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Last Voyage & Other Stories
Book by James Hanley
288 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
About the author
James Hanley
84 books14 followersBorn in Kirkdale, Liverpool, in 1897 (not Dublin, nor 1901 as he generally implied) to a working-class family, Hanley probably left school in 1911 and worked as a clerk, before going to sea in 1915 at the age of 17 (not 13 as he again implied). Thus life at sea was a formative influence and much of his early writing is about seamen.
Then, in April 1917, Hanley jumped ship in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada, and shortly thereafter joined the Canadian Army in Fredericton, NB. Hanley fought in France in the summer of 1918, but was invalided out shortly thereafter. He then went to Toronto, Canada, for two months, in the winter of 1919, to be demobbed, before returning to Liverpool on 28 March 1919. He may have taken one final voyage before working as a railway porter in Bootle. In addition to working as a railway porter, he devoted himself "to a prodiguous range of autodidactic, high cultural activities – learning the piano ...attending ... concerts ... reading voraciously and, above all, writing." It is also probable that he later worked at a number of other jobs, while writing fiction in his spare time. However, it was not until 1929 that his novel Drift was accepted, and this was published in March, 1930.
Then, in April 1917, Hanley jumped ship in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada, and shortly thereafter joined the Canadian Army in Fredericton, NB. Hanley fought in France in the summer of 1918, but was invalided out shortly thereafter. He then went to Toronto, Canada, for two months, in the winter of 1919, to be demobbed, before returning to Liverpool on 28 March 1919. He may have taken one final voyage before working as a railway porter in Bootle. In addition to working as a railway porter, he devoted himself "to a prodiguous range of autodidactic, high cultural activities – learning the piano ...attending ... concerts ... reading voraciously and, above all, writing." It is also probable that he later worked at a number of other jobs, while writing fiction in his spare time. However, it was not until 1929 that his novel Drift was accepted, and this was published in March, 1930.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
April 27, 2020
My copy of ‘The Last Voyage’ is a 1931 standalone ltd. edition with an illustration by the wonderful Alan Odle, but rather than create a new page for the book it seemed more appropriate to insert my review of that single tale here.
This is possibly one of the bleakest tales I have ever read, the main protagonist, Johnny Reilly, being a ships stoker about to undertake his final voyage before retirement. In the tale he reviews his life weighing up its past worth and pondering what the future (a small pension, a family life) will offer him. Hanley’s view is that neither offer anything, and in doing so paints a vivid (and brutal) portrait of the despair that you feel he might have observed during his own time at sea.
His wife is more accepting of the situation and even has a degree of hope despite their poverty and adverse circumstances (“God is good”) but Johnny speaks in short staccato sentences stripped to their barest barely human minimum.
“Where were you, Johnny. I thought you had gone down to the yard. Didn’t you hear me calling to you?”
“No. Was with children,” he said.
Are you hungry? Would you like that glass of bitter. You had no supper?” she said, and there was kindness in her voice, and in the tired eyes.
“Not now. Am tired,” he replied.
Don't let that fool you into thinking Hanley cannot write, the simple language of the novel belies its careful construction, Hanley depicts life in its rawest state and the ending of the tale, an abrupt stop, is extremely powerful and moving.
This theme of man as beast (or worse than) runs through all the other work of his that I have read. This is not be uplifting in any sense; Hanley offers us no hope and the story is devoid of any political content, so we have no socialist rhetoric or lauding of the ‘noble worker'. This enhances our identification with Reilly as a beast forced to carry a burden, surrounded by other beasts more or less beastly than himself.
I can only read about one of Hanley's tale's every year or so as they are so intense and bring out my misanthropic side too much; and this is from someone who is generally ‘a happy bunny’.
So, if you think things are bad and can’t be worse, read Hanley and conclude that it probably can be. Its amazing stuff, but enjoy? I don't think so.
This is possibly one of the bleakest tales I have ever read, the main protagonist, Johnny Reilly, being a ships stoker about to undertake his final voyage before retirement. In the tale he reviews his life weighing up its past worth and pondering what the future (a small pension, a family life) will offer him. Hanley’s view is that neither offer anything, and in doing so paints a vivid (and brutal) portrait of the despair that you feel he might have observed during his own time at sea.
His wife is more accepting of the situation and even has a degree of hope despite their poverty and adverse circumstances (“God is good”) but Johnny speaks in short staccato sentences stripped to their barest barely human minimum.
“Where were you, Johnny. I thought you had gone down to the yard. Didn’t you hear me calling to you?”
“No. Was with children,” he said.
Are you hungry? Would you like that glass of bitter. You had no supper?” she said, and there was kindness in her voice, and in the tired eyes.
“Not now. Am tired,” he replied.
Don't let that fool you into thinking Hanley cannot write, the simple language of the novel belies its careful construction, Hanley depicts life in its rawest state and the ending of the tale, an abrupt stop, is extremely powerful and moving.
This theme of man as beast (or worse than) runs through all the other work of his that I have read. This is not be uplifting in any sense; Hanley offers us no hope and the story is devoid of any political content, so we have no socialist rhetoric or lauding of the ‘noble worker'. This enhances our identification with Reilly as a beast forced to carry a burden, surrounded by other beasts more or less beastly than himself.
I can only read about one of Hanley's tale's every year or so as they are so intense and bring out my misanthropic side too much; and this is from someone who is generally ‘a happy bunny’.
So, if you think things are bad and can’t be worse, read Hanley and conclude that it probably can be. Its amazing stuff, but enjoy? I don't think so.
Read
September 29, 2013Cover of this re-issue of a handful of stories by forgotten English novelist James Hanley includes praise from John Cowper Powys, E. M. Forester, and William Faulkner (Faulkner: "Hanley is a chronicler of nomads and potential escapees, a writer who travelled the unstriated spaces of sea and consciousness... using the language like a good clean cyclone."). Based on this book one gets the sense that Hanley, whose stories seem to be illustrations of the notion that life is nasty, brutish, and short, might belong to that rather large category of great neglected 20th century novelists. The language is spare, the sentences whittled down and broken up, the scenarios primal (war, men at sea), and doom, broken lives, and horror are scattered across the pages. Not an "uplifting" read, but one feels that Hanley is true, he knows - and is not simply fashionably nihilistic, as so many far more championed writers are. If there's very little beauty in these stories, it is their grounding in truth - the truth of their scenarios, the truth of the characterizations (always "working class" - soldiers, seamen, jailors; men with money do not appear, and women only chimerically, as a visions of home and safety) - along with the writer's strange, beguiling method that give them worth.
Want to Read
October 3, 2019[The Last Voyage] Is essentially about how to turn the world (land bordering sea enclosing ship encasing man cradling his suffering) inside out using words. Idiosyncratic, dark rhythmic prose lulling into an uneasy reader's slumber.
#1
"Oh my God! Where are you, Johnny?"
He did not answer. Were now strange feelings in him. Heart was not there. Was an engine in its place. Ship's engine. Huge pistons rose and fell. He was beneath these pistons. His body was being hammered by them. All his inside was gone now and was only wind there. Wind seemed to blow round and round all through his frame. Gusts of wind. Were smothering him. Many figures were tramping in him. Voices. All shouting. All talking together. He could hear them. They were walking through him.
#1
"Oh my God! Where are you, Johnny?"
He did not answer. Were now strange feelings in him. Heart was not there. Was an engine in its place. Ship's engine. Huge pistons rose and fell. He was beneath these pistons. His body was being hammered by them. All his inside was gone now and was only wind there. Wind seemed to blow round and round all through his frame. Gusts of wind. Were smothering him. Many figures were tramping in him. Voices. All shouting. All talking together. He could hear them. They were walking through him.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews