Customer Reviews

Passage to Juneau

5 star:		(27)
4 star:		(13)
3 star:		(10)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(5)

 

 

If you love sailing, the Northwest, NW Coast Indian art, or Raban's other travel books, you've got to get this one. Leave it to a Brit--especially this shrewd, funny Brit--to see things here that others have missed, and to put them all into perspective with warm, witty prose. His observations about NW Coast Indian art, in particular, are uncanny. I've studied NW Coast Indian art for years, and I've rarely encountered better, more insightful writing about it. Raban describes in lush detail how the images and techniques of NW Coast Indian art are intimately connected with life on the water--an insight that seemingly no one has written about before, not even the great scholars Bill Holm, Bill Reid, and Hilary Stewart. For my money, this is the book of the year about the Pacific Northwest, and one of the best ever. Its only serious rivals recently are Raban's other fine Northwest-related books, "Hunting Mr. Heartbreak" and "Bad Land."

Unlike several fine reviewers here at Amazon.com, I have not previously been exposed to the work of J Raban. As is often my style, I bought the book blind, being interested in the geographical setting of the story. I had half expected to immerse myself in a lengthy, technical and somewhat drowsy account of a sailing voyage conducted in the throes of a midlife crisis. I was very pleasantly surprised to find my preconceptions unraveled within the first three chapters. Raban writes with a depth and sincerity which belies his rather simple (and refreshing) use of narrative. The story of one man's journey on a surprisingly deep and sometimes threatening sea (right here in North America no less) becomes vital when wedded to the parallel journey Raban shares with us of his own changes and demons. The references to George Vancouver skillfully drew atmosphere over the skeleton of what, in a lesser author's pen, would have become a brittle tale of --on this day, I sailed to here-- gruel. Raban does a wonderful job of weaving a cohesive story from divergent threads including events relating to his actual sailing, his father, Northwest Native history and bloody ol' Captain Van. For 450 pages I had trouble putting this book down, and one morning woke up in Ketchikan... until my alarm clock rudely reminded me I was still in Orange County. Yes, it is a personal story, to the point of causing me to feel a little voyeuristic in places. I heartily recommend it.

This is an extraordinary book by a master of the surgical mot juste, a work of vivid imagination, of chilling insight and wisdom, of seafaring history and lore so vivid that you can almost taste the salt, containing within its pages, almost incidentally, poignant evocations of two of life's most crushing passages: the loss of a parent, and the dissolution of a marriage. Until I read "Passage to Juneau," I considered Graham Greene's "Journey Without Maps" to stand alone in the genre, with "The Lawless Roads" not far behind. Raban's work measures up in every respect.

As in his earlier "Coasting", Raban weaves his inner and outer journeys in his classic self-revelatory style. His portrayal of Vancouver's struggles makes a great sub-plot. His descriptive powers zero right in. I've never read a better passage on the fundamental difference between the US and Canada. Raban evokes the spirit of the place and the people in ways that are surprising for just one trip North. His passages about his relationship with his father and daughter Julia are heartfelt and moving. Having spent some years in Southeast Alaska in the early 70's working on the water, it's great to read something other than the typical gushing travel writer's fiction. Raban gives us a very personal glimpse into a unique world. Ranks with McPhee's "Coming into the Country" and Edward Hoagland's "Notes from the Century Before" as one of the best books about the Alaskan experience as well as a very personal voyage of discovery.

The travel book, while being a favourite haunt of writers, has often been ridiculed as `an establishment in literature's red-light district '. Graham Greene, Bruce Chatwin, Paul Theroux, Peter Mattheissen and Jonathan Raban have imbued this genre with respectability. The sea is to Jonathan Raban what the railroads are to his friend Theroux and the songlines were to Chatwin. This lapsed Englishman has meandered down the muddy Mississippi, coasted around Britain and traversed the Atlantic ocean on a freighter. In going to the sea " for the going's sake " he sets sail from Seattle on a solo voyage north in a 35-foot ketch through the Inner Passage -- the water betweenVancouver Island and mainland Canada, then through the Queen Charlotte Sound to the " scribble of islands " at the southern tip of Alaska. There are three voyages here -- the physical, the intellectual and an "Inner Passage" ,of Raban's own the journey within. Replete with sumptious descriptions of the antonym of land, this part autobiography, part exploration and part essay on Kwatkuitl mythology, Raban discovers that the " rougher sea " to quote the 18th century poet William Cowper, is the one that lies within.

Passage to Juneau is travel writing at its very best. Lyrical and soaring at one moment, darkly introspective at another, moods tracing the contours and texture of land and sea along the fantastic inner passage, this book hooks and engages the reader at every level. Raban highlights the interplay and clash of culture from the eighteenth century to the late twentienth, with an utterly unsentimental hand and eye. His rich and polished writing is a joy, and his personal involvement with his material reaches the reader's soul. Highly entertaining, richly informative, adventurous and deeply moving, this is one of the most affecting books I've read in years.

For those interested in the Inside Passage and the shore of the Northwest (West for Canadians), this book is worth the read. It is chuck full of the ocean's hydrology, the native cultures that used to exist, their disappearance, and the history of the white man's first incursion in these waters. Raban's sharp eye gives the reader an outstanding sense of place. However, the book too often digresses into the evolution of English literature and then into Raban himself. He leaves the boat and then takes a tack all the way to England, to his father's funeral, his father's experiences, and his relationship with his father. He could have recounted how the ghost of his father may have visited him during his Passage to Juneau, but the chapter-long digressions are a bit too self-indulgent for a readership ostensibly interested in the Inside Passage and the oceans.

The end of the book is also a bit desultory, making the return trip to Seattle in a matter of a few pages. Better to have skipped the attempt altogether and ended it with the drama that met him in Juneau.

Passage to Juneau is a good book written by a master of the language. A little stronger editing would have made it a great work.

I initially picked up this book hoping for a sentimental journey in the area where I grew up. The inside passage holds a special mystique among Pacific Northwesterners and is generally accepted as the most scenic, challenging, and historic way of getting from Seattle to Alaska. But this book is much more than a travelogue. We get to join Raban on a much more personal journey.
Raban is obviously an experienced seaman, who sets out to explore the inside passage. As we accompany him, it becomes apparent this will be much more than a mere trip to Alaska. He intertwines history, beautiful scenery, and his own personal reflections into a fascinating trip of self discovery. Raban is a gifted writer who can draw you into the journey and the closer you get to Juneau, the more involved you've become. His descriptive prose takes you out of your lounge room and onto the boat with him. If you're looking for action-adventure, this is not it. But for a beautifully written book that parallels the stories of the sea with real life, this is a great read. Highly recommended.

and come back with a glittering haul."

So plans Jonathan Raban, when he begins fitting out his small boat, well-stocked with both supplies and literary works, for a trip up the inner passage from Seattle to Juneau. Raban soon gets on his way to Alaska, the last frontier of North America.

The exploration that Raban undertakes on this voyage occurs both in the outer environment and inside himself. He explores, and describes in lush detail, the spectacular and stunning scenery of the coast. To Raban, these outposts of America and British Columbia represent the best of the sublime - a romantic concept which reveres the fantastic and unexplored in nature. Raban docks at many undiscovered ports, and shares these journeys with the reader. In addition to his travel, however, Raban learns a great deal about himself, particularly about his dual roles as son and father, in the course of the journey. Also woven into the text is a good deal of material about earlier inhabitants of the Inner Passage; both Native Americans and early European explorers of the coastline.

This is a beautiful book about the landscape, the sea, and its meaning to one individual. It is beautifully written and will not easily be forgotten.

Having once sailed the same waters that Raban describes in "Passage to Juneau -- A Sea and Its Meanings," I read with fascination this writer's reponses to the tests and subtle meanings of life on the waters of the Pacific Northwest. He offers a sympathetic portrait of the unlovable and socially bereft George Vancouver, a shrewd insight into the people of the region, and a wonderful sense of the hydraulic mysteries of tide patterns, weather and narrow channels in a place that never hears thunder.

Raban looks deeply into the play of light and shadow on water and draws forth the hidden metaphysical realms of the native peoples. And it is in these descriptions of the scattering of the light that he presages his own emotional changes -- a seeing but not-seeing of storms on the horizon. His work is as dazzling as sunlight scattered on waves and as deceptively deep as the dark channels that are home to Sisiutl and Sedna.

As a memoir and travel book "Passage to Juneau" is an intimate look into a quiet corner of a subtly changing part of our world, and a thoughtful meditation on the other passages we make as humans. My one criticism is that with all of the author's references to charts, navigational aids, portolanos, and coastal pilots, the book is devoid of reference maps. Perhaps if the book goes into a second printing the publisher will rectify this obvious shortcoming.