Thoroughly enjoyed this. It helped me process how painful it was to get to Martin's last scene in the series. It's the kind of tragic fate O'Brian reserves for his character studies like Dillon, Clonfert or the envoy Fox. At least he got the chance to apologize to Stephen. A lot of characters receive grace but not them. It struck me as harsh, maybe even too harsh, even if plausible, but clearly O'Brian has some justified satirical targets in the clergy and mindless wealth-seekers here. I also always thought Martin's name was meaningful: too similar to Maturin, basically formed by taking some letters out of Maturin. As if he is missing a few essential qualities that Stephen has.
There is another satirical target here more specific to my life, and that's the birder-hobbyist who has no bigger-picture morals, or not ones that actually stick. People who care about their special interest but who do not find it leads them to improve the broader world somewhat. And as a result his hobby ultimately turns to ashes in his mouth (with some help from mercury.) And of course Stephen couldn't be more different than that — which felt like a fundamental difference in their characters from the start. Along with the religiosity/moral panic that is Martin's undoing, that critique of the valueless hobbyist is what feels most instructive for our time.
Fantastic, thank you. I’d argue that Blaine and Martin’s opposites in Jack’s library of friends might be Heneage Dundas and or Tom Pullings. Friendships that came about to professional proximity (as with Blaine and Martin) that are more than matters of convenience but cannot rise to the same level as the contubernal affection between Aubrey and Maturin.
I do think the series might be generally weaker after the Thirteen Gun Salute, but Clarissa Oakes and The Wine Dark Sea are exceptions that prove the rule.
The later the books go in the series, the more elegiac they become. They are about aging, and failing, and continuing to live for a while. Martin's descent into common gross bourgeois mediocrity is thuddingly over-egged, but watching a man get worse as he ages is hard.
I so love your Aubreyad posts so much. I haven’t touched the books since I binged them one lonely middle school summer 20 years ago. Your posts are making me itch to pick them up again and uncover all the subtlety and loveliness I missed in my first read through thanks to my underdeveloped frontal lobe. Thank you for the inspiration, fond memories and lovely writing!
How splendid to discover another aficionado of the canon with a vivid sensitivity to what makes these characters so profoundly lovable. My somewhat less detailed take on The Wine Dark Sea and the wretched Martin is here: https://joshuacorey.substack.com/p/the-wine-dark-sea
Ok, sorry for the double comment and as my circumnavigation just so happened to return me to the lovely exception to the waning majesty of the Aubreiad that is TWDS, I’ve been thinking on your piece.
I read Martin’s journey here as a mirror to O’Brian’s own self-reassessment in light of his long overdue, late success that his work was finally enjoying at this point in his career. He was certainly by then old enough to be meditating on how to bring the series to a close, if indeed he would choose to do so (which of course, tragically or perhaps appropriately, he never did).
I read Martin’s changing nature as coming almost entirely from the livings bestowed upon him by Jack, (being an idoneous person, ha ha) which perforce give him a natural end to his own seagoing adventures. We see O’Brian’s changing relationship to money/power/worldly success refracted through his usual persona in Stephen (p. 80 in my copy - “I do not, never have, despise a competence: it is the relation of superfluity to happiness that is my text, and I am holier than thou only after two hundred pounds a year.”)
Such is the importance of Martin’s original sin - whatever the exact nature of his transgression - that guilt and self-flagellation come to such a pernicious head; of course O’Brian’s own past requires no mention here.
If we step back and take Martin is his larger context, he is in many ways realism plucked down into the escapist (complimentary term) beauty that are these novels: a man actually battered by the sea, losing an eye for his hobby, not entirely successful in either his career or his marriage, not especially competent, indeed shunned for his religious baggage. Martin is to me O’Brian acknowledging the darkness and failures of his own life that he glosses over with the stunning erudition of Maturin and the bluff courage of Aubrey.
