, men dying instantly in bloody rivers on the deck, or later on the archaic operating table in the ship’s cockpit.
I discovered this series shortly after O’Brian’s death and began to devour them one after another, immersing myself into a life at sea aboard a frigate in the 18th century.
O’Brian engages all five senses in these novels: the sounds of the ship creaking at sea and the shriek of wind through the rigging, the taste of intricately described meals with wonderfully strange names (Solomongundy or Spotted Dog anyone?), the smell of gunpowder and the stench of men crammed in close quarters below deck, the feel of the backstay burning your hand as you slide down from the crows nest, and of course the incredible sights of a beautiful blue ocean, tropical islands and the incredible view from the lookout of tall ships under a full press of sail.
I don’t often reread books, especially a whole series of books, but I’m about to finish my third reading of this set, more than 5,000 pages all told, and will almost certainly reread them. You might say that I am continually reading these books since there seems always to be a volume resting on my nightstand. The books have become such comfort over the years that I read them alongside other books, in between books, and in the middle of the night should insomnia strike. Before long, I’ll be a world away, sailing along on a topgallant breeze, with whatever troubles that had awoken me soon put astern at a 10-knot clip.
I love these books so much that I own them in four different formats: on my Kindle, two different hardbound sets, and the audiobooks, narrated by the wonderful late Patrick Tull, whose incredible voice has now become indistinguishable from the voice in my head as I read these myself, and whose performances can make even the longest commute exhilarating. I also keep a set on our trawler, MV Indiscretion. There’s no better place to read O’Brian than on the hook in some secluded bay, the rocking of the boat in perfect cadence with the rolling of a frigate becalmed in the aqua blue of the Mediterranean.
Why such fondness, you ask? Beyond the seafaring and nostalgia for a simpler time, it’s the two polar opposite characters of Aubrey and Maturin, and their enduring friendship that draws me to these books again and again.
Jack Aubrey is larger in life in many ways; his knowledge and experience in commanding a tall ship with all that goes with sailing such a complex vessel in usually hostile territory, with hundreds of souls to lead; his innate sense of battle strategy, somehow always sniffing out the wiles of his enemy and often winning engagements, and lucrative prize money, even when he is outmatched and outgunned; his ability to work out the position of his ship based on the position of stars and a startlingly difficult set of trigonometry equations. And yet it’s Jack’s glaring weaknesses that, to me, make him a more believable character. As talented as he is at sea, he is equally disastrous on land, easily swindled of his money by crooks, often to calamitous ends. His fondness for women and multi-year voyages away from his wife back home in England conspire to get him in hot water across several hemispheres of the globe. Barring the running of a ship and the fighting of the enemy at sea, Jack is often hopelessly inept, and finds himself being saved time and again by his dear friend Stephen Maturin. It’s these shortcomings on land, coupled with his general good nature and cheer, make “Lucky” Jack Aubrey a memorable and lovable character.
Stephen Maturin is Jack Aubrey’s friend, onboard physician, intelligence agent for the British Government, and in most ways the complete opposite to the commander. O’Brian uses Stephen to help the reader understand the intricate workings of a ship, for Stephen never entirely adapts to life at sea, and his confusion during various operations provides an opportunity for the author to teach us as well, usually in a humorous way. This passage from The Hundred Days cuts right to Stephen’s challenges at sea in two beautiful sentences:
A little before the evening gun Preserved Killick, Captain Aubrey’s steward, an ill-faced, ill-tempered, meagre, atrabilious, shrewish man who kept his officer’s uniform, equipment and silver in a state of exact, old-maidish order come wind or high water, and who did the same for Aubrey’s close friend and companion, Dr. Stephen Maturin, or even more so, since in the Doctor’s case Killick added a fretful nursemaid quality to his service, as though Maturin were ‘not quite exactly’ a fully intelligent being, approached Stephen’s cabin. It is true that in the community of mariners the ‘not quite exactly’ opinion was widely held; for although Stephen could now tell the difference between starboard and larboard, it still called for some reflexion: and it marked the limit of his powers.
Maturin has his share of faults beyond his obliviousness to maritime rules and customs: he’s an off and on opium and cocaine addict, quick to temper and generally shrewish when interrupted from his studies, ill-dressed and wearing clothes often stained by blood, human and otherwise, and by most accounts, a small, not very handsome man.
Stephen’s genius shines brightly through these novels. As an intelligence agent with an extreme sense of morality and outrage against the French, he finds himself frequently involved in treacherous spy missions that put him in perilous danger with only his sharp wits to extricate himself. He is also an amateur naturalist and brings to the pages a wonder at seeing such a variety of wildlife around and about the ship and the remote anchorages they visit. O’Brian’s lengthy descriptions of the birds, insects (especially beetles), whales, and all sorts of flora and fauna thrust the reader into the midst of Maturin’s obsessive personality. These passages comfort me like a warm blanket, and I often look about when I’m on a walk with a new sense of interest in the wildlife around me. Stephen is also the ship’s surgeon, and the descriptions of operations in the bowels of the ship, lights swinging this way and that, can’t help but transport me back 300 years to the dark ages of medicine, making me thankful for the modern age.
Beyond the beautiful settings and adventures afloat, the books showcase a unique friendship these two men share, and the equal footing they hold throughout the stories. I can’t think of another book or series of books where a pair of characters, particularly ones as different from each other as Aubrey and Maturin, provide such a balance in the storytelling. On long voyages, they play music together in the ship’s great cabin, Jack on the violin, Stephen on the cello, often playing off the other improvisationally. I suspect this serves as a theme for their relationship throughout the series; each of them switching off in the lead role in some caper, only to reverse roles and allow the other to shine as the story unfolds.
They quarrel like brothers, and over the course of twenty volumes, have their share of falling out, but always find a way to strengthen their friendship and be stronger together, and with most all of their adventures, success is only achieved when they pull together. It may very well be this enduring friendship that I love so much about these books. Every one must yearn for such a perfect friend in their life if only to find it in the pages of a novel.
So, today I celebrate Patrick O’Brian’s birthday and thank him for the gifts he has bestowed on all of us. As I conclude my third time through these books, I will start yet again from the beginning. I cannot not read them. The idea of saying goodbye to these two dear friends is too much to bear at this stage of my life. And with the vast body of work here across twenty volumes, and my memory not being what it once was, starting over remains a new experience, accompanied by a comfortable “deja vu” feeling with every delightful page.
If you haven’t had a chance to meet Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, there’s not a moment to lose. Trust me. You are in for an extended treat.