I’d read Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat (text at Project Gutenberg) some time ago; I have a hazy memory of a lazy weekend morning at one of Chad’s apartments, possibly the one in New Haven. If anything, my memory of where I read it was sharper than of what I read; before getting the audiobook out of the library, I couldn’t tell you a thing about it except that it was about a boat trip with three young men and a dog (who I didn’t fully realize was a dog until chapter 2).
Martin Jarvis does a very nice job of reading this, but I can’t recommend it as a keep-awake audiobook: Three Men in a Boat isn’t so much a narrative as an excuse for anecdote. A sentence will be spoken, or a place will be seen, and then one of the characters (most likely the narrator) will be reminded of something they did once, or something that happened to a friend, or a historical event that happened there . . . This is all very amusing in a Britishly deadpan way, but not what you’d call gripping:
As an example of how utterly oblivious a pair of towers can be to their work, George told us, later on in the evening, when we were discussing the subject after supper, of a very curious instance.
He and three other men, so he said, were sculling a very heavily laden boat up from Maidenhead one evening, and a little above Cookham lock they noticed a fellow and a girl, walking along the towpath, both deep in an apparently interesting and absorbing conversation. They were carrying a boat-hook between them, and, attached to the boat-hook was a tow-line, which trailed behind them, its end in the water. No boat was near, no boat was in sight. There must have been a boat attached to that tow-line at some time or other, that was certain; but what had become of it, what ghastly fate had overtaken it, and those who had been left in it, was buried in mystery. Whatever the accident may have been, however, it had in no way disturbed the young lady and gentleman, who were towing. They had the boat-hook and they had the line, and that seemed to be all that they thought necessary to their work.
George was about to call out and wake them up, but, at that moment, a bright idea flashed across him, and he didn’t. He got the hitcher instead, and reached over, and drew in the end of the tow-line; and they made a loop in it, and put it over their mast, and then they tidied up the sculls, and went and sat down in the stern, and lit their pipes.
And that young man and young woman towed those four hulking chaps and a heavy boat up to Marlow.
George said he never saw so much thoughtful sadness concentrated into one glance before, as when, at the lock, that young couple grasped the idea that, for the last two miles, they had been towing the wrong boat. George fancied that, if it had not been for the restraining influence of the sweet woman at his side, the young man might have given way to violent language.
The maiden was the first to recover from her surprise, and, when she did, she clasped her hands, and said, wildly:
“Oh, Henry, then WHERE is auntie?”
“Did they ever recover the old lady?” asked Harris.
George replied he did not know.
(There is an unexpectedly serious interlude toward the end, which shift of tone Jarvis handles very well.)
What I’d really like to know, having listened to this, is how the towpath worked. I can’t quite imagine how you’d make progress by tying a boat to a long rope and walking on a riverside path, but that seemed to be what was being described.
I love Three Men in a Boat, but you’re right, it’s all in the tone and the humour, and if they don’t work for you, then no amount of rational exposition will convince you.
And I can imagine Martin Jarvis reading it very well indeed.
And yes, towing a boat works pretty much as described. It depends on the waterway being either a canal, or a canalised river (full depth immediately next to the banks), and the progress is slow but very steady. The canals pre-date railways as a way of shifting loads of heavy materials (like coal) or fragile ones (pottery), sometimes pulled by a horse. But even a young couple with their minds on other rthings can pull a boat with very little effort once they get it moving (inertia is on your side, for once).
Jean: thanks. In the absence of rail, I guess I can see it.
There’s a sequel that I never hear discussed; do you know if it’s any good?
It’s been a while since I’ve read Three Men on the Bummel, and I remember being amused, but none of the contents. So the answer is probably: Sort of good.