The Swiss Family Robinson - Johann Wyss
The Swiss Family Robinson - Johann Wyss
The enchanting story of a shipwrecked family - a minister, his wife, and four sons, Fritz, Ernest, Francis, and Jack - who are cast up on a desert island, build a wonderful house in a tree, and survive so cleverly and happily apart from the world that they never want to be rescued.
And from the inside back cover:
The author of The Swiss Family Robinson was actually a number of people. Originally, Swiss Army chaplain Johann David Wyss (1743-1818) wrote an adventure story modeled after Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe to amuse his four sons, who, one imagines, found their counterparts in age and character in their father's book. One of these sons, Johann Rudolf (1781-1830), edited and published his father's manuscript in 1812-1813. A French translation by Mme. la Baronne Isabelle de Montolieu appeared very shortly thereafter, and it contained some new adventures. The first and further embroidered English translation soon followed, and several years later Mme. de Montolieu published a still longer version. Other writers, editors, and translators continued to add and subtract material, and the book continued to appear in various guises until, in 1889, WHG Kingston's shorter version was published and soon became the English standard. But even the Kingston version contains the zoologically improbable profusion of animals for which the book is noted - penguins, ostriches, kangaroos, jackals, and so on - not to mention terrain of amazing diversity and every variety of plant the castaways could ever want. And all this one one undiscovered and uninhabited, though fairly large, tropical island. Certainly The Swiss Family Robinson is one of the most beloved adventure-discovery books of all time, but one should not be tempted to use it as a survival manual, for disappointment would surely follow!
So, I included that blurb from inside the back cover largely because I personally find the last sentence in it kind of hilarious, but certainly not inaccurate. I think I'd have to say that this may be one of the most ridiculous books I've ever read, and not in a good way. There are so many things wrong with it I barely know where to start.
But let's see. Let's start with the extremely stilted writing style. Now, knowing what I now do about how many people have had their hands on this book, it's entirely possible that Wyss's original writing was so eloquent one could weep, and the suck that's left is simply a result of being translated back and forth by way too many people. But whatever the cause, it's basically terrible. Consider the following, a piece of dialogue between the narrator and his wife:
"It seems absolutely necessary, my dear wife, to return at once to the wreck while it is yet calm, that we may save the poor animals left there, and bring on shore many articles of infinite value to us, which, if we do not now recover, we may finally lose entirely."
WTF is that? Who talks like that? Nobody bloody well talks like that, but that kind of ridiculous writing is all the way through the book. Gah.
Oh, and as for "my dear wife," this poor woman has a name (Elizabeth), which we learn on page 67, and never hear again. In the entire book, Elizabeth is referred to by name exactly twice. The rest of the time she's "my wife," which is tolerable, or, more frequently, "the mother." That's right. "The mother." Not just "mother," or "their mother," in reference to the boys, but "the mother." Like she's not really a person who matters; she's just there to be useful and serve her "motherly" function. That drove me absolutely nuts.
Then there's the profusion of "zoologically improbable" animals, which is a severe understatement, and also only the tip of the absurd convenience iceberg. This island seriously has to be the most awesome place to be shipwrecked ever, because it really does contain absolutely everything you could possibly ever want to survive and build anything you can conceive of. I'm half surprised they didn't find some sort of silica deposits that they could use to construct themselves computers. If it had been written later, I bet it would have. And if finding a particular object on the island was too absurd even for the author(s) to conceive of, the family could just get it off the wreck of the actual ship, which was conveniently wrecked, largely intact, on a rock very close to the island, where they could travel regularly to strip it of all kinds of "articles of infinite value." I honestly can't even convey the depth of the absurdity of the things that they just happened to find on this island, so that they never had to do without anything. Seriously, they lived in such luxury, it barely qualifies as shipwreck, if you ask me.
It bugs me, too (and don't even ask why this particular thing bugs me so much), that, for example, after they've been on the island for several years, they suddenly find evidence of elephants around one of the establishments. Um, no. It's almost conceivable that, in exploring to a part of the island where they've never been before, they might find traces of an animal they haven't previously encountered or seen any signs of, but in a place they frequent regularly, and have for several years? Not likely. Animals are creatures of habit, and if you don't see them around a particular spot within a year, chances are, they won't show up there ever. Unless, of course, you've screwed up the ecosystem of this island so badly that you alter animals' usual patterns.
Which is entirely conceivable. Why, I ask you, does a family of six need half a dozen homes on this island? I understand having two, because winter and summer have different shelter requirements, and sometimes it's just easier to construct two different shelters than to try and make one serve dual purpose. But another one here, and another one in this other place we've discovered, and another on over there, etc? Why? I get that sometimes you might want to go to spot X to avail yourself of resource Y that is found in that area, and that sometimes you may need to stay there for a few days while you're gathering the stuff or whatever. But dude. Bring a tent. You don't need a whole other abode, whose main purpose seems to be something for you to build to occupy your time, and to take umbrage when the local monkeys show up and wreak havoc in it. Which is precisely what precipitated two of the most disturbing episodes in this book. In both cases, they show up at one of their settlements that they rarely use anyway, to find that the monkeys have made a mess. And instead of thinking, "Gee, maybe we've expanded enough," they decide to set traps and kill all the monkeys that show up next time. And not to eat, or skin, or do anything useful with. No no, once the monkeys are dead, they just bury them. I found both instances appallingly unnecessary savagery.
Further evidence of their excessively expansionist tendencies is that every time they discover a new animal, they simply must either kill as many of them as possible (Seriously? Your stores aren't adequate? Based on the killing related in the book, they could survive years without killing anything else), or capture at least one and relocate it to one of their homes. Why? These animals were living perfectly contentedly where they were, and now that you know where that is, if you need them, you can come get them. Why uproot them. I especially loved how, when they discovered a pack of ostriches and decided to capture one of them (to be tamed and ridden, btw), did they go for one of the females? Nope. They went after the one male in the group. Great. Way to destroy the ostriches' chance of continued survival, losers. It's all presented in such a happy-go-lucky way, but all I could think while reading this book was how incredibly wantonly they were just destroying the natural resources and populations on this island. What else is new when humans show up, though, I guess.
I could go on, but let me just touch briefly upon the absurdity of the last line in the back cover blurb. They don't ever want to be rescued? Really? The four boys are perfectly content with the options of either celibacy or incest? Sure they are. Good thing Miss Montrose showed up when she did, really. I also love how these parents, unlike pretty much every parent in the time period, and most parents even nowadays, don't seem remotely concerned about the fact that by staying on this island, their boys won't be able to get married or have children of their own. I'm imagining what would happen if they didn't end up getting rescued, with everyone dying until Franz, the youngest, was finally left all by himself on this island. Nice fate you're wishing on your children, parents. This lack of concern was particularly evident when they did find other people, and "the mother" was asked if she would like to go or stay, and she declared that she'd like to stay, as long as at least two of the boys stayed too. WTF? It's a little less screwed up after they go on to talk about how they'd like to bring in more people, and actually form something of a colony (the better to completely destroy the island, I guess), but still. Shouldn't most mothers be a little more anxious for their boys to get the hell off this deserted island so they can meet some nice girls and get married? Weird people, these.
And you know what? Much of this could be forgiven if the story were interesting or compelling. But it's not. Aside from the initial shipwreck, absolutely nothing happens to these people that could be classified as anything more than a trivial inconvenience. There's no real drama or suspense, and that rendered the whole thing just incredibly dull. And that is what's really unforgivable about this book.
And one final note, this one directed at the cover illustrator. When dogs are described in a book as being mastiffs, maybe you don't draw what is clearly a golden retriever on the cover.
Next up: Mirror, Mirror, by Gregory Maguire
The enchanting story of a shipwrecked family - a minister, his wife, and four sons, Fritz, Ernest, Francis, and Jack - who are cast up on a desert island, build a wonderful house in a tree, and survive so cleverly and happily apart from the world that they never want to be rescued.
And from the inside back cover:
The author of The Swiss Family Robinson was actually a number of people. Originally, Swiss Army chaplain Johann David Wyss (1743-1818) wrote an adventure story modeled after Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe to amuse his four sons, who, one imagines, found their counterparts in age and character in their father's book. One of these sons, Johann Rudolf (1781-1830), edited and published his father's manuscript in 1812-1813. A French translation by Mme. la Baronne Isabelle de Montolieu appeared very shortly thereafter, and it contained some new adventures. The first and further embroidered English translation soon followed, and several years later Mme. de Montolieu published a still longer version. Other writers, editors, and translators continued to add and subtract material, and the book continued to appear in various guises until, in 1889, WHG Kingston's shorter version was published and soon became the English standard. But even the Kingston version contains the zoologically improbable profusion of animals for which the book is noted - penguins, ostriches, kangaroos, jackals, and so on - not to mention terrain of amazing diversity and every variety of plant the castaways could ever want. And all this one one undiscovered and uninhabited, though fairly large, tropical island. Certainly The Swiss Family Robinson is one of the most beloved adventure-discovery books of all time, but one should not be tempted to use it as a survival manual, for disappointment would surely follow!
So, I included that blurb from inside the back cover largely because I personally find the last sentence in it kind of hilarious, but certainly not inaccurate. I think I'd have to say that this may be one of the most ridiculous books I've ever read, and not in a good way. There are so many things wrong with it I barely know where to start.
But let's see. Let's start with the extremely stilted writing style. Now, knowing what I now do about how many people have had their hands on this book, it's entirely possible that Wyss's original writing was so eloquent one could weep, and the suck that's left is simply a result of being translated back and forth by way too many people. But whatever the cause, it's basically terrible. Consider the following, a piece of dialogue between the narrator and his wife:
"It seems absolutely necessary, my dear wife, to return at once to the wreck while it is yet calm, that we may save the poor animals left there, and bring on shore many articles of infinite value to us, which, if we do not now recover, we may finally lose entirely."
WTF is that? Who talks like that? Nobody bloody well talks like that, but that kind of ridiculous writing is all the way through the book. Gah.
Oh, and as for "my dear wife," this poor woman has a name (Elizabeth), which we learn on page 67, and never hear again. In the entire book, Elizabeth is referred to by name exactly twice. The rest of the time she's "my wife," which is tolerable, or, more frequently, "the mother." That's right. "The mother." Not just "mother," or "their mother," in reference to the boys, but "the mother." Like she's not really a person who matters; she's just there to be useful and serve her "motherly" function. That drove me absolutely nuts.
Then there's the profusion of "zoologically improbable" animals, which is a severe understatement, and also only the tip of the absurd convenience iceberg. This island seriously has to be the most awesome place to be shipwrecked ever, because it really does contain absolutely everything you could possibly ever want to survive and build anything you can conceive of. I'm half surprised they didn't find some sort of silica deposits that they could use to construct themselves computers. If it had been written later, I bet it would have. And if finding a particular object on the island was too absurd even for the author(s) to conceive of, the family could just get it off the wreck of the actual ship, which was conveniently wrecked, largely intact, on a rock very close to the island, where they could travel regularly to strip it of all kinds of "articles of infinite value." I honestly can't even convey the depth of the absurdity of the things that they just happened to find on this island, so that they never had to do without anything. Seriously, they lived in such luxury, it barely qualifies as shipwreck, if you ask me.
It bugs me, too (and don't even ask why this particular thing bugs me so much), that, for example, after they've been on the island for several years, they suddenly find evidence of elephants around one of the establishments. Um, no. It's almost conceivable that, in exploring to a part of the island where they've never been before, they might find traces of an animal they haven't previously encountered or seen any signs of, but in a place they frequent regularly, and have for several years? Not likely. Animals are creatures of habit, and if you don't see them around a particular spot within a year, chances are, they won't show up there ever. Unless, of course, you've screwed up the ecosystem of this island so badly that you alter animals' usual patterns.
Which is entirely conceivable. Why, I ask you, does a family of six need half a dozen homes on this island? I understand having two, because winter and summer have different shelter requirements, and sometimes it's just easier to construct two different shelters than to try and make one serve dual purpose. But another one here, and another one in this other place we've discovered, and another on over there, etc? Why? I get that sometimes you might want to go to spot X to avail yourself of resource Y that is found in that area, and that sometimes you may need to stay there for a few days while you're gathering the stuff or whatever. But dude. Bring a tent. You don't need a whole other abode, whose main purpose seems to be something for you to build to occupy your time, and to take umbrage when the local monkeys show up and wreak havoc in it. Which is precisely what precipitated two of the most disturbing episodes in this book. In both cases, they show up at one of their settlements that they rarely use anyway, to find that the monkeys have made a mess. And instead of thinking, "Gee, maybe we've expanded enough," they decide to set traps and kill all the monkeys that show up next time. And not to eat, or skin, or do anything useful with. No no, once the monkeys are dead, they just bury them. I found both instances appallingly unnecessary savagery.
Further evidence of their excessively expansionist tendencies is that every time they discover a new animal, they simply must either kill as many of them as possible (Seriously? Your stores aren't adequate? Based on the killing related in the book, they could survive years without killing anything else), or capture at least one and relocate it to one of their homes. Why? These animals were living perfectly contentedly where they were, and now that you know where that is, if you need them, you can come get them. Why uproot them. I especially loved how, when they discovered a pack of ostriches and decided to capture one of them (to be tamed and ridden, btw), did they go for one of the females? Nope. They went after the one male in the group. Great. Way to destroy the ostriches' chance of continued survival, losers. It's all presented in such a happy-go-lucky way, but all I could think while reading this book was how incredibly wantonly they were just destroying the natural resources and populations on this island. What else is new when humans show up, though, I guess.
I could go on, but let me just touch briefly upon the absurdity of the last line in the back cover blurb. They don't ever want to be rescued? Really? The four boys are perfectly content with the options of either celibacy or incest? Sure they are. Good thing Miss Montrose showed up when she did, really. I also love how these parents, unlike pretty much every parent in the time period, and most parents even nowadays, don't seem remotely concerned about the fact that by staying on this island, their boys won't be able to get married or have children of their own. I'm imagining what would happen if they didn't end up getting rescued, with everyone dying until Franz, the youngest, was finally left all by himself on this island. Nice fate you're wishing on your children, parents. This lack of concern was particularly evident when they did find other people, and "the mother" was asked if she would like to go or stay, and she declared that she'd like to stay, as long as at least two of the boys stayed too. WTF? It's a little less screwed up after they go on to talk about how they'd like to bring in more people, and actually form something of a colony (the better to completely destroy the island, I guess), but still. Shouldn't most mothers be a little more anxious for their boys to get the hell off this deserted island so they can meet some nice girls and get married? Weird people, these.
And you know what? Much of this could be forgiven if the story were interesting or compelling. But it's not. Aside from the initial shipwreck, absolutely nothing happens to these people that could be classified as anything more than a trivial inconvenience. There's no real drama or suspense, and that rendered the whole thing just incredibly dull. And that is what's really unforgivable about this book.
And one final note, this one directed at the cover illustrator. When dogs are described in a book as being mastiffs, maybe you don't draw what is clearly a golden retriever on the cover.
Next up: Mirror, Mirror, by Gregory Maguire