Philosophy

The 20 novels in the series (and one must read them in order) are predominantly concerned with describing life at sea during the time of ‘Nelson’s Navy’ in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries. The first, ‘Master and Commander,’ commences in the late 1790s and the final book concludes following the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo with, ‘Blue at the Mizzen.’ Although the main characters are fictitious the actions described are based on verifiable historical events . He advises the reader where facts have been elided to condense the action for dramatic purposes or for reasons of clarity.

The twin heroes of the series are very different characters in almost every respect. Jack Aubrey is a bluff naval officer with a burning desire to rise up the ranks and emulate his hero, Nelson, as far as possible. Although he is a first class seaman and renowned fighting captain he is a child, a simpleton almost, ashore. His element is the sea. Not the least of his accomplishments is his expertise as a self-taught mathematician and on more than one occasion was invited to give a lecture to the Royal Society on nutation. It has been said that the Aubrey character was based loosely on that of Lord Cochrane, although that gentleman was an ardent Whig, whereas Aubrey is a died-in-the-wool Tory. His (Aubrey’s) father, who is a considerable embarrassment to him (and a hindrance in his naval ambitions) was MP for a rotten borough firstly as a Tory and then for the radical interest.

Aubrey’s particular friend and co-hero of the books is an Irish/Catalan polyglot called Stephen Maturin (full name, Esteban Maturin y Domanova). He is a physician, naturalist, and Roman Catholic – he is also illegitimate. He acts as an intelligence agent for the British government and so it suits his purpose to act as the ship’s surgeon under Aubrey’s command as a cover for his deeper purposes. He has other reasons to stay afloat, not least to satisfy his obsessive interest in the natural world, which often leads to tensions when Aubrey needs to ‘Crack on’ and Maturin (who is also a member of the Royal Society) would like to linger, spending time ‘Philosophising,’ as Aubrey puts it, in some remote part of the world.

What can two such disparate characters have in common that leads to a strong and enduring friendship based on mutual respect and admiration? Well, they both share a passion for music and spend many hours playing pieces together in Aubrey’s cabin. Aubrey plays the violin (and is the more proficient player) and Maturin the ‘Cello. They both also hate Napoleon, viewing him as a threat to their respective nations’ freedoms. Whilst Maturin has no love for the British government (and particularly its endemic anti-Catholic culture) he does acknowledge it as the least bad political system around, which is why he supports its fight against the Napoleonic tyranny. Finally, they both admire moral and physical courage in others, which each possesses in abundance.

There are many other characters to savour, some appearing for one book only and others enduring for large chunks of the series. Yet others flit in and out throughout the period, giving a real feeling of the complexity and multifarious nature of lived life. Some worthy of mention are: Barrett Bonden (Aubrey’s coxswain); Preserved Killick (his steward); ‘Awkward’ Davies (a foremast hand whom Aubrey once saved from drowning and has since followed him from command to command); Padeen (a monoglot Irishman who acts as Maturin’s sometime loblolly boy); Diana Villiers (a beautiful and dashing lady who features strongly in many of the books); Clarissa Oakes (the eponymous heroine of one volume); the egregious Mrs Williams and her beautiful daughter, Sophie; two Melanesian girls rescued from a smallpox infested island in the Pacific; Sir Joseph Blaine (Maturin’s intelligence boss in London, who is also a collector and classifier of beetles); Andrew Wray (a civil servant); Pullings, Babington, Reade, and Mowett (all officers under Aubrey’s command at various times), and so on.

The books are not simply adventure stories, although O’Brian is a superb storyteller, they also explore politics, Maturin was once a supporter of the United Irishmen until they began to develop links with Napoleon’s France; the natural world (O’Brian is also the biographer of Sir Joseph Banks); the role the Royal Navy played in suppressing the slave trade; the movements for independence in Chile and Peru (which the British government surreptitiously supported); relationships with the Ottoman Empire and Muslim/Christian sensitivities etc.

