On the Makaloa Mat by Jack London

London’s Hawaiian swan song
On the Makaloa Mat is a collection of seven short stories by Jack London, all of which are set in Hawaii. The book was published posthumously in 1919, and contains some of the last stories he wrote before his death. They are all tales of love, family, or friendship, told against the background of Hawaiian history, customs, and lore. Often they focus on the interaction between two dichotomous characters—one representing the old, authentic ways of Hawaiian life; the other representing the new, modern Hawaii under the “civilizing” influence of white colonization. London compares and contrasts these two sides of island life without playing favorites.

The best story in the book is “Shin-Bones,” in which a modern, Oxford-educated Hawaiian prince recalls a life-changing adventure from his youth. To satisfy his superstitious mother’s obsession with bone collecting, he accompanied an aged servant on a perilous quest to recover the hidden remains of his ancestors. In a story of similar subject matter, “The Bones of Kahekili,” a wealthy, white rancher persuades his elderly servant to reveal the whereabouts of the remains of an old Hawaiian chieftain and the mysterious events surrounding his burial. “The Tears of Ah Kim” tells the story of a Chinese grocer in Honolulu who incurs the wrath of his aged mother when he reveals his intention to marry a young widow. Mother feels the bride-to-be is too modern, too liberal, and too westernized for her son. In “The Water Baby,” an educated young Hawaiian man is treated to a folk tale while he accompanies a poor, elderly fisherman on a squid hunt. “The Kanaka Surf,” about a love triangle in Waikiki, is easily the worst story in the book. Modern romance was never London’s strong suit.

The stories in this collection exemplify London’s mature writing style, for better or for worse. Over the course of his career, London’s skill as a writer developed immensely. He was a much more proficient wordsmith at the end of his career than he was when he started. As he gained confidence and facility in his writing, his plots became more complex, his characters more fully realized, and his insight into human psychology more subtle and nuanced. Yet, much of his later work lacks the forceful directness and simple, crowd-pleasing fun of his earlier work. In his later years, he developed an annoying tendency to riddle his stories with unnecessary tangential digressions. By throwing in everything but the kitchen sink, he comes across as overly concerned with showing off his erudition and wit at the expense of a satisfying plot. In the stories included here, for example, each character is introduced with a detailed genealogical pedigree. Places casually mentioned in conversation are almost invariably accompanied by a superfluous side story of “Remember what happened there?” At times the dialogue resembles two people reading the index of a Hawaiian atlas. All the local color and atmosphere that London heaps into these tales adds authenticity to the setting but hinders the narrative momentum. The stories in this collection are all rather long, and most seem overloaded with gratuitous filler.

On the Makaloa Mat is a good collection of stories, but not one of London’s best. As far as his Hawaiian stories go, his earlier collection The House of Pride and Other Stories is better overall. Nevertheless, a few of the gems included here make this book necessary reading for true fans of London.

Stories in this collection

On the Makaloa Mat 

The Bones of Kahekili 

When Alice Told Her Soul 

Shin-Bones 

The Water Baby 

The Tears of Ah Kim 

The Kanaka Surf 

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The Doings of Raffles Haw by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Being an eccentric millionaire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be
Though Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is obviously best known for his tales of Sherlock Holmes, the adventures of that great detective comprise less than half of the author’s prodigious literary output. Conan Doyle wrote dozens of other works in such diverse genres as mystery, science fiction, horror, and historical fiction. The Doings of Raffles Haw, however, does not fit neatly into any of these categories. Originally published in 1891, this delightful work is an unconventional fable on the dangers and woes of possessing great wealth. Cleverly crafted and thoroughly entertaining, it makes a great read for any Conan Doyle fan who’s looking to venture beyond his detective stories.

Siblings Robert and Laura McIntyre live in the rural English town of Tamfield, near Birmingham, with their father, a bankrupt and embittered former gun manufacturer. Their lives are altered irrevocably when a mysterious new neighbor comes to town, taking up residence in the immense house he has constructed next door. The family soon make the acquaintance of this mystery man, who may possibly be the richest man in the world. Raffles Haw is an odd and eccentric, but likable, character. A visit to his palatial estate is like a page from a Richie Rich comic book. Everything one could want is available at the push of a button or the pull of a lever. Raffles Haw does not revel in his luxury, however. He sees his wealth as an immense responsibility. He considers it his duty to spend his fortune and circulate his money in order to keep the world’s economy functioning. He earnestly searches for humanitarian projects that will better mankind, but continually realizes that every beneficence he bestows is accompanied by an unexpected, negative consequence. The influence of his great wealth even begins to effect the McIntyre family, driving them to envy, dishonesty, idleness, and suspicion. Father, son, and daughter alike are nagged by a persistent riddle: Just how did Raffles Haw make all this money anyway?

One of the joys of the book is that Raffles Haw, as bizarre as he is, is really the only truly good person in the book. Though his personal integrity has not been tainted by his vast fortune, proximity to his money brings out the selfish motives of everyone else in the book. Although there are moments when Conan Doyle offers serious insight into the effects of greed on human nature, for the most part the novel is relatively lighthearted in tone. The descriptions of the millionaire’s home and his plans to better the world often reach comically fantastical heights, causing some to question his sanity. Though his grand schemes sometimes depend on the erroneous science of a century ago, as in the works of Jules Verne or H.G. Wells, instances of questionable physics and chemistry are forgivable when their sheer visionary ingenuity is a pleasure to read.

Of the half dozen or so non-Holmes books I’ve read by Conan Doyle, The Doings of Raffles Haw is by far my favorite. It is a fun and imaginative tale, penned by a master storyteller, starring one truly unforgettable character. Raffles Haw should be a familiar expression in the English language, as in, “That Richard Branson is such a Raffles Haw!” or “Bill Gates, the Raffles Haw of Silicon Valley.” Alas, it’s unlikely such notoriety will ever come to pass, but anyone willing to pluck this novel from obscurity and devote a few enjoyable hours to reading it will certainly not regret it.
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Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street by Herman Melville

Philosophical allegory or ridiculous farce?

Herman Melville
Portrait by Joseph O. Eaton

Bartleby, the Scrivener, a novella by Herman Melville, was originally published in 1853. The story is related in the first person by an unnamed narrator—an elderly attorney who runs a small law office on Wall Street. He is assisted in his practice by three clerks, or scriveners, known only by the nicknames of Turkey, Nippers, and Ginger Nut. When prosperous times lead the narrator to add another scrivener to his firm, he hires a mild-mannered fellow named Bartleby for the position. Bartleby performs his duties competently at first, but his performance gradually wanes as he simply refuses to do what is asked of him. To all his employer’s commands, Bartleby responds placidly with the simple statement, “I would prefer not to.” The narrator, through a mixture of saintly patience, an overdeveloped sense of propriety, and a brotherly sympathy for this poor and pitiful scrivener, responds to his inactive employee with more compassion and tolerance than seems humanly possible, until eventually Bartleby’s presence becomes unbearable. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tries, the flabbergasted lawyer cannot manage to rid himself of this useless and hopelessly passive little man who has established himself as a fixture in the office.

There are no doubt great philosophical depths to the story of Bartleby. Like Melville’s classic novel Moby-Dick, there is an ambiguity to the piece that opens itself up to multiple interpretations. One could see Bartleby as an admirable exemplar of tenacious human will or as an embodiment of disgraceful societal apathy. Despite Bartleby’s bizarre behavior, his employer comes across as even more deranged for putting up with him for so long. Perhaps Melville is making a satirical or symbolic statement about the social or political climate of his times. I must confess, however, that if there was indeed a valuable moral lesson to be learned here, it was lost on me. My enjoyment of this piece stems not so much from an appreciation for any deep, philosophical or metaphorical meaning, but rather from the fact that I just found it hilarious. The frustrated attempts by the flustered narrator to exorcise himself of Bartleby are an absolute joy to read. Those who only know Melville from Moby-Dick will be pleasantly surprised by his sense of humor, which is apparent in many of his writings, but nowhere more so than here. The characters are insightfully drawn caricatures, like those in some of the more comical novels of Charles Dickens. Though the piece was written 160 years ago, it is surprisingly modern. There is an absurdist quality to it that is more in keeping with the works of Eugene Ionesco, Samuel Beckett, or Franz Kafka. The weakest part of the novella is its ending, when Melville makes an attempt to justify Bartleby’s behavior, for it is an incongruous departure from the absurdist tone maintained throughout the rest of the story.

Bartleby, the Scrivener is a story that was years ahead of its time, and it remains relevant and entertaining to the reader of today. It is a far cry from Melville’s sea stories, so even if you’re not a fan of works like Moby-Dick or Typee that’s no indication of whether or not you will appreciate this unconventional work. Anyone who enjoys classic American literature should give Bartleby a try. It is one of the more exceptional pieces of short fiction in 19th-century American literature.
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King Solomon’s Mines by H. Rider Haggard

Still plenty of fight left in this grizzled old-timer
Originally published in 1885, H. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon's Mines is a ground breaking adventure novel that has had an indelible influence on popular literature and film. By establishing the subgenre of “Lost World” novels—in which an intrepid explorer ventures into the wilderness to discover a lost civilization—it ignited an explosion of adventure literature, pulp fiction, and motion pictures. Despite showing some signs of age, this renowned classic of its genre still packs plenty of excitement and entertainment for the modern reader.

The story of King Solomon’s Mines is told through the first-person perspective of Allan Quartermain, a veteran big-game hunter and native Englishman living in South Africa. Although in the movie adaptations of Haggard’s books Quartermain is often portrayed by handsome, burly action heroes, Haggard’s take on the character is far less heroic. In King Solomon’s Mines, Quartermain is described as elderly, wiry, and, by his own admission, cowardly. Nevertheless, when danger presents itself, this is one coward who rises to the occasion. Because of his expertise in the African bush, Quartermain is invited by Sir Henry Curtis to accompany him on an expedition into uncharted Africa in search of Sir Henry’s long lost brother, who years ago had set off on a hunt for the diamond mines of the biblical King Solomon and never returned. Although Quartermain considers it a suicide mission, he agrees to go along with Sir Henry and his companion Captain John Good, a retired navy man, on the condition that Sir Henry make arrangements to insure the financial security of Quartermain’s son. Once that’s settled, the three white men, accompanied by their African servants and armed with an old treasure map, set off on a perilous trek across a vast desert toward a distant, mysterious mountain range where, rumour has it, untold riches await.

Despite being written over a century and a quarter ago, there’s surprisingly little racism in this book. For today’s reader, the most offensive scene in the novel may be the killing of nine elephants for their ivory. In terms of its portrayal of the African characters, Haggard displays a surprising amount of political correctness for his time. The book does feel antiquated in some respects, however, most notably in the nineteenth-century pacing of its plot. Though King Solomon’s Mines was strikingly original for its time, after 100 years worth of adventure novels and lost treasure films, much of it will seem familiar to the 21st-century reader. For today’s audience, there are few unforeseen plot twists here. When a battle takes place between two warring tribes of African natives, for example, Haggard provides a thrilling blow-by-blow narrative of the combat, but the outcome of the conflict is never really in question. The dubious reward for being so influential and inspiring so many imitators is that it now feels somewhat conventional, clichéd, and predictable. When compared to comparable novels of its time, however, King Solomon’s Mines is more compelling than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, and is worlds better than Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan of the Apes.