Thoroughly enjoyed this. It helped me process how painful it was to get to Martin's last scene in the series. It's the kind of tragic fate O'Brian reserves for his character studies like Dillon, Clonfert or the envoy Fox. At least he got the chance to apologize to Stephen. A lot of characters receive grace but not them. It struck me as harsh, maybe even too harsh, even if plausible, but clearly O'Brian has some justified satirical targets in the clergy and mindless wealth-seekers here. I also always thought Martin's name was meaningful: too similar to Maturin, basically formed by taking some letters out of Maturin. As if he is missing a few essential qualities that Stephen has.
There is another satirical target here more specific to my life, and that's the birder-hobbyist who has no bigger-picture morals, or not ones that actually stick. People who care about their special interest but who do not find it leads them to improve the broader world somewhat. And as a result his hobby ultimately turns to ashes in his mouth (with some help from mercury.) And of course Stephen couldn't be more different than that — which felt like a fundamental difference in their characters from the start. Along with the religiosity/moral panic that is Martin's undoing, that critique of the valueless hobbyist is what feels most instructive for our time.
your birding must lead you to a greater love for life!
Fantastic, thank you. I’d argue that Blaine and Martin’s opposites in Jack’s library of friends might be Heneage Dundas and or Tom Pullings. Friendships that came about to professional proximity (as with Blaine and Martin) that are more than matters of convenience but cannot rise to the same level as the contubernal affection between Aubrey and Maturin.
I do think the series might be generally weaker after the Thirteen Gun Salute, but Clarissa Oakes and The Wine Dark Sea are exceptions that prove the rule.
The later the books go in the series, the more elegiac they become. They are about aging, and failing, and continuing to live for a while. Martin's descent into common gross bourgeois mediocrity is thuddingly over-egged, but watching a man get worse as he ages is hard.
Particularly as I fear I do the same.
I so love your Aubreyad posts so much. I haven’t touched the books since I binged them one lonely middle school summer 20 years ago. Your posts are making me itch to pick them up again and uncover all the subtlety and loveliness I missed in my first read through thanks to my underdeveloped frontal lobe. Thank you for the inspiration, fond memories and lovely writing!
How splendid to discover another aficionado of the canon with a vivid sensitivity to what makes these characters so profoundly lovable. My somewhat less detailed take on The Wine Dark Sea and the wretched Martin is here: https://joshuacorey.substack.com/p/the-wine-dark-sea
You got me. I purchased a copy of master and commander today lol
Ok, sorry for the double comment and as my circumnavigation just so happened to return me to the lovely exception to the waning majesty of the Aubreiad that is TWDS, I’ve been thinking on your piece.
I read Martin’s journey here as a mirror to O’Brian’s own self-reassessment in light of his long overdue, late success that his work was finally enjoying at this point in his career. He was certainly by then old enough to be meditating on how to bring the series to a close, if indeed he would choose to do so (which of course, tragically or perhaps appropriately, he never did).
I read Martin’s changing nature as coming almost entirely from the livings bestowed upon him by Jack, (being an idoneous person, ha ha) which perforce give him a natural end to his own seagoing adventures. We see O’Brian’s changing relationship to money/power/worldly success refracted through his usual persona in Stephen (p. 80 in my copy - “I do not, never have, despise a competence: it is the relation of superfluity to happiness that is my text, and I am holier than thou only after two hundred pounds a year.”)
Such is the importance of Martin’s original sin - whatever the exact nature of his transgression - that guilt and self-flagellation come to such a pernicious head; of course O’Brian’s own past requires no mention here.
If we step back and take Martin is his larger context, he is in many ways realism plucked down into the escapist (complimentary term) beauty that are these novels: a man actually battered by the sea, losing an eye for his hobby, not entirely successful in either his career or his marriage, not especially competent, indeed shunned for his religious baggage. Martin is to me O’Brian acknowledging the darkness and failures of his own life that he glosses over with the stunning erudition of Maturin and the bluff courage of Aubrey.
Thanks again.