WITH THE YACHT, CAMERA, AND CYCLE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN
WITH THE YACHT, CAMERA, AND CYCLE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN
Preface: The following book review is actually two book reviews in one. The article creators intertwined two book reviews. The first book mentioned is titled: "WITH THE YACHT, CAMERA, AND CYCLE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN," which was first published in 1895, by the Earl of Cavan. The second book was written by A.D. McCormick and is titled: "AN ARTIST IN THE HIMALAYAS". The bulk of the book review has been presented here, so please enjoy!
THE first is only a little book, and if it were read aloud it would prove a little wearisome, for its literary graces are not obtrusive. Nor is the letterpress particularly original, but the author is honest, and acknowledges his indebtedness to guidebooks and various volumes written by other tourists, so that the critic is disarmed. He gives statistics as to the price of coals and water, the depth of anchorages, the quality of hotels, guides, and even consuls and custom house officers, with a minuteness unusual in traveling earls.
He had a good yacht, with a number of young ladies as companions, and bicycles and cameras for amusement; none of which things are in themselves sufficient to attract much attention from those somewhat numerous readers who are compelled by the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of poverty to spend their winters in London and less pleasant places, instead of basking on the waters of the Mediterranean.
The other book is bigger, but it has, as the author informs us at the outset, certainly no pretensions to be literature. It is never easy to define literature, but we have a lurking fear that literature is the art of writing so perfectly that the reader experiences a certain pleasure in the reading entirely independent of the subject.
The books which are not literature in this sense are either failures in the attempt to say something about nothing in particular, or else they are descriptions of things worth speaking about. To the latter class belong both the books included in this notice, and we can pardon the baldness of phrase in the one and the occasional slang of the other, because both authors have something good to say, and they say it effectively, if not with the easy grace of a heaven-born writer.
Mr. McCormick accompanied Sir Martin Conway's Karakoram expedition as an artist, and as it was his first experience of climbing we are able to contrast the feelings and opinions of a beginner with the description of the adept in whose company he exceeded the previous record of all mountaineers. The facts of the journey are well known, although this retelling of them has a special character of its own which makes it welcome.
We have a special reason for bracketing together two books so dissimilar as those of the earl and the artist. They represent a well-marked step towards the ideal book of travel, how great a step appears when we compare the proportions of letterpress to illustrations. The artist in the Himalayas employs one hundred of his own sketches to adorn some three hundred pages of text, while the earl in the Mediterranean supplies no less than ninety-five full-page photographs to illustrate his ninety pages. Of course, mere number is no test of value; everything lies in the choice of subjects and the execution of the work.
To begin with, there is the question of photographs versus sketches. It seems to us that both have their uses, each being adapted to its own special subjects. Where a book that is mainly imaginative or subjective admits of illustration, the pencil of the artist is unquestionably called for to illustrate the words of the author. But when the book deals with visible facts, the camera has no rival. Mr. McCormick's clever sketches show us the northern border of India and its people as he saw them: sometimes only suggestive glimpses, at others somewhat elaborate pictures. They will doubtless suggest to people accustomed to mountains the general impression of the scenery of the Karakoram, and to everyone who has any knowledge of human nature they will reveal delightful touches of individuality and character in the climbers, their guides, Gurkhas, and the various classes of natives encountered.
It is aggravating to find no legend to the sketches. On p. 165 there is a thrilling scene, showing a missionary priest with a cross at his girdle, his arms bound behind him, kneeling in prayer at the foot of a tree while a stern heathen stands over him with a stout rope and a noose in the act of administering martyrdom by hanging, while an accomplice keeps watch in the background. No hint is given in the text as to the time or place of the outrage, but in the introductory table of illustrations "The Lambadhar of Askole spinning, p. 165," is a most disappointing disillusion. Many of the smaller sketches are so vague, and even amorphous, that they might have been suppressed with advantage.
Lord Cavan's photographs, on the other hand, are all that pictures for a practical purpose should be--- well chosen views taken from a proper standpoint, showing truly characteristic features, and as clear as the best work of a professional photographer. They will prove simply invaluable to the yachtsmen for whom they are primarily intended while they form a singularly attractive album which may serve to illustrate the descriptions of the Mediterranean coast in any guide-book. Only we are disturbed by the clouds. Is it always cloudy in the Mediterranean? Or was the skilled artist who reproduced the pictures for the book so much of a creator as to embellish them with clouds in the name of Art? It is very hard to say, but cooked photographs are greatly degraded in value as documents. To present a scene photographed under a clear sky as a picture with a background of cumulus is simply forgery, for the glory of a photograph is its impartial truthfulness.
The ideal book of travel must have good writing, good and numerous photographs, and good and varied maps. When it comes to be written, no publisher will take the risk of bringing it out, and so it is to be hoped that the book will be written by a man of large means who can afford to embody his ideal irrespective of public demand. Meanwhile, we can very well fill in the time of waiting for the unattainable by such experiments as those now before us, which are well adapted for the work of preparing the way. The conception that picture and letterpress should mutually illustrate each other, and that in their illustration both are equally important, and both are literature in the true sense of that vague word, is new; and we must for a time a encourage essays, the failings in which are quite apparent. The time for trenchant criticism will come later.
THE first is only a little book, and if it were read aloud it would prove a little wearisome, for its literary graces are not obtrusive. Nor is the letterpress particularly original, but the author is honest, and acknowledges his indebtedness to guidebooks and various volumes written by other tourists, so that the critic is disarmed. He gives statistics as to the price of coals and water, the depth of anchorages, the quality of hotels, guides, and even consuls and custom house officers, with a minuteness unusual in traveling earls.
He had a good yacht, with a number of young ladies as companions, and bicycles and cameras for amusement; none of which things are in themselves sufficient to attract much attention from those somewhat numerous readers who are compelled by the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of poverty to spend their winters in London and less pleasant places, instead of basking on the waters of the Mediterranean.
The other book is bigger, but it has, as the author informs us at the outset, certainly no pretensions to be literature. It is never easy to define literature, but we have a lurking fear that literature is the art of writing so perfectly that the reader experiences a certain pleasure in the reading entirely independent of the subject.
The books which are not literature in this sense are either failures in the attempt to say something about nothing in particular, or else they are descriptions of things worth speaking about. To the latter class belong both the books included in this notice, and we can pardon the baldness of phrase in the one and the occasional slang of the other, because both authors have something good to say, and they say it effectively, if not with the easy grace of a heaven-born writer.
Mr. McCormick accompanied Sir Martin Conway's Karakoram expedition as an artist, and as it was his first experience of climbing we are able to contrast the feelings and opinions of a beginner with the description of the adept in whose company he exceeded the previous record of all mountaineers. The facts of the journey are well known, although this retelling of them has a special character of its own which makes it welcome.
We have a special reason for bracketing together two books so dissimilar as those of the earl and the artist. They represent a well-marked step towards the ideal book of travel, how great a step appears when we compare the proportions of letterpress to illustrations. The artist in the Himalayas employs one hundred of his own sketches to adorn some three hundred pages of text, while the earl in the Mediterranean supplies no less than ninety-five full-page photographs to illustrate his ninety pages. Of course, mere number is no test of value; everything lies in the choice of subjects and the execution of the work.
To begin with, there is the question of photographs versus sketches. It seems to us that both have their uses, each being adapted to its own special subjects. Where a book that is mainly imaginative or subjective admits of illustration, the pencil of the artist is unquestionably called for to illustrate the words of the author. But when the book deals with visible facts, the camera has no rival. Mr. McCormick's clever sketches show us the northern border of India and its people as he saw them: sometimes only suggestive glimpses, at others somewhat elaborate pictures. They will doubtless suggest to people accustomed to mountains the general impression of the scenery of the Karakoram, and to everyone who has any knowledge of human nature they will reveal delightful touches of individuality and character in the climbers, their guides, Gurkhas, and the various classes of natives encountered.
It is aggravating to find no legend to the sketches. On p. 165 there is a thrilling scene, showing a missionary priest with a cross at his girdle, his arms bound behind him, kneeling in prayer at the foot of a tree while a stern heathen stands over him with a stout rope and a noose in the act of administering martyrdom by hanging, while an accomplice keeps watch in the background. No hint is given in the text as to the time or place of the outrage, but in the introductory table of illustrations "The Lambadhar of Askole spinning, p. 165," is a most disappointing disillusion. Many of the smaller sketches are so vague, and even amorphous, that they might have been suppressed with advantage.
Lord Cavan's photographs, on the other hand, are all that pictures for a practical purpose should be--- well chosen views taken from a proper standpoint, showing truly characteristic features, and as clear as the best work of a professional photographer. They will prove simply invaluable to the yachtsmen for whom they are primarily intended while they form a singularly attractive album which may serve to illustrate the descriptions of the Mediterranean coast in any guide-book. Only we are disturbed by the clouds. Is it always cloudy in the Mediterranean? Or was the skilled artist who reproduced the pictures for the book so much of a creator as to embellish them with clouds in the name of Art? It is very hard to say, but cooked photographs are greatly degraded in value as documents. To present a scene photographed under a clear sky as a picture with a background of cumulus is simply forgery, for the glory of a photograph is its impartial truthfulness.
The ideal book of travel must have good writing, good and numerous photographs, and good and varied maps. When it comes to be written, no publisher will take the risk of bringing it out, and so it is to be hoped that the book will be written by a man of large means who can afford to embody his ideal irrespective of public demand. Meanwhile, we can very well fill in the time of waiting for the unattainable by such experiments as those now before us, which are well adapted for the work of preparing the way. The conception that picture and letterpress should mutually illustrate each other, and that in their illustration both are equally important, and both are literature in the true sense of that vague word, is new; and we must for a time a encourage essays, the failings in which are quite apparent. The time for trenchant criticism will come later.
Book Review date:
Saturday, January 4, 1896 to Saturday, June 27, 1896
Book Types: