Historical fiction continues to have an appeal for writers as well as readers. English writers are particularly drawn to the genre, and narratives set in the 19th century are particularly popular. Add to this sailing ships and long trips to the colonies, and you have some idea of Matthew Kneale's lively and often funny Booker short-listed excursion into well-travelled territory. Two main themes dominate this, his fourth novel. Firstly there is the often vicious debate waged between the men of God and those of a more scientifically-inclined nature. This conflict was the source of much anger in Victorian England. Also widely debated were the cruelties inflicted by the slave trade. Central to the realties of conquest and expansion was the inhuman fate of native peoples.
While Kneale has some fun by pitting his man of God - the irritating but essentially kindly, if not quite passive, Reverend Geoffrey Wilson - against the increasingly crazy Dr Potter, who is obsessed with notions of racial superiority, the treatment of native peoples is explored with deadly seriousness. English Passengers is both narratively ambitious and surprisingly tentative. Kneale's approach can tend towards the pedantic, and the novel is far less subtle than one suspects the author believes. Its strengths and its weakness lie in the narrative being told through a variety of voices in the form of personal monologues and formal letters.
The characterisation is uneven, but the more successful characters are certainly engaging. From the outset it is obvious that the reader will quickly come to rely on the version of events presented by Captain Illiam Quillian Kewley from the Isle of Man. He is a career sailor in possession of his own vessel, the Sincerity, a candid turn of phrase and a flair for smuggling. Regardless of his light touch he is honourable. He is also very bright - so bright, in fact, that he often sounds about 150 years ahead of his time. Would a sailor in the 1850s have remarked, "So we finally had our disaster at sea, and a curious one it was besides. Your traditional shipwreck is all noise and wind and bodies getting landed against rocks, but this was nothing like"? But never mind. Kewley the most rounded character wins our trust because he seems to be telling the whole story.
This is useful because the Reverend Wilson is a man with a mission and strong views about the "atheisms" of geology. He wants to prove that the Garden of Eden is situated on Tasmania. Through his writings on the subject he seems to have won a following and even a patron of sorts, Jonah Childs. Not everyone is a supporter of Rev Wilson. As he notes sadly, "I was especially wounded by the fact that, for the first time, I found fellow churchmen ranged against me, obstinate in their reluctance to abandon their conviction that Eden lay in the Holy Land." Childs is a believer and anxious to fund an expedition to Van Diemen's Land. The trip is arranged, but at the eleventh hour a problem emerges; their chosen skipper has been sent elsewhere so the party is without a ship.
At this point Captain Kewley - now facing huge customs fines over the discovery of but one tiny example of his crew's breaking the Crown's strict laws on contraband - could help himself as well as the expedition reach its destination. The Sincerity is to sail to Tasmania with its mixed bag of travellers. From the outset there are tensions on board. Kneale does not choose to concentrate fully on the voyage. Various other narrators and letter-writers appear from time to time, including Peevay the son of a white man and angry native mother. His story is that of a family caught between cultures. Kneale proves consistent in his handling of Peevay's subdued anger, and as the narrative unfolds the various outrages committed, not only against the native people, but also against the convicts sent half-way across the world by the Crown are elaborated from various viewpoints.
Much of the comedy is achieved through the ongoing friction between the vicar and the doctor. "God says it is mine," says the churchman; "God told you wrong," retorts the doctor. Potter, although he initially joined the expedition as its surgeon, is clearly preoccupied by writing endless notes - most of which are highly racist. He has no regard for the Manx crew. As far as he is concerned the world should be run by the Saxon master race. "The Celtic Type (instance: Manx) is altogether inferior in physique to the Saxon, being smaller, darker and lacking in strength. Typically the forehead is sloping, showing evidence of the `snout' characteristic, noted by Pearson as an indication of inferior intelligence. The skull is marked by deep eye sockets, expressing tendencies of servitude. Cranial type: G As to his general character, the Celt is wanting in the industriousness and nobility of spirit of his Saxon neighbour, his dominating characteristic being indolence . . ."
THE narrative rattles along. Land is reached at various stages. The rift between Wilson and Potter becomes serious just as both appear to be becoming increasingly eccentric. The power-crazed Potter breaks all the rules and starts a mutiny. It is vivid stuff and the best way to enjoy it all is to ignore Kneale's shaky technique. All the while his didactic intent gathers momentum and the artificality of the novel weakens its effect; at times it is as if the story has become a relay baton being passed about by a team.
Kneale must also contend with the shadow of William Golding's atmospheric and often funny sea trilogy, the first part of which, Rites of Passage, won the 1980 Booker Prize. Just as that novel was about the coming to wisdom of the ambitious young Edmund Talbot, English Passengers includes among its many characters the young Timothy Renshaw, the reluctant botanist sent along by his father desperate to make something of the idle boy. Having almost died by misadventure, Renshaw is rescued and discovers true love and the meaning of snobbery.
Only in the closing sequences, when the Sincerity has been wrecked by Potter's evil outlaw crew, does a real sense of life on board develop. Signals of Distress (1994) by Jim Crace, one of England's best writers, was yet another one of those novels good enough to win the Booker Prize in most years. It didn't: it wasn't even short-listed. English Passengers is not as fine a book. But as I pointed out when assessing the shortlist last month, it could, and should, be the dark horse challenging Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin in what is a disappointing Booker selection.
Eileen Battersby is the Literary Correspondent of The Irish Times
