Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome (novel #106)

This is my first read of Three Men in a Boat, though I've read some of JKJ's short stories.

Three Men in a Boat is a comic novel and the first-person narrative of “J” and recounts the tale of a boating trip down the Thames with two friends, George and Harris…to say nothing of the dog Montmorency. I understand the book was originally intended to be a serious travel guide, and indeed it does include some genuine information about historical points along the route, but I got the distinct feeling that Jerome could not resist injecting his droll wit. It is a marvelous farce.

Pleasure boating on the Thames was all the rage, and the reader is quite aware that the three would-be boatmen – were not at all qualified – but rather chose the outing to be chic and sophisticated. They failed.

I was prepared to love this book, but to be honest, I was just a bit disappointed. I definitely prefer Jerome K. Jerome’s short stories or essays. Three Men in a Boat is funny, but not hilarious, enjoyable but not riveting.

A few excerpts to demonstrate Jerome’s signature prose dripping with sarcasm or oozing with satire.

When George is hanged, Harris will be the worst packer in this world 

I don’t know why it should be, I am sure; but the sight of another man asleep in bed when I am up, maddens me. 

People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained. 

…and I yearn for the good old days, when you could go about and tell people what you thought of them with a hatchet and a bow and arrows. 

It must have been worth while having a mere ordinary plague now and then in London to get rid of both the lawyers and the Parliament.

And a few excerpts to show the elegance of prose he can write with when he chooses.

From the dim woods on either bank, Night’s ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rear-guard of the light, and pass, with noiseless unseen feet, above the waving river-grass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her somber throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.  

It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk, and left the quiet earth alone with the stars. It seemed as if, in the silence and the hush, while we her children slept, they were talking with her, their sister – conversing of mighty mysteries in voices too vast and deep for childish human ears to catch the sound.

My Rating: 3 ½ of 5 stars

 

This novel satisfies – Back to the Classics Challenge 2018 – Category: a classic travel or journey narrative.

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Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow by Jerome K. Jerome

Let us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that never will be ours again. Our work lies in front, not behind us… ~ Jerome K. Jerome

 

The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow is a collection of short essays by Jerome K. Jerome, who is best known for Three Men in a Boat.

If you are reading this, hopefully you know a bit about my Quest, to read the 100 Greatest Novels of All Time. And now you do regardless. It is important to know this, in order to appreciate something Jerome says in the preface: All I can suggest is that when you get tired of reading “the best hundred books,” you may take this up for half an hour. It will be a change.

And that’s exactly what I did, and it was a wonderful change.

This book satisfies square N2 of 2015 Classics Bingo: Short Story Collection. I'm not giving ratings to books that are not part of my Quest, don't ask why, I just decided not to, but if I did, this would get 4 1/2 stars.

What a marvelous book. It is filled with Jerome’s delightful wit as well as his profound wisdom. That is not empty praise. I am quite impressed with Jerome’s worldview, as well as his self-view. His humor is wonderful, but he truly sees the world, and humanity, with insight and understanding.

For a man of heralded talent and acclaim, he doesn’t take himself very seriously. He also apparently doesn’t feel compelled to portray the tortured artist, that is so cliché. If I were a drinking man, I’d love to lift a pint or two with Ole Jerome.

Ya gotta admit, he even has a fun name.

Excerpts:

It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do.

I do like cats. They are so unconsciously amusing. There is such a comic dignity about them, such a “How dare you!” “Go away, don’t touch me” sort of air. Now, there is nothing haughty about a dog. They are “Hail, fellow, well met” with every Tom, Dick, or Harry that they come across.

Alexander and Caesar fought for their own ends, but in doing so they put a belt of civilization half round the earth.

Foolish people – when I say “foolish people” in this contemptuous way I mean people who entertain different opinions to mine. If there is one person I do despise more than another, it is the man who does not think exactly the same on all topics as I do…

Speaking of a long lost friend: How pleasant it would be to meet his jovial face again, to clasp his strong hand, and to hear his cheery laugh once more! He owes me 14 shillings, too.

Speaking of the phrase “loved as man never loved before”:  …by the way, it’s really extraordinary what a variety of ways of loving there must be. We all do it as it was never done before. I don’t know how our great-grandchildren will manage. They will have to do it on their heads by their time if they persist in not clashing with any previous method.

“Oh, give me back the good old days of fifty years ago,” has been the cry ever since Adam’s fifty-first birthday.

From all accounts, the world has been getting worse and worse ever since it was created. All I can say is that it must have been a remarkably delightful place when it was first opened to the public, for it is very pleasant even now if you only keep as much as possible in the sunshine and take the rain good-temperedly.

There is no returning on the road of life. The frail bridge of time on which we tread sinks back into eternity at every step we take. The past is gone from us forever. It is gathered in and garnered. It belongs to us no more.