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The Pearl Lagoon
Very engaging tale of the South Seas, by the author of "Mutiny on the Bounty," who was quite familiar with the area. Good boy reading, especially.
224 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1924
3 people are currently reading
75 people want to read
About the author
Charles Bernard Nordhoff
79 books51 followers This describes the 20th century novelist, most famous for Mutiny on the Bounty. For the 19th century journalist and author, see Charles Nordhoff.
Charles Bernard Nordhoff was an English-born American novelist and traveler.
Charles Bernard Nordhoff was an English-born American novelist and traveler.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
February 28, 2021
Like several other old guys who have reviewed this book here, I first read it when I was a boy of 10 or so, and was hooked for life. A recent vicarious journey into two round-the-world sailing travelogues (see elsewhere on here) sent me back to this wonderful 1924 South Seas adventure yarn about a 15-year-old kid. It's very well written, beautifully descriptive, educational, and compelling. I feel lucky to have just found a used copy to purchase for my home library so it can be read again and enjoyed by anyone in the house.
I became more familiar with author Charles Nordhoff later in my life when he collaborated with James Norman Hall to write "Mutiny on the Bounty" and its two sequels comprising "The Bounty Trilogy." But I also knew of him as a member of the Lafayette Esquadrille squadron in WWI - where he first met Hall and the famous ace, Eddie Rickenbaker.
If you enjoy a light read on a winter day about a warm climate, this will do the trick.
I became more familiar with author Charles Nordhoff later in my life when he collaborated with James Norman Hall to write "Mutiny on the Bounty" and its two sequels comprising "The Bounty Trilogy." But I also knew of him as a member of the Lafayette Esquadrille squadron in WWI - where he first met Hall and the famous ace, Eddie Rickenbaker.
If you enjoy a light read on a winter day about a warm climate, this will do the trick.
July 19, 2022
YA adventure novel set on a South Pacific island. Plenty of action and lots of fun. It can be found at Project Gutenberg for free.
January 11, 2016
When I was a kid, any truly respectable stretch of coast in Santa Barbara, any reputable expanse of sand with a good name and a suitably high opinion of itself, began to attract its own elite coterie of surf bums. Suddenly the waters off points such as Miramar, reefs such as Hammond’s, coves such as Campus, and river mouths such as Rincon found themselves a-bob with blond-haired boys astride surfboards, awaiting waves. At one secluded beach, where vast lawns and orchards aflutter with butterflies basked beside the sea, and where the waves swelled and peeled translucently over the summer sandbars, a metaphysically inclined cult of surf bums emerged. The core members of our tribe were, beside myself: Whooper, The Goose, Modoc, Chaddy, The Hog, The Ace, Stein, and The Ravin’ Baby Ese Animal Gargantua Cabron. We were brought together by a couple of simple facts. First, my big brother, The Ace, owned a woodie that ran well enough to get us all to the beach. But more importantly, as we sat eating lunch at La Colina Junior High, we shared one deep secret—isolated by steep cliffs, miles of sand, and a guarded gate that opened only to members lay one of the most lyrical beach-breaks on the entire coast—Hope Ranch Beach.
Every summer a new new covey of nymphs would lie thin and thoroughbred atop their beach towels on a summer’s morn, absorbed in their solar devotions, transistors tinkling, lifeguard slouched sleeping atop his white wooden tower, four or five long surfboards top-down on the wet sand, their owners stretched out on the warm dunes, lulled by the lapping of little wavelets, swarms of flies buzzing lazily above heaps of beached seaweed, seagulls screeching and pecking at the remains of a watermelon rind, College Point hazy off to the north, Woff Woff Point dimly to the south, and, shining silver in the haze—indolent, indifferent, and self-contained—the great Pacific, the majestic Pacific, the wide stretching, everflowing, endlessly rolling Pacific.
The surf was not always flat. On mornings of windswells, the haze usually loafing over the summer shoreline would ghost away, the sky would blue, and above the roaring surf the warm air would tingle with salt spray. The covey of nymphs would come to life, plunging through the waves while straining to keep bikinis in place; the lifeguard would wake up; and a few of us surfers would be out in the water, spread along a mile or so of sun-drenched beach. From time to time one of us would take off on a surging swell of blue water, drop to the bottom of the wave, lean into a turn, and then squat on his board as a bellowing, hollow vortex of Pacific curled over him.
A day later the beach would be dead again, the nymphs, surfers, lifeguard, and kelp flies somnolent, and the Pacific—now once again slumbering behind ever-shifting veils of mist—would resume its long silvery daydream.
The aforementioned Woff Woff Point got its name because Hope Ranch is a private beach. However, those of us addicted to its waves had located places we could sneak in. One of these places was through the magnificant, lush Bryce Estate. To deter such intrusions, the elderly inhabitants of the Bryce mansion had guard dogs that we had to outwit as we snuck, guerrilla style, through the fifty-two acres of their foliage, known formally as Forestel.
The Bryce's library consisted of some 3,000 rare volumes, including the original handwritten version of Mark Twain's "The Jumping Frog of Calavaras County." Far from the mansion, in a shady grove of pines overlooking the Pacific, was a play house as large as a Japanese tea house. On days of flat surf, we would sometimes loll about in hidden nooks of the estate, especially in the little house. It was in that children's play house that I discovered something that changed my life completely.
