Spellbinding

The Road to Oxiana by Robert Byron

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


I had never heard of Robert Byron (distantly related to Lord Byron, but that's by-the-by), nor am I a natural fan of 'travel' writing, preferring my reading matter to be fictional. Nor had I a clue where or what Oxiana is. (It is an area around the River Oxus, the ancient name for the river Amu Darya, which snakes down from southern Russia into northern eastern Afghanistan). So I think it is fair to say that I approached this book with some caution, finding the very last copy of it in a bookshop fortuitously soon after someone - whose opinion I value greatly - had mentioned it as being one of those Must-Read Unmissable gems of the twentieth century.

Byron was a journalist, delightfully eccentric and with a passion and knowledge of ancient architecture. The book is written as a journal, describing a trip he made in 1933 through the Middle East via Beirut, Jerusalem, Baghdad and Teheran to Oxiana, on a quest to see the legendary eleventh century tower of Qabus, (or Kabus). The quest is achieved. The tower, depicted in my copy in a photo as a menacing but plain cone-topped construct of pillared bricks, is brought to life by Byron's extraordinary knowledge and powers of description, as is everything else that crosses his path, from local people, to breathtaking landscapes, as well as the countless other ancient and often abandoned monuments that he seeks out.

Byron is also very funny, particularly about the endless set-backs he encounters on his travels - no vehicle lasts more than a few days, the weather is regularly catastrophic, disguises are required, food is often scarce, and never does any single day go according to its original plan. Within that humour however, is a marked humility and respect for all that he encounters. And this to me, quite apart from the power of his prose to transport the reader into every place he visits, is key to the mastery of the book. For Robert Byron is a traveller in the truest, greatest sense: that is, he does not, ever, attempt to impose himself on the terrain and cultures he is exploring; he simply observes every detail with awe and gratitude and intelligence, managing in this great book to allow the reader to share that privilege with him.

Reading 'The Road to Oxiana' made me sad too. For even though Robert Byron wasn't always greeted with open arms, so much of the area he explored has now become synonymous with suffering and conflict on a vast scale, its innumerable wondrous antiquities destroyed or rendered utterly beyond access. What the book depicts therefore is literally, a lost world; a fact which made me all the more grateful to the genius and courage of the man for deciding to explore and document it. Sadder still, Robert Byron died just 8 years later, in 1941, thanks to a torpedo sinking the ship on which he was travelling as a journalist in the Second World War. He was thirty six. It is impossible not to lament the unwritten journeys and spellbinding prose that sank with him.

I know 'spellbinding' is a powerful adjective. So here is an example of why I have deployed it:

"Suddenly, as a ship leaves an estuary, we came out onto the steppe: a dazzling open sea of green. I never saw the colour before. In other greens, of emerald, jade, or malachite, the harsh deep green of the Bengal jungle, the salad green of Mediterranean vineyards, the heavy full-blown green of English summer beeches, some element of blue or yellow predominates over the others. This was the pure essence of green, indissoluble, the colour of life itself."

See what I mean? 'Spellbinding' is the only word.




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