Daren
This is a re-read eleven years after my first Paul Theroux book – the Great Railway Bazaar, and I have cringed each time someone liked my review and my three star rating. I think most readers of Theroux will accept he takes a bit of getting used to. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him during my first reading – much of the book is about his casual encounters, he overshares much which makes him look silly, or at least awkward, in a way other authors usually don't. He describes his surrounding and things he sees but doesn’t necessarily set out to catalogue his travels. It is, I suppose, an anti-travelogue.
But that’s not all. It isn’t an inward looking, improving or healing myself, new age travel (from the 90’s) type book (thank god), and it isn’t a travel/history blend – so popular from other authors. It is a more fluid undertaking (no pun intended on his often prodigious alcohol intake), it examines individuals rather than generalisations and stereotypes, although they are mentioned in context.
But what an expansive journey! Theroux collects many major and several minor routes. Once clear of the UK, in Paris he boards The Orient Express to Istanbul, then takes us thought Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan (albeit not by train), Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, Burma (Myanmar), Thailand, Lao, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Japan and the Soviet Union, where his story peter’s out before his return to London and his family.
My biggest regret with this book is that his journey was too long – for him, not me. Because he really didn’t enjoy the Trans-Siberian Express – he had awkward cabin-mates, was grumpy and wanted his journey to end, and it showed far too much. I loved the journey I made of the Trans-Mongolian across Russia, and was disappointed on his behalf that for him it was a trial.
And as an opening to a book, this is pretty good: “Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it.”
In general Theroux does a good job of talking up train travel, and why not, I have no qualms with a long train journey having undertaken a few myself (Russia and China for long journeys). There is this (P83-84) In planes the traveller is condemned to hours in a tight seat; ships require high spirits and sociability; cars and buses are unspeakable. The sleeping car is the most painless form of travel.
And, (p216): The trains in any country contain the essential paraphernalia of the culture: Thai trains have the shower jar with the glazed dragon on its side’ Singhalese ones the car reserved for Buddhist monks’ Indian ones a vegetarian kitchen and six classes, Iranian ones prayer mats, Malaysian ones a noodle stall, Vietnamese ones bulletproof glass on the locomotive, and on every carriage of a Russian train there is a samovar. The railway bazaar, with its gadgets and passengers, represented the society so completely that to board it was to be challenged by the national character.
And so, not only does the Great Railway Bazaar survive re-reading, it resets itself as the seminal train travel book, the origin of the sub-genre; and while it is not perhaps as tightly constructed as Theroux’s following train travel works, it was the original, and deserves the kudos for kicking it all off.
5 stars.
2015 review (three stars).
Not your usual travel-love-in. As his journey goes on Theroux becomes more cynical and prepared to mock his fellow travellers. Contains stereotypes, racial profiling, hippie mocking etc, making it all the more readable. No discussion on visas, border crossings or what to pack!
This is a re-read eleven years after my first Paul Theroux book – the Great Railway Bazaar, and I have cringed each time someone liked my review and my three star rating. I think most readers of Theroux will accept he takes a bit of getting used to. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him during my first reading – much of the book is about his casual encounters, he overshares much which makes him look silly, or at least awkward, in a way other authors usually don't. He describes his surrounding and things he sees but doesn’t necessarily set out to catalogue his travels. It is, I suppose, an anti-travelogue.
But that’s not all. It isn’t an inward looking, improving or healing myself, new age travel (from the 90’s) type book (thank god), and it isn’t a travel/history blend – so popular from other authors. It is a more fluid undertaking (no pun intended on his often prodigious alcohol intake), it examines individuals rather than generalisations and stereotypes, although they are mentioned in context.
But what an expansive journey! Theroux collects many major and several minor routes. Once clear of the UK, in Paris he boards The Orient Express to Istanbul, then takes us thought Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan (albeit not by train), Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, Burma (Myanmar), Thailand, Lao, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Japan and the Soviet Union, where his story peter’s out before his return to London and his family.
My biggest regret with this book is that his journey was too long – for him, not me. Because he really didn’t enjoy the Trans-Siberian Express – he had awkward cabin-mates, was grumpy and wanted his journey to end, and it showed far too much. I loved the journey I made of the Trans-Mongolian across Russia, and was disappointed on his behalf that for him it was a trial.
And as an opening to a book, this is pretty good: “Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it.”
In general Theroux does a good job of talking up train travel, and why not, I have no qualms with a long train journey having undertaken a few myself (Russia and China for long journeys). There is this (P83-84) In planes the traveller is condemned to hours in a tight seat; ships require high spirits and sociability; cars and buses are unspeakable. The sleeping car is the most painless form of travel.
And, (p216): The trains in any country contain the essential paraphernalia of the culture: Thai trains have the shower jar with the glazed dragon on its side’ Singhalese ones the car reserved for Buddhist monks’ Indian ones a vegetarian kitchen and six classes, Iranian ones prayer mats, Malaysian ones a noodle stall, Vietnamese ones bulletproof glass on the locomotive, and on every carriage of a Russian train there is a samovar. The railway bazaar, with its gadgets and passengers, represented the society so completely that to board it was to be challenged by the national character.
And so, not only does the Great Railway Bazaar survive re-reading, it resets itself as the seminal train travel book, the origin of the sub-genre; and while it is not perhaps as tightly constructed as Theroux’s following train travel works, it was the original, and deserves the kudos for kicking it all off.
5 stars.
2015 review (three stars).
Not your usual travel-love-in. As his journey goes on Theroux becomes more cynical and prepared to mock his fellow travellers. Contains stereotypes, racial profiling, hippie mocking etc, making it all the more readable. No discussion on visas, border crossings or what to pack!