For, as a result, I undertook a journey to a faraway atoll in the South Pacific. When I returned home from that mere speck of coral lost in the vast blue expanses of the balmy southern latitudes all I could think of was to build a sailboat so that I could return. And so I began. When the work was completed, I set forth on many incredible voyages. I must admit at this point in my narrative, however, my very first voyage, to that tiny atoll, had been through the pages of Charles Nordhoff's tale, Pearl Lagoon. I had discovered it on the shelves of the play house. So compelling was Nordhoff's narrative, that it really was not reading, it was actual travel and I was transported to it my spiritual body to that atoll and dwelt there for years.
Every summer a new new covey of nymphs would lie thin and thoroughbred atop their beach towels on a summer’s morn, absorbed in their solar devotions, transistors tinkling, lifeguard slouched sleeping atop his white wooden tower, four or five long surfboards top-down on the wet sand, their owners stretched out on the warm dunes, lulled by the lapping of little wavelets, swarms of flies buzzing lazily above heaps of beached seaweed, seagulls screeching and pecking at the remains of a watermelon rind, College Point hazy off to the north, Woff Woff Point dimly to the south, and, shining silver in the haze—indolent, indifferent, and self-contained—the great Pacific, the majestic Pacific, the wide stretching, everflowing, endlessly rolling Pacific.
The surf was not always flat. On mornings of windswells, the haze usually loafing over the summer shoreline would ghost away, the sky would blue, and above the roaring surf the warm air would tingle with salt spray. The covey of nymphs would come to life, plunging through the waves while straining to keep bikinis in place; the lifeguard would wake up; and a few of us surfers would be out in the water, spread along a mile or so of sun-drenched beach. From time to time one of us would take off on a surging swell of blue water, drop to the bottom of the wave, lean into a turn, and then squat on his board as a bellowing, hollow vortex of Pacific curled over him.
A day later the beach would be dead again, the nymphs, surfers, lifeguard, and kelp flies somnolent, and the Pacific—now once again slumbering behind ever-shifting veils of mist—would resume its long silvery daydream.
The aforementioned Woff Woff Point got its name because Hope Ranch is a private beach. However, those of us addicted to its waves had located places we could sneak in. One of these places was through the magnificant, lush Bryce Estate. To deter such intrusions, the elderly inhabitants of the Bryce mansion had guard dogs that we had to outwit as we snuck, guerrilla style, through the fifty-two acres of their foliage, known formally as Forestel.
The Bryce's library consisted of some 3,000 rare volumes, including the original handwritten version of Mark Twain's "The Jumping Frog of Calavaras County." Far from the mansion, in a shady grove of pines overlooking the Pacific, was a play house as large as a Japanese tea house. On days of flat surf, we would sometimes loll about in hidden nooks of the estate, especially in the little house. It was in that children's play house that I discovered something that changed my life completely.
For, as a result, I undertook a journey to a faraway atoll in the South Pacific. When I returned home from that mere speck of coral lost in the vast blue expanses of the balmy southern latitudes all I could think of was to build a sailboat so that I could return. And so I began. When the work was completed, I set forth on many incredible voyages. I must admit at this point in my narrative, however, my very first voyage, to that tiny atoll, had been through the pages of Charles Nordhoff's tale, Pearl Lagoon. I had discovered it on the shelves of the play house. So compelling was Nordhoff's narrative, that it really was not reading, it was actual travel and I was transported to it my spiritual body to that atoll and dwelt there for years.
October 4, 2010
This book was great. I remembered why Nordhoff and Hall are my favorite authors. The stories they tell are full of detail and adventure. This one was written back in the 20's so its nice to hear a story told in the language and technology of back then. This story was about a young boy that got to go to the south pacific with his uncle and dive for pearls. It was full of adventure and makes me feel like it could have been something I would like to have done. Just a great book.
February 12, 2014
This is just a great tale. I first heard this book read by my sixth grade teacher in elementary school. It is still one of my favorite books. It has a great combination of adventure and historical and cultural detail. Some may take offense at racial references, but I think the author shows a great deal of respect for the cultural differences, particularly for the time when it was written.
April 1, 2023
Exciting from beginning to end. The Pearl Lagoon is a real page turner & difficult to put down. Bouncing from adventure to adventure, interspersed with violent storms &
The sailors who survived them, captivating fishing stories & the techniques to catch them, it’s a wonderful slice of life into a culture that probably doesn’t exist any more.
Highly recommended!
The sailors who survived them, captivating fishing stories & the techniques to catch them, it’s a wonderful slice of life into a culture that probably doesn’t exist any more.
Highly recommended!
January 14, 2020
I found this book as I searched for a Christmas present for my grandson. I first read this book more than 55 years ago in paperback when I was still in Junior High School. It is an adventure story about a young lad who is invited by his uncle to travel to the South seas in search of pearls. I had a great time reading this again, even though I had remembered the story. It kept my attention once again and when you read it, you will almost be able to smell the salt air of the ocean. There is no bad language in this book, but there is a cruel villain, a very big shark, and a huge deadly fish.
May 2, 2017
I got this little book when I was in jr high and love it
This story takes place on early California history. It's about a boy who goes on trip to the South Pacific with his uncle.
This story takes place on early California history. It's about a boy who goes on trip to the South Pacific with his uncle.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews