Used Books Blog

Arthur & George by Julian Barnes is an interesting blend of history, biography and mystery. Rich in description, Barnes is able to provide a compelling biography for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle through his relationship with the George Edalji case. In doing so, Barnes creates both a tense mystery and a personal account of a historic event.

Arthur & George succeeds on many levels. It is an intricate character study, a period piece, a mystery and a biography. However, it does fall short in some areas. At times Arthur & George takes a turn into Jane Austen like territory. The incessant honor, decorum and love themes became tedious. If that’s your thing, great, but it wore thin for me.

In addition, Barnes seeks to finish off his character study and biography which detracts from the natural conclusion of the story. In other words, there’s about 30 or so pages that seem superfluous at the end of the novel. Because of this, it took nearly as long to get through those final pages as it did to get through half of the entire novel.

But there’s far more to like than not in Arthur & George.

The portrait of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle alone makes Arthur & George worthwhile. I don’t read many biographies but am thrilled when I get to learn about a historic figure in the context of a novel. Barnes does this with great elegance, giving the reader a real portrait of the famed author. In particular, Doyle’s views on religion are eye opening.

The other central figure in the story, George Edalji, allows Barnes to explore the period, from matters of race and society to industrialization and technological progress. Because George is a ‘different sort’ of person, Barnes can reveal and expose more about the time and surroundings. It’s a clever device that never feels forced.

Yet, the novel really works because of the mystery. It’s here that you’re turning the page, wondering in the back of your mind, ‘did George do it?!’ Doubting the protagonist in the story creates a pleasant friction and anxiety. You want to believe George, and for the most part you do, but somehow Barnes conjures doubt out of nothing.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that Doyle is involved, and that a Sherlock Holmes story can be surprising. Whatever the reason, the doubt draws the reader further into the narrative. And when that part of the mystery is resolved, Barnes effortlessly transfers it toward another building climax. (I’m working hard here not to give anything away.)

Arthur & George will likely not appeal to the typical beach reading mystery lover. Instead, I recommend Arthur & George by Julian Barnes for those who enjoy history, biography and literary mysteries. Get through the over-wrought spots and you’ll find an enjoyable multi-faceted novel.

The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson is an absorbing non-fiction narrative that juxtaposes the success of the World’s Columbian Exposition with the evil of serial killer Herman W. Mudgett. Larson packs the pages of The Devil in the White City with history and personality, making it both entertaining and educational.

I have a love hate relationship with history. In the wrong hands history can be unbelievably dull. Too many times a pious academic has reduced a truly interesting event into cut and dry facts that have as much life as a waterlogged tennis ball. But history is actually amazingly interesting in the right hands.

I had a professor in college who taught European Civilization. He made history come alive! He talked about the people who were part of the history, about their motivations, about the odd bits of lore that don’t make it into the textbooks. (It also helped that he had a dry sense of humor and was fond of throwing Monty Python quotes into his lectures.)

I don’t pick up non-fiction because too often it leaves me bored. Instead I find my history in fiction, blended into novels like English Passengers by Matthew Kneale or Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gould. These authors tell a story using history as a backdrop. Erik Larson, on the other hand, has a gift for telling history as it should, as a story.

The Devil in the White City chronicles the construction of the 1893 Chicago World’s Columbian Exposition by following the architects who pulled off the amazing feat. Larson makes it easy for the reader to understand the enormity of the undertaking. He educates and instructs on architecture and exposes city rivalry and political intrigue that isn’t much different from the present.

Larson also delivers a palpable sense of what it was like to live in Chicago in the 1890s. It was an age where the slow, dank, filth of cities began to diminish as buildings rose to the sky. You sense a transformation - a great leap forward for America and humanity in general. One foot in the dark past and the other in the bright future.

Maybe it was the time or the task, but the number of famous figures who pop up in the narrative is amazing. You get a glimpse of people like Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, Clarence Darrow, Susan B. Anthony, Buffalo Bill and Frank Lloyd Wright among others.

Of course you also get a chilling look at Herman Mudgett or H.H. Holmes as he was better known. Larson paints a disturbing portrait of a personable killer who excels in gaining the confidence of his victims. It’s frightening how easily Holmes was able to con and cajole people, and how he was able to perform such treachery right under the noses of so many observers.

I was also left with the odd sense of similarity in the intense drive of lead architect Daniel Burnham and H.H. Holmes. Though the aims of each are diametrically opposed, the passion with which they both pursued their tasks are eerily the same. It is not the city of Chicago, or the World’s Columbian Exposition, but the zeal of each that truly binds the two narratives together.

I highly recommend The Devil in the White City if you have any interest in history or enjoy chilling murder mysteries. Erik Larson will convince you that history is far from dead.

The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux is a fascinating synthesis of travel writing and history seen through the eyes of an acerbic narrator. Theroux documents his trip by kayak through the Pacific, from New Zealand and Australia all the way to Hawaii. But it’s the stops in between, in places like the Trobriands, The Solomons, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa, Tahiti and The Cook Islands that really make The Happy Isles of Oceania so special.

Don’t expect a shiny-happy travelogue that makes every place visited seem like a must visit destination where there is no trash, no crime and the sun shines all the time. Nor should you expect the feisty Theroux to think kindly about most of the people he meets on his trip. In fact, it’s usually the opposite.

Instead readers are treated to what I expect are far more accurate views of these destinations, both in terms of the scenery but also the culture and local life. Theroux goes a step further by unearthing the history behind many of these places and it’s these sections that stick with me long after finishing the book.

For instance, Theroux does a splendid job of explaining and analyzing the Jon Frum Movement in Vanuatu.

Was Jon Frum a friendly American pilot who had brought supplies here and shared them around? And perhaps he had said, I am John from America. And then had the war convinced the villagers on Tanna how wealthy America was?

It hardly mattered now. The dogma of the movement seemed to suggest that Jon Frum was a sort of John the Baptist, preceding the savior which was a redeemer in the form of cargo-every nice and useful object imaginable. And the important aspect was that it had come to the island directly, without the help of missionaries or interpreters. No money, no tithing was involved; no Ten Commandments, no Heaven or Hell. No priest, nor any imperialism. It was a Second Coming, but it enabled the villagers to rid themselves of missionaries and live their lives as they had before. It seems to me a wonderfully foxy way of doing exactly as they pleased.

Theroux has done his homework on these anthropological studies. He’s done the required reading. What’s impressive is that he then strolls right into these villages to do his own first hand research. This isn’t always the safest thing to do! First, lets remember that he’s paddling a kayak between most of these destinations. And the natives can be welcoming, indifferent, unsettled or even aggressive.

But that’s the other context to The Happy Isles of Oceania. Theroux is at a crossroads in his life. He’s recently parted ways with his wife of 25 years and is awaiting the results of a cancer test. Theroux runs, or paddles, away. His mindset of impending doom makes him both a bit reckless but also more open than he might have been previously.

Other reviewers have said Theroux found happiness on this trip. I can’t say whether he did or not. He still seems hyper-critical and skeptical of the motives of others but there is a greater sense of peace as he ends his journey.

The Happy Isles of Oceania is also notable because of who Theroux meets on his journey. He never seems to actively seek out these notable personalities, and yet there they are, bumping into each other half way around the world. In that way, there is a pleasing juxtaposition between the foreign nature of the surroundings and the ‘it’s a small world after all’ mantra.

I highly recommend The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux for anyone with an interest in travel, history or anthropology. Not only will you enjoy the trip but you’ll learn a thing or two along the way.