Patrick O’Brian: Post Captain (1972) – Quotes

The second book in the Aubrey-Maturin series.

A quote demonstrating their differences in standards of cleanliness:

At present they were lodging in an idyllic cottage near the Heath with green shutters and honeysuckle over the door – idyllic in summer, that is to say. They were looking after themselves, living with rigid economy; and there was no greater proof of their friendship than the way their harmony withstood their grave differences in domestic behaviour. In Jack’s opinion Stephen was little better than a slut: his papers, odd bits of dry, garlic’d bread, his razors miserable squalor; and from the appearance of the grizzled wig that was now acting as a tea-cosy for his milk-saucepan, it was clear that he had breakfasted on marmalade.

Jack took off his coat, covered his waistcoat and breeches with an apron, and carried the dishes into the scullery. ‘My plate and saucer will serve again,’ said Stephen. ‘I have blown upon them. I do wish, Jack,’ he cried,’that you would leave that milk-saucepan alone. It is perfectly clean. What more sanitary, what more wholesome, than scalded milk? Will I dry up?’ he called through the open door.

‘No, no,’ cried Jack, who had seen him do so. ‘There is no room – it is nearly done. Just attend to the fire, will you?’

‘We might have some music,’ said Stepehn. ‘Your friend’s piano is in tolerable tune, and I have found German flute. What are you doing now?’

‘Swabbing out the galley. Give me five minutes, and I am your man.’

‘It sounds more like Noah’s flood. This peevish attention to cleanliness, Jack, this busy preoccupation with dirt,’ said Stephen, shaking his head at the fire, ‘has something of the Brahminical supersitition about it. It is not very far removed from nastiness, Jack – from cacoththymia.’

‘I am concerned to hear it,’ said Jack. ‘Pray, is it catching?’ he added, with a private but sweet-natured leer.
(p. 156, William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd)

On Jack preaching to the ship:

‘Yes, I may preach a sermon to the ship’s company next Sunday.’

‘You? Preach a sermon?’

‘Certainly. Captains often do, when no chaplain is carried. I always made do with the Articles of War in the Sophie, but now I think I shall give them a clear, well-reasoned – come, what’s the matter? What is so very entertaining about my preaching a sermon? Damn your eyes, Stephen.’ Stephen was doubled over in his chair, rocking to and for, uttering harsh spasmodic squeaks: tears ran down his face. ‘What a spectacle you are, to be sure. Now I come to think of it, I do not believe I have ever heard you laugh before. It is a damned illiberal row, I can tell you – it don’t suit you at all. Squeak squeak. Very well: you shall laugh your bellyful.’ He turned away with something about ‘pragmatical apes – snipering; tittering’ and affected to look into the Bible without the least concern; but there are not many who can find themselves the object of open, whole-hearted, sincere, prostrating laughter without being put out of countenance, and Jack was not one of these few. However, Stephen’s mirth died away in time – a few last crowing whoops and it as over. He got to his feet, and dabbing his face with a handkerchief he took Jack by the hand. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon. I would not have vexed you for the world. But there is something so essentially ludicrous, so fundamentally comic… that is to say, I had so droll an association of ideas – pray do not take it personally at all. Of course you shall preach to the men; I am persuaded it will have a most striking effect.’

(p. 249, HarperCollins Paperback)

Fly Away Home – by Kurt Armstrong

Here’s a lovely CBC Outfront podcast by writer Kurt Armstrong. (I’m a big fan of his.)

Synopsis:

Kurt Armstrong does not know how to fly. But his dad is passionate about flying. He even pilots his own small plane. So what’s their common ground? Kurt figures it out when he returns to the family farm for his father’s annual fly-in breakfast.

G.K. Chesterton on Priests & Poets

“I don’t deny that there should be priests to remind men that they will one day die. I only say that at certain strange epochs it is necessary to have another kind of priests, called poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet.”

~In G.K. Chesterton’s Manalive

Soundtrack of my Life #7: American Pie (Don Maclean)

As I teenager I would spend 10 days each summer on The Robbertson II. “The Robbie” was a sail training ship run by S.A.L.T.S: the Sail and Life Training Society. It was my favourite time of the year. Our crew of 30 “trainees” would be lead by 8 or so crew as we sailed up and down the beautiful B.C. coast.

The son of a mariner, I was a keener and advanced quickly through my sail training. So much so, that I became crew at age fifteen. This turned out to be way too young and my crew trip at fifteen was, unfortunately, my last.

I wasn’t nearly old enough to hold those responsibilities as the teenaged “trainees” (who were mostly older than me) played and had fun. The experience was so bad that I never went back. I felt such shame at doing so poorly at my job of Bosun’s Mate. (Let’s not talk about the time that I sent my captain diving for cover when I left the lever attached to the generator as it spun out of control – no one ending up getting hurt, thank God).

Looking back it really was a shame that I never went back as I was a good sailor and enjoyed it immensely. And S.A.L.T.S. is a wonderful institution. It’s one of those rare places that doesn’t pander to teenagers – and the kids love it for it. You work hard and you play hard. One makes the other so much more meaningful. You sing and laugh and learn what people are really like in such close quarters.

Music in the evening was such an important aspect the experience. I sang lots of songs and danced even more (perhaps the only place that this has taken place). And it was here that I was introduced to the nostalgically poetic American Pie by Don McLean. One of the crew knew the entire song and sang it to us one night. Once we learned the chorus, we joined in (there’s lots of time to join in during an 8 minute song). I never forgot that song and it reminds me of S.A.L.T.S every time I hear it.

I went back as volunteer crew with Christie about five years ago. We had a lovely time. But it was interesting going back as an adult. Like most non-profits, the people are over-worked and under-paid and barely keeping it together. We only had to be there for 10 days, but most crew are there 8 months of the year.  We realized early that the best way to contribute was to serve the over-stretched crew more than the kids.

Our particular crew position involved sleeping in the same quarters as the kids, me in the boys’ hold and Christie with the girls. The crew were impressed with us early into the trip as we always got the kids to go to sleep right away rather than having them horse around for hours. What was the secret? I read to them.

Each night, we’d turn the lights completely out and I would stand below the main hatch and read by moonlight a portion of The Lion, The Witch and the Warddrobe, as the waves rhythmically lapped against the hull.

And what about those tough 16 and 17-year old boys who spent most of the day trying to impress the girls? They couldn’t wait to hear me read them to sleep each night. Go figure. I think we all like being read to at night.

Another highlight for me was contributing my own work to the song tradition on the boat, changing the lyrics of Down on the Corner to describe the experience of living on board. It was a blast leading the entire boat in singing it (and I know that only former “Salties” will know what I’m talking about):

Out on the Ocean (to the tune of Down on the Corner)

Three bags and a suitcase, I was loaded down
Took the bus to Hardy, I love that ol’ Greyhound
Got stuck with the lower bunk, a guy snores right above
Glad I brought those earplugs, and I ain’t afraid to shove

Chorus
Out on the Ocean, sailing on the sea
Leaning that sleep just don’t come easy, and
Never use the hold Head in bare feet

Early in the morning, I woke for anchor watch
That jerk grabbed my nose and mouth, and I let out a cough
Though I was still sleepy, I don’t like to brag
But I saved each soul on board, when I heart the anchor drag

Chorus

When you are the wheel, motoring through the night
“Starboard five” and then “Port ten”, what happened to left and right?
Told to steer “one-eight-three,” I don’t know what she meant
All these terms confuse me, I thought “muster” was a condiment

Chorus

Now that I have come back home, I appreciate simple things
My bed, showers, and dry T.P., and all the joy that they bring
But I still miss the boat, here on steady ground
I keep using sea charts, to find my way in town.

Chorus

Top 130 Movie List: #48 All the President’s Men (1976, Dir: Alan Pakula, Scr: William Goldman)

When I read Carl Bertstein and Bob Woodward’s account of their investigate reporting around the Watergate scandal, I was not only riveted by the story, but was also amazed at the quality and depth of their journalism.

The film adaptation of their story is an example of talented storytellers working at the top of their game. Hoffman and Redford are perfectly cast and Pakula’s direction is one of the best I’ve ever seen: simple, confident, efficient. They all seem to know that they have a great adapted screenplay by Goldman and trust the material – an essential step in great filmmaking.