But the most compelling element of the series for me is his vivid depiction of life on board a British Man o’ War (the wooden world) during this time. He gives a real feeling for the long periods of boredom interspersed with short bursts of sometimes brutal activity. The overcrowding, the harsh environment and tough working conditions are all faithfully re-created from Admiralty records and captains’ logs. He is also a master at capturing the sometimes childish and occasionally witty humour that peppers any group of people thrown together for long periods. One trait of sailors that he really brings home is how they can endure almost any hardship afloat but one thing they cannot handle is sudden wealth ashore. They all (including Aubrey) love taking a prize (the resulting prize money was shared out in strictly laid down proportions) but few contrive to hang on to their new found riches for longer than a few days ashore. Maturin’s usual first job on leaving port is to treat those who have contracted the pox or have injured themselves in some drunken escapade or other.

The most daunting aspect of the books for me on first reading (I have just finished the whole series for the second time) was the naval jargon. O’Brian solves this gradually and brilliantly. Maturin is a confirmed and lifelong land-lubber who never gets the hang of naval terms – the hands are not even convinced he knows his Larboard from his Starboard. This allows Aubrey patiently to explain the terminology (oft repeated), so eventually even the most lubberly reader (of which I include myself) begins slowly to understand how a ship functions and gets efficiently from A to B. He also uses this method to explain fighting terms and tactics. It works in reverse too, when Maturin tries to describe to Aubrey some natural wonder (a tortoise, insect or bird) that has not yet been catalogued or investigated by science. He also explains the medical science and surgical techniques of the period in this way.

I learned much from the series – naval and historical facts, of course (O’Brian is a scrupulous researcher) but much more than that. There is a great deal of social commentary with a sympathetic perspective on the manners and mores of the time, and there are also some real insights into human relationships. He exposes that most destructive tendency of all relationships – the striving for moral superiority. On one occasion Maturin listens to Jack, who thinks he is alone, playing the violin and realises that he is far, far more talented a musician than he shows when they play together. In other words, he deliberately plays down to Stephen’s level and he wonders to himself how he will ever overcome this moral deficit. O’Brian knows that successful friendships depend on moral equilibrium. Without this the relationship quickly descends into jealousy, rivalry, contempt and indifference.

Women are necessarily few in such a male-oriented world but those who appear are real and fully developed characters. This lack of a large female cast is often cited as a weakness with the accusation that they are really adventure books for boys but I know women who have become just as addicted to this world as I have. Even the children (not numerous, of course) are three dimensional and interesting. It should also be remembered that the youngsters on board ship are little more than children themselves – Aubrey, for example, was 12 when he first sailed. What sets these books apart from, say, the Hornblower series more than anything for me is the humour. It runs through the books like a golden thread, giving them a lightness and a realism that some historical novels lack.

I have deliberately steered away from describing individual passages or actions here because I would not like to spoil the plots for you, although they are all a matter of historical record.

As an afterthought, I saw the film, ‘Master and Commander; the Far Side of the World,’ for the second time the other night. The first time I saw it I was incensed at the solecisms and liberties with the plot but having now read the whole series for a second time and then watched the film again I am not so sure. Of course there was some serious miscasting, particularly (and ludicrously) Bonden who, incidentally, was called more than once by Aubrey, ‘Barrett,’ which would never have occurred. The plot seemed to be a mish-mash of several of the books (none of which was Master and Commander) along with various inventions, such as the chase, which was a French ship in the film but an American in the book (and in reality). I suppose this was done to appease American audiences. Having said all this, however, on second viewing it did capture something of the atmosphere of Nelson’s navy and the sometimes tense, sometimes loving and always respectful nature of Aubrey and Maturin’s relationship. One could see how two such seeming opposites might have forged an enduring friendship. The musical sequences were particularly moving in this respect. I also liked the hands’ banter and their fervently held superstitions.