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Brad's Reviews > The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific
The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific
by J. Maarten Troost
by J. Maarten Troost
For summer beach reading, or more specifically, for summer BART reading, I prefer books that lift me cleanly away from my clean and comfortable first-world life and drop me down into exotic locales. I would put Troost's 'Sex Lives of Cannibals' as very high up what I call the 'Oh Why Can't This Be My Life?' genre.
The female equivalent are the 'Shopaholic' series: A young 20-something makes a living in some fascinating urban location (New York, Paris, London) free of financial or existential concerns, flitting between lovers who are all handsome and financially generous. Typically these stories end with a glamorous wedding and honeymoon in Italy.
Troost's work is the precise male equivalent: A shiftless 20-something completes grad school and lands an unrewarding temp job (exactly like your reviewer, might I add). Whereas my life had several years of entry-level hell, trudging up the corporate ladder, Troost's life had him jetting off to the remote Pacific island of Kirabati, in the company of his girlfriend, Sylvia.
What can be said? It's pitch-perfect wish fulfillment. Sylvia lands some humanitarian job with the Kirabati governement-- and like a good girlfriend (one supposes as a 20 something) then vanishes for 300 pages. The author exists in a blissed-out Pacific now, eating fresh bluefin tuna and drinking beer. The local culture is portrayed (continuing a 300-year tradition) as simple and good-hearted, if a little rough around the barbaric edges.
Does the narrator learn to surf with a burned-out US expatriate? Of course. Does he encounter all sorts of Pacific Island Characters-- ranging from the Kirabati wise-man to the Kava addicted president? Of course. Even when he's lost at sea on a catastrophic fishing trip, we know there's no real danger, save the horrifying month-long beer shortage.
Troost's style is enjoyable-- glib and polished, with all the expected self-depreciation of an Ivy League grad who's life is actually incredibly lucky and blessed.
The novel manages to infuriate just a tiny bit with it's 'glazed over frat boy surf adventure tone.' Troost is a keen enough journalist to observe some interesting issues-- Korean and Japanese overfishing-- Australian political corruption-- and the titular sexual culture of the natives-- but he manages to let his focus drift over these issues so he can get back to talking about surfing. Which is fine, in the context of a light summer read.
And, for those interested, Troost's blessed life continued, with this book being a gateway to high-level writing assignments and a consultancy with the World Bank. Some people have all the luck, you know?
The female equivalent are the 'Shopaholic' series: A young 20-something makes a living in some fascinating urban location (New York, Paris, London) free of financial or existential concerns, flitting between lovers who are all handsome and financially generous. Typically these stories end with a glamorous wedding and honeymoon in Italy.
Troost's work is the precise male equivalent: A shiftless 20-something completes grad school and lands an unrewarding temp job (exactly like your reviewer, might I add). Whereas my life had several years of entry-level hell, trudging up the corporate ladder, Troost's life had him jetting off to the remote Pacific island of Kirabati, in the company of his girlfriend, Sylvia.
What can be said? It's pitch-perfect wish fulfillment. Sylvia lands some humanitarian job with the Kirabati governement-- and like a good girlfriend (one supposes as a 20 something) then vanishes for 300 pages. The author exists in a blissed-out Pacific now, eating fresh bluefin tuna and drinking beer. The local culture is portrayed (continuing a 300-year tradition) as simple and good-hearted, if a little rough around the barbaric edges.
Does the narrator learn to surf with a burned-out US expatriate? Of course. Does he encounter all sorts of Pacific Island Characters-- ranging from the Kirabati wise-man to the Kava addicted president? Of course. Even when he's lost at sea on a catastrophic fishing trip, we know there's no real danger, save the horrifying month-long beer shortage.
Troost's style is enjoyable-- glib and polished, with all the expected self-depreciation of an Ivy League grad who's life is actually incredibly lucky and blessed.
The novel manages to infuriate just a tiny bit with it's 'glazed over frat boy surf adventure tone.' Troost is a keen enough journalist to observe some interesting issues-- Korean and Japanese overfishing-- Australian political corruption-- and the titular sexual culture of the natives-- but he manages to let his focus drift over these issues so he can get back to talking about surfing. Which is fine, in the context of a light summer read.
And, for those interested, Troost's blessed life continued, with this book being a gateway to high-level writing assignments and a consultancy with the World Bank. Some people have all the luck, you know?
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Its not a novel, he really lived the life! You and I enjoyed the book about the same, but had totally different interpretations of it. (That's why I like reading reviews so much).