From Publishers Weekly
Avid surfer and island-hopper that he is, Farber frequently writes about the lure of water (On Water; Through a Liquid Mirror). "What is it," he muses, "about this warm ocean that can so obliterate troubles, drain or absorb them...?" From his home in Berkeley, Calif., Farber continually returns to Hawaii where he taught for years, describing Hawaii as "a kind of Vegas; all kinds of mainland human flotsam wash up on its shore," a place where innumerable surfers stare out on a vast expanse awaiting the next swell, a wild wave. During placid seas, a surfer tells him a swell is on the way: "It'll be like first love." But this small, rambling book goes far beyond surfing the watery world. Farber begins with Isla del Coco off the coast of Costa Rica. His sojourn on the mostly uninhabited island is for diving and exploring the realm of the deep, its wonders and its dangers, with vivid speculations on its history of unfound buried treasure troves. He heads for various Pacific stopovers?Fiji, Samoa, California, recalling the well- and little-known who have been there before. Offhand incomplete references to friends at home interrupt the narrative throughout, a disorienting flaw that gives Farber's book a disconnected impact. Perhaps he is trying to create mood, a flow (like water) of thoughts as they happen. Save for a few exceptional passages, Farber's book leaves the impression of aimless drifting and obscures whatever the face of the deep might be. Agent, Ellen Levine.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Kirkus Reviews
Farber (On Water, not reviewed), a faculty member at the University of California, Berkeley, is a lithe, spare stylist who deploys his language as ``art, shield, music, weapon.'' Here he takes concise stock of the miraculous ocean depths, the often sorry histories and the literary associations of certain Pacific outposts: Tonga, the Samoas, Hawaii, among others. The chapters in this short collection read like epigrams--witty, paradoxical riffs over a range of Pacific Ocean subjects, so compressed, the sides of the page appear to bulge outward. The writing is evocative and keen, whether Farber is describing a dive in which hammerheads suddenly swirm above him (he sees himself as an overwhelmed turret gunner: ``Bandits at one o'clock, at two, at five, oh sweet Jesus'') or considering the doings of pirates, the tropes and portents of treasure; or covering the ``old sins, omissions, ghosts, seeking correction, justice'' of Hawaii's shifting moral ground. Walking Pago Pago's streets, he experiences ``not just a time warp but a time woof. Relativity disproved,'' then envisions his pal Richard ``making his appearance in court. His appearance. If you could get past his appearance. If he could.'' Farbers uncanny alertness keeps him busy processing what he sees and hears, all the foreignness of place, and in particular his fascination with and addiction to water. He is equally busy finding and unraveling literary connections--the ``rich and strange commentary from without''--from Melville, Stevenson, et al., to Cicero and Martial and the Celtic poet Amhairghin, and best of all to indigenous writers, Albert Wendt and Epeli Hau'ofa among them. And Farber keeps the book nimble-footed with a number of amusing asides, such as the response he gets from total strangers to shaving his head. Readers will be left with no doubt that for Farber the ocean is aqua cognita (though he would never be so pretentious), a surf-wet tangle of lover, nemesis, black magic, white magic; then again, he ``hope[s] for rideable waves, the sweet deep calm of morning glass. --
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