Readers expecting this book to compete with the fast-paced, nonstop action of today’s thrillers will most likely be disappointed by King Solomon’s Mines, but enthusiasts of classic adventure fiction—those who appreciate the “classic” as much as the “adventure”—will find it a fun and enjoyable expedition.
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Raylan: A Novel by Elmore Leonard

An odd hybrid of Justified and Leonard’s previous novels
Elmore Leonard first introduced readers to Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens in the 1993 novel Pronto, then quickly followed it up with Riding the Rap, and later delved deeper into the character’s origins in the 2001 short story “Fire in the Hole.” A lot has happened to Raylan since then, of course. He now has his own television series, Justified on FX. Leonard’s latest novel, simply entitled Raylan, although published in 2012, was written before the second season of the TV show. While the first season of Justified was pretty faithful to “Fire in the Hole,” they did depart from Leonard’s writings in many instances, creating new characters and plot lines. With this new novel, Leonard now has the opportunity to reciprocate by borrowing ideas from the show. In turn, the writers of the show have heavily mined this novel’s characters and plot for the second, third, and fourth seasons of Justified, though altering them liberally. The result is a strange correspondence between Leonard’s writings and the TV show. Though often identical, at times they are like parallel universes.

When Raylan and fellow marshal Rachel Brooks set out to apprehend a drug dealer named Angel Arenas, they find him in a bath tub full of ice with his kidneys removed. The next day, the mysterious organ thief tries to sell Angel’s kidneys right back to him. Raylan figures Angel’s associates the Crowes are involved in the scheme. This marijuana dealing family consists of patriarch Pervis Crowe and his dim-witted sons Coover and Dickie. Fans of Justified will recognize these characters as Coover and Dickie Bennett. Their father Pervis was replaced by mama Mags Bennett, one of the more unforgettable characters in the show’s run. This is just one instance of how the two narratives differ. In Leonard’s world, to offer another example, Raylan has kids, though they are only mentioned and never seen.

Leonard is known for his snappy, intelligent dialogue, and he plays to his strength here. The book is at least 90% dialogue, and reads very much like a screenplay. In fact, it could have benefited from less talk and more action. The brief gunfights are hardly suspenseful, as the characters can barely shut up long enough to draw their weapons. Perhaps the most disappointing thing about Raylan is that it’s not really a novel, but rather a collection of three episodes. After the kidney thief story line is resolved in the first hundred pages, Leonard just moves on to another matter entirely. There’s little continuity from beginning to end, and thus none of the complex overall structure that one expects from a book subtitled “A Novel”. Fans of Leonard’s writing who don’t watch Justified might find themselves a little lost in this book. Viewers of the show seem to be his intended audience. On the other hand, Justified enthusiasts may find the book too light and fluffy for their tastes. Leonard softens many of the harder, grittier edges of his story in favor of a more comedic approach. Toward the end of the book there are a couple of near slapstick scenes which are too over-the-top to be believable.

Ultimately, the character of Raylan Givens has been molded and shaped by actor Timothy Olyphant to the point where it’s not wholly Leonard’s creation anymore. Although he incorporates elements from Justified in this book, it only sporadically captures the spirit of the show. When judged solely on its merits as a Leonard novel, it’s good but nothing spectacular. “Fire in the Hole” is still the best Raylan story Leonard has ever written.
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The Little Lady of the Big House by Jack London

Love among the flawless
Dick Forrest owns a sizeable chunk of farmland in northern California. A thoroughly modern agriculturalist, he raises all manner of livestock and crops, all of the highest quality, using the latest, most advanced scientific methods. Ensconced within these fertile lands is his home, a palatial estate combining the best of traditional and modern architecture. In his youth Dick led a life of adventure, and now that he has put down some roots, he applies the same adventurous spirit to his agricultural ventures. Sharing in this pleasant and prosperous life is his wife Paula, an exceptionally attractive woman who likewise succeeds at all she touches. She plays piano like a professional pianist and breeds horses like a professor of animal husbandry. This remarkable couple surrounds themselves with a rotating entourage of family, friends, and scholars. Every night is a dinner party in which wine and song are accompanied by spirited debates on various and sundry topics. Thus the reader is treated to chapters on philosophy, music, poetry, animal husbandry, and—not uncommon for London—the superiority of the white race. Into this eclectic intellectual enclave wanders Evan Graham, an old friend who is described as being almost exactly like Dick, but a bachelor. He quickly develops an attraction towards Paula, admires her secretly, and tries to ascertain if the feeling is mutual.

That’s pretty much all that happens for the first twenty chapters. Most of the book consists of the many dinner-party and horseback-ride conversations on London’s pet subjects. The story of Dick Forrest is like a fantasy autobiography for London. Anything London ever dabbled in, Dick excels at. He runs the kind of farm London would want to run, he lives in the house London would love to build, and he’s married to the perfect woman of London’s dreams. Because of his affinity for Dick and Paula, London spends so much time describing this idealized couple and their varied interests that there’s very little room left for plot.

Thankfully, in the latter third of the book, the love triangle actually gets quite interesting. To its credit, The Little Lady of the Big House is rarely boring. It’s just rather weird. Typically, the success of a love story hinges on how well the reader can identify with the characters. Today’s readers, however, will likely find they have more in common with medieval kings and queens than with Dick and Paula Forrest. Often in literature a character’s faults contribute to the situation they find themselves in, but that’s not the case here, simply because London doesn’t allow his three lead characters to have any faults.

The dialogue throughout is a mixture of pretentious poetry, intellectual posturing, and self-invented slang that is so removed from actual speech it effectively divorces the story from reality. Dick is frequently asked to compose impromptu songs, which he does with relish. (“Hear me! I am Eros! I stamp upon the hills!”) The Forrests have Native American pet names for each other. They refer to their Asian servants by the demeaning appellations of Ah Ha, Oh My, and Oh Dear. Only in Jack London’s house, perhaps, would people ever speak in this way. In fact, The Little Lady of the Big House, originally published in 1916, is less valuable for its literary merits than for what it says about Jack London. Scholars and fans of his work, looking for insight into his philosophies of life, love, and death; his views on agricultural science; his favorite leisure activities, cocktails, songs, and poems; will find plenty of material here. In terms of literary quality it is a mediocre novel at best, but it’s a pleasantly unconventional work that only London could have written.
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The Returning Wave by Boleslaw Prus

A brief but profoundly moving masterwork
The Returning Wave is a short novel of about 100 pages by Polish author Boleslaw Prus, originally published in 1880. An English translation of the novel by Else C. M. Benecke and Marie Busch is included in their collection More Tales by Polish Authors, and Amazon also sells a bilingual Polish and English edition in paperback, under its Polish title of Powracajaca Fala. I have only read the English version, but I can say that this is an excellent little piece of literature that’s worth reading in any language.

Two childhood friends, Martin Boehme and Gottlieb Adler, grew up together in Germany. As adults, they are neighbors and friends in a small town in Poland. Boehme is the town’s protestant pastor, while Adler owns the textile factory and is the town’s primary employer. Adler is a self-made man who worked his way up from nothing to a position of wealth. His motivation for hard work is the hope of someday living a life of leisure, yet he becomes so addicted to work that he little enjoys the riches he has acquired. Adler allows his son Ferdinand to live an idle, self-indulgent life, so that the father may live vicariously through the young man’s frivolous adventures. Adler looks forward to the day when his savings reach a million roubles, so he can retire and travel the world with his son. In the meantime, Ferdinand racks up tremendous debts, which Adler transfers to his factory laborers through economizing measures which extend the workers hours and lower their wages. Adler considers his wealth and power equivalent to the divine right of kings. He consciously exploits the lower classes and sees himself as immune to any repercussions for doing so. Under his iron hand, however, the workers begin to show signs of unrest.

Prus does an expert job of shifting perspective between Adler, Boehme, Ferdinand, and the workers. The characters are all superbly well-drawn, and the plot is captivating. This story has a fabulistic tone that resembles the better morality tales of Honoré de Balzac. The title refers to a conversation between two characters in the book. One speaker uses ripples or waves in the water as a metaphor for what is essentially the concept of karma—the idea that if you do bad things they will eventually come back to haunt you, like a wave returning to shore. Despite the ethical lessons being taught, the story never departs from the naturalistic realm of gritty reality. Prus displays a social consciousness and a precision of detail reminiscent of some of Emile Zola’s best novels. The Returning Wave is just one example of how the great authors of Polish literature—though lesser known than their French, Russian, or English counterparts—deserve a place of renown among the highest ranks of world literature.
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