Reading the 20th Century: Sailing Alone Around the World
Starting this year, I decided to set a personal reading goal: make my way through at least two books published in each decade of the 20th century. The project will encompass both fiction and fact, male and female authors, and even (hopefully) a few non-English-language perspectives. Our first selection takes us on a thrilling journey published at century’s beginning: the 1900s.
Spring of 1895—a veteran seaman in his fifties named Joshua Slocum begins an ambitious personal goal: sailing around the globe, solo, in a sturdy 36-foot boat he built himself. The results of this year-long trek got recorded in his diaries, later organized and published as Sailing Alone Around the World. A moderate success in its day, the book has since been elevated to a classic in the Travel/Adventure genre: a breezy, enjoyable tribute to exploration, freedom, and the wonders of the sea.
Sailing Alone Around the World originally came out in 1900, which barely qualifies it for my 20th century reading challenge. Despite covering events from the previous century, however, the book has a distinct feel for the zeitgeist of the new century. People of the time, Americans especially, were becoming more urbanized (working in factories instead of farms), more mobilized (access to trains and ships allowed for more recreational travel), and more informed (a printing revolution allowing for a torrent of newspapers, magazines and books). Chronicling his journey around the world with folksy realism and a healthy dose of humor, Slocum managed to strike a nerve with a public eager to escape—anywhere.
Sailing is full of surprises. Right off the bat, it becomes apparent that Slocum doesn’t quite fit the stereotype of the globe-trotting world explorer. The man isn’t the virile, chest-thumping Alpha Male of old, nor does he fit the eccentric billionaire stereotype we currently hold (Elon Musk could take a few humility pointers from this guy). Instead, he’s somewhat introverted, modest, insanely curious about nature, and actually quite appealing.
Although Slocum maintains a laid-back, “whatever may be, may be” attitude throughout his odyssey, he does confront a fair share of dangers, and delights. Shortly after the Spray disembarks in Boston, Slocum encounters an unexpected visitor in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean—the captain of the famed sailing ship Pinta appears to him as a ghost! From Gibraltar through to the southern tip of South America, Slocum comes across a few live beings, too, including sharks, friendly islanders, and dignitaries. As his journey continued, word started to spread of his feat. By the time of his arrival in Australia during the winter of 1895, Slocum had become a worldwide celebrity. Many of his encounters are memorably relayed here, including a visit with the widow of author Robert Louis Stevenson and an amusing bout with a fatuous South African bureaucrat who doggedly insists that the world is flat.
Despite run-ins with unpredictable weather and bloodthirsty savages, Slocum’s journey by and large came through smoothly. One might conclude, then, that the lack of action would make for a boring book. Slocum’s likability and humble, self-deprecating nature (surveying his lonely vessel, he often refers jokingly to “my crew”) make it an enjoyable read, however. I particularly dug Slocum’s way with observing nature. Watching a pair of spiders, castaways onboard the Spray, Slocum notes:
I saw no living thing here, except a small spider, which had nestled in a dry log that I boated to the sloop. The conduct of this insect interested me now more than anything else around this wild place. In my cabin it met, oddly enough, a spider of its own size and species that had come all the way from Boston—a very civil little chap, too, and mighty spry. Well, the Fuegian threw up its antennae for a fight; but my little Bostonian downed it all at once, then broke its legs, and pulled them off, one by one, so dexterously that in less than three minutes from the time the battle began the Fuegian spider didn’t know itself from a fly.
Slocum’s attachment to nature is one thing that makes Sailing Alone a surprisingly timeless book, along with his proto-conservationist belief in humans as stewards of the Earth and all its wondrous biodiversity. Vegetarians take note: the only living things Slocum ate (while on the boat) were the flying fish that accidentally beached themselves on the Spray’s decks (along with servings of coffee and fried dough, made in his below-deck kitchen). Somewhere in the Indian Ocean, a friendly native tribe gifts him with a live goat to be consumed along the way. Although Slocum accepts it, he later has second thoughts and decides to set the creature free on a different island.
It’s no surprise that the word Alone is part of this book’s title: above all else, Slocum’s journey serves as an ode to the pleasures of solitude and simple living. Despite all the dangers inherent in solo sea travel, the Spray’s voyage had a strange pull on Slocum—probably because of all the “alone time” it offered. Sure, the book’s subsequent success allowed Slocum to fulfill a dream of running a farm. Not long afterward, however, he ended up yearning for the wide open sea once again. In 1909, Slocum (then at the seasoned age of 65) took the Spray on another solo round-the-world voyage. Tragically, he and the boat disappeared at sea.
Sailing Alone Around the World has been reprinted several times since its original 1900 publication. The copy I read (and recommend) is the Barnes & Noble Classics annotated paperback from 2005. This edition includes an introduction and helpful footnotes by Dennis A. Berthold, a timeline of Slocum’s life, a glossary of the often arcane nautical terms used in the book, a fascinating end piece on the book’s lasting influence, and more. Buy at Amazon.com here.
