Passage to Juneau by Jonathan Raban

Zoom discussion, Thursday May 7th, as the age of the coronavirus lockdown continues. All members present and plugged in.
Book selected by Steve, who also is also responsible for the following write-up. It contains spoilers if you haven't read the book.
 
‘I am afraid of the sea. I fear the brushfire crackle of the breaking wave as it topples into foam; the inward suck of the tidal whirlpool; the loom of a big ocean swell, sinister and dark, in windless calm; the rip, the eddy, the race; the sheer abyssal depth of the water as one floats like a trustful beetle on the surface tension. Rationalism deserts me at sea.’
Jonathan Raban

This is a true story. The author Jonathan Raban has always been as much a journalist as an author, and his books tend to contain a lot of reportage, social comment and personal exposition as part of the process of storytelling.

Steve had read the book before, soon after its publication in the late 1990s, and very much enjoyed it the first time. It covers some of the same ground (or sea) as the recent book ‘Snow Falling on Cedars’ – hence the interest in revisiting it, after a decent interval.

Raban uses as his basis a long-anticipated voyage in his 35-ish foot sailing boat, up the west coast of the US and Canada from Seattle to Juneau, capital of Alaska, exploring the ‘Inside Passage’ that allows craft to make the trip largely sheltered from the impact of the Pacific Ocean. He’s going to write his book, having done lots of background reading about the native Indian civilisation that inhabited the land before it was ‘discovered’ by, among others, Captain Vancouver and his ship Discovery.

Raban quickly introduces a strong element of himself into the story, as in the quote above. He’s sometimes a harsh judge of people, often preferring his own company. Yet he misses his family, particularly his young daughter Julia, terribly. They will join him at Juneau for a holiday when his own adventure is over, but the shock when that doesn’t go at all according to plan is perhaps one of the book’s most powerful moments.

There are extensive descriptions of his own navigation of the Inside Passage, the spectacular landscapes, the ravages of modern economics and most of all the incredible natural forces at work in the tides, rapids and eddies. These are all interwoven with extracts from Captain Van’s diaries as he describes covering more or less the same ground in the late 18thC, having already sailed half-way round the world in a ship that functioned partly as finishing school for privileged young men. At the same time, we learn about the original inhabitants of the land, the aboriginal Indians.

For Steve, at the second time of reading, it felt more academic than he recalled or expected, at times feeling a bit like reading a student dissertation. On occasions, there was repetition and over-long dwelling on some oddity of the white settlers’ interpretation of Indians and their lives.

Steve appreciated the honest and self-effacing descriptions of what it’s like to sail alone (eg. the orange jacket episode). Also some powerful and tender moments of observation particularly around the death of his father. And just beautiful writing about the sea. The revelation about his relationship with his wife hadn’t surprised Steve the first time round and didn’t this time – Raban seemed to sleepwalk into that when everyone else could see what was going to happen.

The book still makes Steve want to sail in that part of the world, although the appeal of the book was tempered this time round by a greater reluctance, twenty-odd years on, to take Raban at face value. Steve didn’t find him particularly likeable. Others agreed – in fact it was the strongest common theme of the discussion – he comes over as arrogant and judgemental of others.

There was a short discussion about whether our age affects the way we respond to books. Steve felt that in the 20 years between readings he had perhaps become less tolerant or forgiving a reader – hence relatively less patience with Raban this time round.

Richard felt the book was not equal to the sum of its parts. There was lots to like in the anthropological and historical comment and observations, in the geographical descriptions, the insights into sailing alone and navigation, and the pleasure of turning a dream into reality. But the negatives outweighed the positives. It was wordy and repetitive; much of the nautical detail simply worked to maroon a landlubber; Raban himself is smug and disrespectful of others. And he wears his knowledge heavily – determined that we should all know it. Little or no humour. Most irritatingly, when Raban draws his own conclusion about an aspect of the local anthropology based on his own readings and interpretation, he is utterly convinced he’s right.

Chris B, as a sailor, had hoped to enjoy the book more but found it took a long time to get into. However he did enjoy the description of Seattle’s port and the leaving of it. There was honesty about his lack of nautical abilities, and he wrote well about the sea and the boat. He hung his own story on the shoulders of the 18th Century discoverers quite effectively. Chris found himself looking at the map to follow the track. But it needed something extra to bring him back into the book and that came with the death of Raban’s father. The fractured relationship he had had, his father’s buttoned up nature and events surrounding the death was well done. Didn’t like the guy, but enjoyed his journey and was a bit shocked by the ending.

Willm was not gripped to begin with, not being a boat person. It was easy enough to read but he had no great enthusiasm for returning to it. Raban has a pompous way of delivering his insights into Indian culture, and some was rubbish in Willm’s view, such as the assertion that the Indians had a thousand words for water. This blatant mythologizing rather fractured his credibility. But it wasn’t all bad. Willm appreciated the insights into the Indian lozenge art motifs for example. In England Willm observed his ‘vulgar attempts’ to show his status by name-dropping Harrods, Fortnums, Jermyn Street. Was that just for the Americans?

But after his subsequent return, the book engaged Willm more, as Raban explored deserted villages and stories around them. Although sensing that all was not well between Raban and his wife, the split demonstrated the art of storytelling and marshalling his material. Again, the man didn’t impress but W found aspects of his material fascinating.

John was struck by the similarity with the previous book (Unnatural Causes) – which was also autobiographical. Both authors were people who perhaps hadn’t quite understood the picture they presented to others. But he warmed to the book as it revealed more of Raban. The sailing angle pointed up the tension between the great times to be had on a boat, and the thoroughly scary times that inevitably turn up as well, bringing out the worst in people. There were also interesting insights into the relationship between Americans and Canadians. He’d always wanted to visit this part of the world.

Two members failed to get anywhere with the book. Andrew was already finding it stultifyingly boring so he stopped reading and didn’t pick it up again.

Mark T made it to the 100-page mark but by that time felt he was reading a ‘rather tedious thesis’. The description of Indian efforts to navigate by feeling wave motion through their testicles was not sufficient temptation to continue.

For Mark W, this book was purely aimed at people who like the sea. While he recognised the quality of the writing about the sea, the boat, the journey, it didn’t resonate for Mark. He wanted to know more about Raban’s own journey – how he changed (if he did) as his narrative unfolded, and therefore underlining the point of the exercise. The Vancouver voyage was interesting but the comparison rather petered out towards the end of the book. In terms of the family crisis at the end of the book, he didn’t see it coming but didn’t have much sympathy for Raban either. And then as the book ended in a final chapter of more quotes and literary references, he got a bit bored with it. He appreciated the writing and some of the historical insights like the origin of the phrase ‘letting the cat out of the bag’. But there were too many instances of arrogance and subjective criticism, such as the ‘cormorant crew’ of undertakers carrying his father’s coffin – surely just doing their job?

Chris W missed a detailed map to follow the progress, and it was commented that while there was a map in the e-book version, it was swivelled through 90 degrees and was extremely difficult to use.

The sailing elements of the book appealed to Chris, as did the descriptions of the depressing dereliction of abandoned settlements. The difference between Captain Van and his young officers was interesting – the references to Vancouver being ‘Trade’, for example. The way Latin was often used in records of the time when the collected Indian stories became a little too fruity. He was however left fairly cold by the interludes referring to the father and the wife. These people were presented with little or no back story and therefore it was hard to take any other interest in them beyond what Raban was prepared to share. And when the revelation about his wife came, it was a shock but also impossible to explain because we didn’t know the full story. Were we supposed to feel sorry for him? For them? For anyone?

And now all these pristine inlets and anchorages are packed with cruise liners. The description of the ‘Swissification’ of Juneau was telling, as for many it may be the only route to economic survival. While Chris is a seasoned traveller, this is one trip he won’t feel the need to take.

The average score for Passage to Juneau (including two non-finishers – itself a record for this group) was 5.16.