Used Books Blog

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.

Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski is a well-crafted, absorbing novel that fuses travel, anthropology and mystery. In many respects it feels a bit like a Paul Theroux travelogue, albeit Berlinski is far kinder to most of his subjects. And while this is a work of fiction, the main character certainly bears a strong resemblance to the author in more than just name.

How do I know this? I worked with Mischa briefly in 2001. Though our ‘relationship’ can be, at best, characterized as a casual acquaintance, Mischa is hard to forget. His speech has a particular cadence, a roller coaster of speed from slow drawls to excited animation and his wit, usually dry and mellow, can also reach an acid exasperation at times. Fieldwork captures the essence of Mischa quite well, giving great life to the novel.

Fieldwork follows Mischa, a rather aimless young man, who has tagged along with his girlfriend to Thailand. Berlinski’s description of Thailand is fantastic, with particular emphasis on colors, flowers and smells. Amid the odd writing assignments Mischa learns about the story of Martiya van der Leun, a Dutch Malaysian anthropologist who murdered a Christian missionary. At first intrigued, and then obsessed, Mischa wants to learn more about Martiya’s life and how she wound up dying in a Thai prison. Fieldwork is not a who-dunnit but is, instead, a why-dunnit.

Berlinski uncovers the life history of Martiya and her victim, David Walker, through various interviews and correspondences with relatives and friends of both. It is a tricky and interesting way to breath life into the characters while at the same time slowly building the plot of the murder mystery. In retrospect, it’s a lot like an episode of Without a Trace, which I happen to enjoy.

Without being overt, Berlinski shows that the missionary and anthropologist are alike in one central way, they each embark on a type of fieldwork. The fieldwork is not easy, and both must be passionate about their cause, whether it is to document and understand or convert and save.

Following these passionate folks, the novel moves from the small Dyalo village of Dan Loi to Berkeley to China to the Lot, a nomadic village of sorts composed of those following the Grateful Dead. And the present day interludes reveal that Mischa himself has embarked on a type of fieldwork.

Don’t let the themes of Fieldwork scare you off. I’m not really the religious type nor would I normally sit down to read an anthropological study. Yet, Berlinski makes these things interesting, stripping away stereotypes and preconceived notions and replacing them with engaging and well-rounded characters. The latter, presenting the balanced portrait of these characters - the good and … not so good - ensures that Fieldwork doesn’t become stale.

Though not brimming with hilarity, there are a number of wry comic moments and odd, dry wit.

… they ascribed all ill fortune to witchcraft, from the most trivial, a stubbed toe, to the most grave, a sulky wife or death.

Read the quote again if you haven’t chuckled the first time.

I can understand why Fieldwork is a finalist for the prestigious National Book Award. It is well researched, well written and, like Mischa, hard to forget.

What do you use as a bookmark? Do you have one you’re attached to or do you change them like windshield wipers? I thought I’d share my bookmark and, once you see it, you’ll understand why it’s a used bookmark.

Yes, I laminated an American Airlines plane ticket from 2000 with a Dharma Bums pricing sticker on it. If you look closely you’ll see it’s actually my wife’s ticket. We flew round trip from San Francisco to Philadelphia through O’Hare, leaving 1:10pm and sitting in seat 15E.

It’s my lucky bookmark I guess. I can trace it back to it’s ‘birth’, it has a history and I can think about all the books it’s been wedged in since.

So what do you use as a bookmark? Can you top my bookmark lunacy?