Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

Like many SF fans, I first discovered Three Men in a Boat after reading Robert Heinlein’s Have Space Suit, Will Travel. In that book, the main character’s father is rereading it (apparently something he does often) and mentions he’s coming to the scene where they have to open the tin of pineapple. For years, before I actually went out and found the book, I thought it was a travelogue about three men trying to survive on a boat trip, full of practical survival information, since that seemed like something the father would like. It was only several years later, when I finally tracked down the book, that I discovered that it was actually one of the funniest books you’ll find.

It’s hard to ignore the temptation that hits most reviewers of Three Men in a Boat to simply begin citing their favorite scenes. There are so many of them – opening the tin, Harris in the maze at Hampton Court, Harris trying to sing, transporting the cheese by train, etc. For anyone who is read the book, mention of even this much will bring on a smile, while probably sampling puzzling readers who have not. But it’s a difficult book to review, precisely because what makes it wonderful is this series of incidents and anecdotes, some of which happen on the course of the trip the book chronicles, some of which are simply digressions by the narrator.

As the book starts, Jerome (who tells it in first person, and who the others simply call J) starts by telling us about his being a hypochondriac. He reads a medical book and becomes convinced that he has all but one of the diseases mentioned (and feels somehow something is wrong that he missed that one). On taking this to the doctor, the doctor recommends relaxation, so J decides on a boat trip up the Thames. He brings along this two friends, George and Harris, as well as his dog. Montmorency. (The book’s subtitle is “To Say Nothing of the Dog,” a title that Connie Willis fans will be familiar with.) The book chronicles that journey.

Jerome narrates in a rather understated style, which adds to the humor. Take, for example, the story of the opening of the tin. They have forgotten to bring an opener, and try to use various implements to open the tin:

Then we all got mad. We took the tin out on the bank, and Harris went up into a field and got a big sharp stone, and I went back into the boat and brought out the mast, and George held the tine and Harris held the sharp end of his stone against the top of it, and I took the mast and poised it high up in the air, and gathered up all my strength and brought it down.

It was George’s straw hat that saved his life that day. …

The humor is also enhanced in that these aren’t cartoon characters. They are real people. We all now people like them (and in some cases share characteristics with them). Take for example, Jerome’s digression about his Uncle Podger, who has the whole house working all day for a small task he can handle himself. He is going to hang a picture, and tells everyone he can do it himself, not help needed. He then sends people off to find tools, nails, etc., then has them hold various things, help him find what he misplaces (and calls them foolish when they don’t see he’s sitting on it), needs them to patch up his wounds and his mistakes, etc. We’ve all known people like this (though maybe not quite to Uncle Podger’s extreme). Like many great comedies, it has us laughing as we also think of those we know this applies to. And we all know our Harrises and Georges and Jays.

This is a wonderful book, and I now re-read it every few years. It’s also great to re-read just before re-reading Willis’s To Say Nothing of the Dog, which I did this time, and which I’ll review next.