It’s a curious thing, reviewing the 16th book in a series of 20. Of course, you know you wouldn’t be reading it if you hadn’t enjoyed the previous 15, and you also know that anyone reading the review will probably be in the same position. As such, both reviewer and reader start of extremely well disposed, and for good reason. O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin series is certainly the best historical fiction I have ever read, because the writing and the characterisation are so attuned, it seems to me, to the sensibilities of the environment and the period: the early 19th century, Jack Aubrey’s world of the Royal Navy, Stephen Maturin’s public world of medicine and natural philosophy, and his shadowy world of secret intelligence. It is definitely the only historical fiction I have ever read that feels as though it could have been written in the period it describes.

In The Wine-Dark Sea we follow the concluding part of the journey that began in The Thirteen-Gun Salute and that was continued in The Nutmeg of Consolation and Clarissa Oakes. As such, this almost feels like the conclusion of a mini-cycle within the overall series. This confirms the impression that as the series progresses individual books cover shorter periods of time in more depth, but this is not really a bad thing as by now we are so familiar with the characters and their mostly wooden world that we are happy to spend time in their daily lives.

An encounter with a volcanic eruption opens the book, followed by a series of successful privateer actions. Later, Stephen has the chance to visit Peru, where his objective is to foment revolution against the ruling Spanish and cause independence to be declared, thus distracting the United States from its war with Britain. Needless to say, while in-country Stephen has the chance to indulge his interest in the local flora and fauna, although the llamas don’t seem to like him much. Meanwhile Jack stays out at sea, cruising for more prizes until he discovers that his friend may be in danger, and sets out, at great risk to himself, to warn him.

Many committed fans of the series may be feeling by this point that the plot is somewhat secondary to the interplay between the two main characters, and that is more delightfully written than ever. O’Brian displays all of his chief virtues: his affection for the characters, and their affection for each other, despite their wildly differing outlooks. The gentle wit and charm of the writing is present in spades:

‘Shelmerston, Shelmerston, Shelmerston for ever,’ they cried as [Stephen] walked off, returning to the great cabin and feeling the ship’s much stronger pitch and roll as he went. He found Jack well in to his dinner and sat down beside him. ‘Will I confess a grave sin?’ he asked.

‘Do, by all means,’ said Jack, looking at him kindly. ‘But if you managed to commit a grave sin between the gunroom and here you have a wonderful capacity for evil.’

In short, The Wine-Dark Sea embodies everything that’s wonderful about O’Brian’s writing, and I shall be cracking on, top-gallants aloft, to finish the series very soon.

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