One of the many reasons I love the film is that it connects with me thematically. It’s about a couple of young, hungry journalists trying to uncover something that is hidden. And, ironically, the people they encounter all wish they could also bring the truth out into the light, but all fear it for various reasons. Thus, many scenes involve a dance of intimacy between Woodward and Bernstein and their interviewees, as they try and navigate their way to the truth.

This scene is an example of Pakula’s directorial confidence: after the first minute the scene becomes a oner (their are no cuts) that only involves a slow zoom in on Woodward as he tracks down another piece of the Watergate puzzle.

Top 130 Movie List: #65 The Passion of the Christ (2004, Dir: Mel Gibson, Scr: Mel Gibson, Benedict Fitzgerald)

Whatever you think of Gibson, this film, or even Jesus, you can’t deny how visually stunning this movie is.

Here’s my favourite moment from the film. The character featured is Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she encounters Jesus on the way to his death.

JESUS: “See, Mother, I make all things new.”

Patrick O’Brian: Master and Commander (1970) – Quotes

The first in Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey Maturin series.

This is a most unlikely beginning to the life-long friendship between Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin:

The music-room in the Governor’s House at Port Mahon, a tall handsome, pillared octagon, was filled with the triumphant first movement of Locatelli’s C major quartet. The players, Italians pinned against the far wall by rows and rows of little round gilt chairs, were playing with passionate conviction as they mounted towards the penultimate crescendo, towards the tremendous pause and the deep, liberating final chord. And on the little gilt chairs at the least some of the audience were following the rise with equal intensity: there were two n the third row, on the left-hand side; and they happned to be sitting next to one another. The listener farther to the left was a man of between twenty and thirty whose big form overflowed his seat, leaving only a streak of gilt wood to be seen here and there. He was wearing his best uniform – the white-lapelled blue coat, white wasitcoast, breaches and stockings of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with silver medal of the Nile in his buttonhole – the deep white cuff of his gold-buttoned sleeve beat the time, while his bright bue eyes, starng from what would have been a pink-and-white face if it had not been so deeply tanned, gazed fixedly at the bow of the first violin. The high note came, the pause, the resolution; and with the resolution the sailor’s fist swept firmly down upon his knee. He leant back in his chair, extinguishing it entirely, sighed happily and turned towards his neighbour with a smile. The words ‘Very finely played, sir, I believe’ were formed in his gullet if not quite in his mouth when he caught the cold and indeed inimical look and heard the whisper, ‘If you really must beat the measure, sir, let me entreat you to do so in time, and not half a beat ahead.’

Jack Aubrey’s face instantly changed from friendly ingenuous communicative pleasure to an expression of somewhat baffled hostility; he could not but acknowledge that he had been beating the time; and although he had certainly done so with perfect accuracy, in itself the thing was wrong. His colour mounted; he fixed his neighbour’s pale eye for a moment, said, ‘I trust…’, and the opening notes of the slow movement cut him short.

The ruminative ‘cello uttered two phrases of its own and then begain a dialogue with the viola. Only part of Jack’s mind paid attention, for the rest of it was anchored to the man at his side. A covert glance showed that he was a small, dark, white-faced creature in a rusty black coat – a civilian. It was difficult to tell his age, for not only had he that kind of face that does not give anything away, but he was wearing a wig, a grizzled wig, apparently made of wire, and quite devoid of powder: he might have been anything between twenty and sixty. ‘About my own age, in fact, however,’ thought Jack. ‘The ill-looking son of a bitch, to give himself such airs.’ With this almost the whole of his attention went back into the music; he found his pace in the pattern and followed it through its convolutions and quite charming arabesques to its satisfying, logical conclusion. He did not think of his neighbour again until the end of the movement, and then he avoided looking in his direction.

(p. 8, William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd, 1972)

Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin series

It would be hard to over emphasize my love of Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin novels about a fighting sea captain, Jack Aubrey, and his naval surgeon and ‘particular friend’ Stephen Maturin. Their friendship and adventures spread over twenty novels and not a few years during the Napoleonic wars and beyond. O’Brian’s novels were certainly lauded when they were released in the 1970s and 80s, but over time they have been come to considered perhaps the best historical fiction of any genre.

I am no literary critic, but I have not come across any series that comes close to matching the books in their brilliance. O’Brian not only re-enacts the history of significant naval battles, placing our heros in the midst of the action and politics, but he is also an uncanny observer of the human condition. His characters are as robust as any characters I’ve come across and his observations of the human heart regularly strike me to the core. To be sure, the books are filled with the necessary action and intrigue, but I glean as much wisdom and joy at his insight into life and love, fear and faith, as I do from any other work of art, be it film, paint or poetry.

My wife and I are currently re-reading the series of twenty novels (and one unfinished work) for the third time and they have only improved with each reading. This is partly because I know the characters so much better, partly because I appreciate more with each reading the quality of O’Brian’s description of the battles and politics, but mostly because I just love being in the world he creates.

I’m surprised at how few people I’ve come across who have read them. In fact, I can name them: Duncan, Loren, Ian, and the couple I met who had actually knocked on O’Brian’s door in the south of France and had tea with him (!). But when you come across them, it’s like a secret society of friends who know.

One of them is another writing hero of mine, David Mamet. After O’Brian’s death he wrote an article describing what he had hoped to write to O’Brian himself:

”Sir,” I would have said, ”I’ve read your Aubrey-Maturin series three or four times. When I was young I scoffed at stories of the Victorians who lived for the next issue of the Strand and the next tale of Sherlock Holmes; and I scoffed at the grown women and men who plagued Conan Doyle to rescind Holmes’s death at the Reichenbach Falls. But I am blessed in having, in my generation, an equally thrilling set of heroes, and your characters have become a part of my life.

In an attempt to find other O’Brian lovers, I’ve decided to quote some of my favourite passages from the entire series as I go through them. If you haven’t read the series before, it may be hard to appreciate what I’m going to quote. But I suspect those who have read the series will read them and nod their head or laugh with satisfaction as they recall the moment.

Walking on Water – by Madeleine L’Engle

Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (1980 Harold Shaw Publishers)

“…when we are at a play, or looking at a painting or a statue, or reading a story, the imaginary work must have such an effect on us that it enlarges our own sense of reality.” (79)

“How to stay open? How to make sure that the voice we hear is the voice of the Lord? There are all kinds of dirty devices that get in the way, a principle one being the climate of success in which we live, the need for success with our peers, in our careers, in our bank balances. The mistake is in thinking of the journey in terms of success at all (though inevitably we do). Success is one of the dirtiest temptations of the devil.” (134)

“The great metaphysical poet, John Donne, writes, ‘To come to a doubt, and to a debatement of any religious duty, is the voice of God in our conscience: Would you know the truth? Doubt, and then you will inquire.’ If my religion is true, it will stand up to all my questioning; there is no need to fear. But if it is not true, if it is man imposing strictures on God (as did the men of the Christian establishment of Galileo’s day) then I want to be open to God, not to what man says about God. I want to be open to revelation, to new life, to new birth, to new light.” (134)

“The creative process has a lot to do with faith, and nothing to do with virtue, which may explain why so many artists are far from virtuous; are, indeed, great sinners.” (148)

“The artist, like the child, is a good believer. The depth and strength of the belief is reflected in the work; if the artist does not believe, then no one else will; no amount of technique will make the responder see truth in something the artist knows to be phony.” (148-9)

On Reading Old Books – C.S. Lewis

Every age has its own outlook. It is specially good at seeing certain truths and specially liable to make certain mistakes. We all, therefore, need the books that will correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period. And that means the old books. All contemporary writers share to some extent the contemporary outlook – even those, like myself, who seem most opposed to it. Nothing strikes me more when I read the controversies of past ages than the fact that both sides were usually assuming without question a good deal which we should now absolutely deny. They thought that they were as completely opposed as two sides could be, but in fact they were all the time secretly united – united with each other and against earlier and later ages – by a great mass of common assumptions. We may be sure that the characteristic blindness of the twentieth century – the blindness about which posterity will ask, “But how could they have thought that?” – lies where we have never suspected it, and concerns something about which there is untroubled agreement between Hitler and President Roosevelt or between Mr. H. G. Wells and Karl Barth. None of us can fully escape this blindness, but we shall certainly increase it, and weaken our guard against it, if we read only modern books. Where they are true they will give us truths which we half knew already. Where they are false they will aggravate the error with which we are already dangerously ill. The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books.

~ C.S. Lewis, Introduction to Athanasius’ On The Incarnation

Find the entire introduction here