Godfrey Morgan: A Californian Mystery by Jules Verne

Robinson Crusoe fantasy camp

Not too long ago, in reviewing The Swiss Family Robinson by John David Wyss, I briefly touched upon the profound influence that Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe has had on world literature. That novel clearly had an affect on Jules Verne, who wrote at least a handful of “robinsonades” and included Crusoe-like plot elements in many of his novels of travel and exploration. Verne’s adventure novel L’école des Robinsons was published in 1882. The French title literally translates into The School for Robinsons, and the book has been published in English as School for Crusoes and An American Robinson Crusoe. The 1883 London translation of the novel, however, was entitled Godfrey Morgan, after its protagonist.

Godfrey, an orphan, was raised by his uncle, the billionaire William W. Kolderup of San Francisco. Kolderup also has an adopted daughter, Phina, with whom Godfrey is conveniently betrothed. (Almost every Verne novel features a pair of young lovers engaged to be married.) Before he ties the knot, however, young Godfrey wants to travel the world. Having never ventured far outside of the gilded cage in which he was brought up, Godfrey now has a spell of wanderlust. His future father-in-law grants Godfrey his consent to embark on a round-the-world voyage, provided he is chaperoned by his tutor, Prof. Artelett, a dandy who teaches dancing and deportment. The two head west across the Pacific Ocean towards New Zealand but never make it there. Their ship is wrecked in a storm, and the crew is lost. The two gentlemen from San Francisco find themselves marooned alone on a deserted island.

Much like the original Crusoe and the Swiss Family Robinson, these two castaways enjoy a number of fortunate boons. All of the livestock from their ship miraculously makes it to shore, a box washes up on the beach containing many implements necessary for survival, and a hollow sequoia presents itself as a makeshift townhouse. This is not the most arduous of survival stories. Godfrey and Artelett spend most of their time gathering roots and occasionally shooting a deer. These fellows are far less industrious than the Swiss Family. In order to add some excitement to the proceedings, Verne brings in perils that belong on an entirely different continent. Eventually all is explained, though the explanation is ridiculous.

Though Verne is famous for his science fiction, little science is employed in the survival of these two gentlemen. Typical of Verne, however, this novel is largely a secular, rationalist take on the Crusoe genre. Although obligatory mention is made of the almighty every now and then, this wilderness sojourn is not a meditation on divinity like the pious contemplations of Crusoe and the Swiss. Unfortunately, there are a couple racist comments about dark-skinned islanders here. In general, I’ve found Verne to be more enlightened than many of his contemporaries, but he was still guilty of the ignorance and prejudices of his era.

There isn’t much mystery to this “Californian Mystery.” Verne sets up the plot so that every event is telegraphed well ahead of time. You’d have to be ten years old or less not to see where this story is going. Everything is so obvious that it must have been intentional by Verne to let the audience in on secrets to which Godfrey and Artelett are not privy. Does that strategy pay off? Well, so-so. This isn’t one of Verne’s more intelligent or exciting novels, but it is moderately fun, and the characters are likable. If you’ve read any of Verne beyond his two or three more famous books, then you probably know what to expect, and Godfrey Morgan neither disappoints nor exceeds those expectations.

Trouble in Mind: Bob Dylan’s Gospel Years—What Really Happened by Clinton Heylin

More than most fans want to know, and not who you want to hear it from

Although I’m not a true Christian believer, I love Bob Dylan’s gospel period. He made some fine rock and roll from 1979 to 1981 and assembled some excellent musicians to perform it. Dylan’s born-again Christian spell, which encompassed the albums Slow Train Coming, Saved, and Shot of Love, is generally not well-regarded by critics or fans. At the time, some concert-goers expressed outrage that Dylan was only playing his new Christian rock tunes in concert while ignoring his Greatest Hits. This period in Dylan’s musical career perhaps enjoyed a slight resurgence in appreciation with the release of The Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Trouble No More in 2017. To capitalize on the release of that official collection of previously unreleased material, frequent Dylan biographer Clinton Heylin published his book Trouble in Mind: Bob Dylan’s Gospel Years—What Really Happened, also released in 2017.

Heylin takes the “What Really Happened” in the subtitle very literally. His main concern here is to establish a detailed chronology of events, such as the first time Dylan played “Slow Train” in a rehearsal, the first time he attended the Vineyard Christian Fellowship in LA, the last time he played “Saved” in concert, and so on. In great detail, Heylin recaps every recording session, tour rehearsal, concert performance, and on-stage sermon that took place over these three years, as well as newspaper and magazine reviews of Dylan’s concerts and Dylan’s reactions to those reviews. Much attention is accorded to any change in concert playlist or album track selection. It’s a lot of trivial detail, but as a Dylan fan, and in particular a fan of this period, I found all this interesting. Heylin’s research is commendable. If you don’t mind seeing the trees rather than the forest, this book is for you. If, however, you really want to understand Dylan’s religious beliefs, the religious content of his songs, or why he embarked on this gospel trip in the first place, you’re not going to find that here. Thankfully, however, we have Scott Marshall’s excellent 2017 book Bob Dylan: A Spiritual Life to enlighten us on such deeper matters.

What I really don’t like about Trouble in Mind is Heylin’s tone and attitude. First of all, his prose reads as if it were written for a group of his buddies. It’s rather casual and snarky, and Heylin seems too pleased with his own clever turns of phrase. When you’re acting as a journalist and a historian, whether you like it or not, write with a little professionalism and formality. This isn’t a fanzine. Even if you hate Heylin’s prose, however, much of the text is quoted from other sources that are better written.

After reading this book, I have to ask, does Heylin even like Dylan’s music? He certainly doesn’t care much for this gospel era. He frequently states that Saved and Shot of Love are terrible albums, full of lackluster performances. Obviously, I like this period of Dylan’s career or I wouldn’t be reading your book, so why would I want to read about how much this music sucks? Heylin frequently repeats the old chestnut that the studio recordings don’t hold up to the live performances, which is the same gripe you often hear from your friends who like to brag about how many concerts they’ve seen. Heylin thinks it’s his god-given mission to inform you of what he considers Dylan’s every fault and stupid mistake in these three years of his career, whether it’s songs he left off albums, records delivered later than promised, unproductive rehearsal sessions, or song arrangements that Heylin didn’t agree with. This is a relentlessly negative portrait of Dylan as a sloppy, foolish, absent-minded buffoon that the reader is supposed to chuckle along with. Heylin writes as if he’s too good for Dylan. No, you’re not better than the guy you make your living off of. We know he’s quirky, makes messy music, and sometimes weird decisions, but he’s still the greatest rock singer-songwriter of all time and a deserving Nobel laureate. Marshall wrote a book that treats him as such. Heylin has not.

A Dream of John Ball by William Morris

Renaissance fair socialism

William Morris (1834–1896) was an English author, visual artist, textile designer, and socialist agitator. As the most prominent artist in the British Arts and Crafts movement, Morris created drawings, paintings, book illustrations, fabrics, furniture, and stained glass windows that harkened back to the Middle Ages. He was also a rather prolific man of letters, and his literary works, not surprisingly, were likewise often set in medieval times. His novel A Dream of John Ball was published in 1888.

The narrator of the novel is a present-day Englishman of the 1880s who falls asleep and dreams himself back into the Middle Ages. Specifically, he finds himself amid the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, a rebellion that swept across large portions of England. Serfs fighting for the right to own property and be their own masters rose up in arms against the regime of King Richard II. The narrator falls into a band of such rebels in County Kent. The inspirational leader of this cadre of freedom fighters is John Ball, a real-life clergyman whom Morris portrays as a sort of Robin Hood figure. Jack Straw, another historical figure from the revolt, also appears in the novel.

After quickly being accepted into this band of rebels, the narrator fights along side them in an encounter with the king’s forces. In this battle that takes up roughly the first half of the novel, Morris indulges his ardor for medieval culture, lovingly describing in vivid detail all the garments, weaponry, and accoutrements of these 14th-century warriors. This extended action sequence reads like a few chapters disembodied from Ivanhoe or some other Sir Walter Scott novel. There’s much medieval pageantry and heroic derring-do but not much of a story. Morris emphasizes the fellowship between these daring and forthright men while implying that such fellowship no longer exists in the modern world. In Morris’s eyes, this picturesque world of medieval farmers and craftsmen would have been an idyllic utopia, were it not for the oppression they endured under feudalism.

The second half of the novel is an improvement over the first. When the narrator finally sits down to talk to John Ball, the story actually goes somewhere and has a purpose. Ball can somehow sense that his conversation partner is a visitor from the future. He asks the narrator if his dream of equality and brotherhood of man will ever come to fruition. The narrator regrettably informs Ball that although serfdom and feudalism would cease to exist in England, men will still be bound as wage-slaves within an oppressive system run by greedy oligarchs. Although much has changed in half a millennium, the ultimate status of the common man has changed little. He proceeds to explain capitalism in lingo evocative of the Middle Ages, with many thees and thous and the use of antiquated words like “villeins” and “thralls” instead of “serfs” or “proletariats.” The Peasant’s Revolt is regarded by some radicals as an inspirational prototype (albeit unsuccessful) for a socialist revolution. While there is no hope for John Ball’s rebels, Morris encourages readers of 1888 to hold out hope for an overthrow of the oligarchy and freedom for the common man.

Morris is regarded as a pioneer of the science fiction and fantasy genres in English literature. A Dream of John Ball is merely a baby step in that direction. The only science fiction element is the time travel, which takes place in a dream and therefore could just be the narrator’s imagination. A couple years after this novel, Morris would write a more overtly sci-fi and more overtly socialist work, News from Nowhere, which is superior to A Dream of John Ball in just about every way I can think of. Nevertheless, the second half of A Dream of John Ball is well-conceived, eloquently executed, and daringly outspoken for its time.