Marooned on a desert island
April 18, 2004 | 12:00am
Allowing oneself to be drawn into a selection of one’s favorite book is not unlike deliberately painting oneself into a corner, only worse. It is impractical and pointless, similar to being asked the one thing preferred on a desert island – the first things that come to mind are the Internet and several good books. And therein lies the crux of the matter: the sheer impossibility of choosing just one book. After all, what one chooses to read at an airport lounge is not necessarily what one curls up with in bed. Pressed for an answer, you vacillate and deliberate on the inspiring, life-changing, improving, fun or comforting books. How does one decide between Jane Austen and AJ Cronin? Thoreau and Theroux? Will one’s character remain sound without Tolstoy or Grimm? Will the incessant surf be as soothing as Marcus Aurelius? Is one willing to spend Cien Año de Soledad without Pope? Or face old age alone without the comfort of Jeeves around or of seeing Manderley again?
One could always take the coward‘s way out and invoke the teachings of Gautama, the Buddha as the straight and narrow of one‘ s life, immediately making the listener’s eyes glaze over. Or, with more aplomb, proclaim yourself an adherent of Jesus Christ (and by implication admitting the Bible as your favorite), earning ready fraternity from 990 millions while presumably inciting deep annoyance (or even inclusion in some kind of list) among certain inhabitants from 40 degrees latitude down the equator.
Pressed for a specific answer, you temporize and ask for reprieve. Limit the choices to English fiction published in the early 18th-century and the landscape clears considerably. Still daunting, but considerably easier. Shut one’s eyes and call out The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, published in 1719. This is the book that inspired generations of girls and boys to go exploring, build tree houses or live in caves (and not, as some would have you believe, because of some irresistible Neanderthal stirring), gave us the no-longer-pejorative "Man Friday" and in all probability the same book that initiated the trick question we are addressing.
The language, though a bit pedantic, is simple and forthright, as easily understandable today as it was nearly 300 years ago. In fact, the formal 18th-century English gives the whole thing an added urgency, a sort of sahib among the gibbering darkies piquancy.
In Wilkie Collins 1868 novel The Moonstone, the character of Gabriel Betteredge refused to begin any undertaking without first consulting his Crusoe. To him it was a combination almanac, oracle, Baedeker and comfort. So complete was his reliance and belief in Defoe’s hero that he believed everyday events to be mirrored or foretold in various chapters throughout the book. Robinson Crusoe himself is uncomplicated and straightforward, a man’s man whose essential decency and goodness comes shining through in all his actions and decisions. His White Man’s quaint understanding of a native’s character is both amusing and sadly revealing of the manner in which Empire was relentlessly instituted, not to mention the circumstances that brought about the dodo’s demise. To Crusoe, the native Friday is essentially heathen, therefore not to be trusted. Although Friday eventually proves to be an exemplary human being, Crusoe attributes this to his influence and only latterly, to Friday’s fundamental goodness. Aside from this understandable politically-incorrect lapse, the rest of the book is captivating.
An added fillip is it is not a "can’t put it down" book; one can put it down at any time and resume at any point without losing thread. The entire narrative is full of instructive anecdotes from basic survival to animal husbandry. His sketch of his man Friday makes you want to meet Friday in the flesh; he could be describing the average Filipino male.
While not really the book, Robinson Crusoe certainly has all the makings to meet the specs put down here (by National Bookstore and The Philippine Star): adventure, travel, violence, indomitable will, unshakable faith, perseverance, timelessness. More importantly, it can stand repeated readings of up to three or four times a year.
In truth there should be no one book that can become one’s favorite. You can have a moment’s favorite, you can have all-time favorites, but no single one. To do so will be a soul-deadening, fruitless self-denial. For anyone who has ever voluntarily read a book will invariably read another. And yet another. There are plenty of good books and several ought to be favorites. This is the reason the Nobel, Pulitzer and Ramon Magsaysay awards are conferred annually. With each year comes another lot to chose from. A novel way to look at life, a whole new set of eyes with which to see the world.
In 2004, the riddle of the desert island has been rendered moot: I’ll go for an iridium satellite phone with a Magellan GPS. Barring that, may I request this isle be continental, somewhere south of the 38th parallel and please make it north of the Tropic of Cancer.
One could always take the coward‘s way out and invoke the teachings of Gautama, the Buddha as the straight and narrow of one‘ s life, immediately making the listener’s eyes glaze over. Or, with more aplomb, proclaim yourself an adherent of Jesus Christ (and by implication admitting the Bible as your favorite), earning ready fraternity from 990 millions while presumably inciting deep annoyance (or even inclusion in some kind of list) among certain inhabitants from 40 degrees latitude down the equator.
Pressed for a specific answer, you temporize and ask for reprieve. Limit the choices to English fiction published in the early 18th-century and the landscape clears considerably. Still daunting, but considerably easier. Shut one’s eyes and call out The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, published in 1719. This is the book that inspired generations of girls and boys to go exploring, build tree houses or live in caves (and not, as some would have you believe, because of some irresistible Neanderthal stirring), gave us the no-longer-pejorative "Man Friday" and in all probability the same book that initiated the trick question we are addressing.
The language, though a bit pedantic, is simple and forthright, as easily understandable today as it was nearly 300 years ago. In fact, the formal 18th-century English gives the whole thing an added urgency, a sort of sahib among the gibbering darkies piquancy.
In Wilkie Collins 1868 novel The Moonstone, the character of Gabriel Betteredge refused to begin any undertaking without first consulting his Crusoe. To him it was a combination almanac, oracle, Baedeker and comfort. So complete was his reliance and belief in Defoe’s hero that he believed everyday events to be mirrored or foretold in various chapters throughout the book. Robinson Crusoe himself is uncomplicated and straightforward, a man’s man whose essential decency and goodness comes shining through in all his actions and decisions. His White Man’s quaint understanding of a native’s character is both amusing and sadly revealing of the manner in which Empire was relentlessly instituted, not to mention the circumstances that brought about the dodo’s demise. To Crusoe, the native Friday is essentially heathen, therefore not to be trusted. Although Friday eventually proves to be an exemplary human being, Crusoe attributes this to his influence and only latterly, to Friday’s fundamental goodness. Aside from this understandable politically-incorrect lapse, the rest of the book is captivating.
An added fillip is it is not a "can’t put it down" book; one can put it down at any time and resume at any point without losing thread. The entire narrative is full of instructive anecdotes from basic survival to animal husbandry. His sketch of his man Friday makes you want to meet Friday in the flesh; he could be describing the average Filipino male.
While not really the book, Robinson Crusoe certainly has all the makings to meet the specs put down here (by National Bookstore and The Philippine Star): adventure, travel, violence, indomitable will, unshakable faith, perseverance, timelessness. More importantly, it can stand repeated readings of up to three or four times a year.
In truth there should be no one book that can become one’s favorite. You can have a moment’s favorite, you can have all-time favorites, but no single one. To do so will be a soul-deadening, fruitless self-denial. For anyone who has ever voluntarily read a book will invariably read another. And yet another. There are plenty of good books and several ought to be favorites. This is the reason the Nobel, Pulitzer and Ramon Magsaysay awards are conferred annually. With each year comes another lot to chose from. A novel way to look at life, a whole new set of eyes with which to see the world.
In 2004, the riddle of the desert island has been rendered moot: I’ll go for an iridium satellite phone with a Magellan GPS. Barring that, may I request this isle be continental, somewhere south of the 38th parallel and please make it north of the Tropic of Cancer.
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