Review: The English Passengers (Book)

It must be fifteen years since I attempted any kind of book review. I hope I don’t come across as too much of a cock. But I do like to think about an author’s motivations and intentions behind his/her book, which is definitely veering towards “wanky” territory…

I don’t generally read enough to spot emerging literary trends, but one fad which has recently struck me is that of intertwined tales told through multiple narratives. Like most fashions, it’s actually an old idea (um, I’m struggling for a suitable example. Frankenstein?), which has suddenly regained popularity. I’m glad this particular fad is back, because it’s produced some of my favourite books of recent years: Cloud Atlas and Ghostwritten by David Mitchell, Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, and now The English Passengers by Matthew Kneale. While the narratives in these novels can take many different forms – from letters to streams-of-consciousness, first-person accounts, newspaper stories or diary entries – a ubiquitous part of the fun of such books is second-guessing the way, if any, the various story arcs are related and will ultimately come together. Whether this mechanic is a crutch for a weak story (I don’t believe it is) is moot point: It’s akin to asking if a book would still be as enjoyable if it was a different book.

The English Passengers tells of a turn-of-the-nineteenth-century expedition to the newly colonised province of Tasmania. Running concurrently is the story of Tasmania’s aboriginal people, and you can’t help but feel that the approach of the explorer’s ship is symbolic of the native people’s impending demise. The expedition is lead by a Reverend with a keen interest in geology. He’s searching for the location of Eden, which he believes is to be found in Tasmania’s unusual rock formations, in order to silence the ridiculous talk that the Earth may be far older than the bible claims. Accompanying this man of religion is a rational counterfoil, a doctor developing his own theories about the origins of man. It’s clear Kneale intended to have these characters embody faith and science, respectively. And while he doesn’t obviously favour either – both being equally obstinate, objectionable, and ultimately wrong in their grand ideas – there’s a critical flaw with the doctor in this role: He behaves entirely unscientifically throughout the book, with his theories completely based on belief, and frequently running precisely counter to any empirical evidence he does gather.

In addition to these two figureheads are three better-rounded cast members: an apathetic botanist, a native Tasmanian and a down-on-his-luck ship’s captain. With the opposing goals of the expedition members, it’s not surprisingly that the journey runs anything but smoothly. Kneale manages to make the ensuing conflict feel inevitable rather than forced, a product of circumstance rather than simply inserted to spice up the story. Indeed, actions which seem irrational and spiteful to one character become logical and necessary when seen from an alternate viewpoint, a fine use of the multiple narratives.

All in all, it’s an extremely readable book, packed with character and detail, yet still full of pace. Kneale must also be congratulated for his thorough research, with many of the events and people in the book at least loosely based on real historical accounts. The factual letter included as part of the book’s epilogue is particularly poignant, and manages to be both a heart-breaking and uplifting end to the tale.