I write. I've written for a few years now. Over those few years, I've become a better writer. And I have every expectation that over the coming years I will get better still.*

But if, in a thousand years, in a Futuramy style future where jetpacks at last grace our smog-free skies and the whole Oxford comma thing has been sorted out once and for all, my cryogenically preserved head is still telekinetically tapping away at the keyboard (in the wistful and—let's face it—forlorn hope that literature doesn't by then consist entirely of ChatGPT-generated reboots of Marvel-Bridgerton mashups) I will still not be anything like remotely one-tenth as good as Patrick O'Brian.

Patrick O'Who?

Patrick O'Brian, people. Only one of the greatest authors of historical fiction to have ever lived.** Now, given he's my favourite author, you could argue there's a degree of bias in that statement. And you could do so with an entirely justified conviction in the merits of your argument. I am biased. But I am also not alone. Because a whole bunch of people way more knowledgeable, more august, smarterer and better than me with words and stuff agree. So there.

 The Aubrey-Maturin series is historical naval fiction, set during the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th century. The books follow the lives and careers of Jack Aubrey, a captain in the Royal Navy, and Stephen Maturin, a physician, spy and amateur naturalist.

Now, you may be wondering why a guy who usually writes irreverent sci-fi and fantasy is fanboying all over a straitlaced old British dude whose works are about as far from those genres as it is possible to get. 

The answer to that is simple—they're bloody great.***

Why are they bloody great? Where do I begin? How do I begin? Perhaps my future cryogenically preserved head might know, but I'm afraid I don't. Perhaps, more to the point, I wouldn't know where to stop. I could go on about the astonishing detail O'Brian employs, displaying his encyclopaedic knowledge of the period, its language, politics, class-system and warfare. Detail which doesn't intimidate or bore but instead illuminates and illustrates. I could go on about the total immersion this provides, immersion in a world utterly foreign to the modern reader and yet which lives and breathes and is fleshed out and real in a way few other literary realms can match. I could mention the sly and subtle sense of humour threaded throughout the series and I could expound upon the engaging and sympathetic character development and the pacing which never lags and the thrilling action scenes and the emotional highs and the dramatic depths to which the protagonists are exposed, all rendered in the most understated yet exquisite and emotive terms.

I could do all that and still not do justice to the sheer skill O'Brian employs in this series. As someone who writes, I am simply in awe of what he has created. I know I will never come close. And you know what? That's okay. I feel fortunate just to have the chance to read this level of authorship.

I very rarely reread books. There are just too many of the suckers and too few spare minutes to do that. But the Aubrey-Maturin series is my exception that proves the rule. I'm currently partway through my third 'circumnavigation' (as the more devoted (okay wankier) O'Brian-ophiles put it) and I know there will be more to come. These books are my literary comfort food. If I'm feeling a little lost and lonely and have some time to spare, I know I can always sit down with one, sink into its pages and smell the salt and feel the spray on my face and forget the real world for a while.

Now, I'm not going to say you should race out and read them. Obviously, tastes differ and one person's literary masterwork may well be another's yawnfest/migraine trigger/doorstop. Historical naval fiction may leave you cold. And that's fine, each to their own. But here's the thing. Like so many great works of literature, what these books are about is not really what they're are about.

Huh? Bear with me.

Yes, these stories are set a couple of centuries back. Yes, they have a strong nautical bent. And yes, their background and the key driver of many of the plot elements is a war long since fought and won. But that's not what they're about.

No. What these stories are about is people. Perhaps, even more fundamentally, they're about friendship. And if that's not a theme that's timeless and universal, I don't know what is.

If you do decide to have a crack at them, my advice is to stick at it. The first book (Master and Commander) is great, but it does take a little while to mentally slot into the language and the folkways and the feel of the Mediterranean at the turn of the 19th century. But once it clicks, the whole thing flows beautifully and you can buckle in safe in the knowledge there are nineteen (and bit) more books of this bountiful literary goodness to come.****

There is a movie, of course, also called Master and Commander, although somewhat confusingly its plotline is an amalgamation of several books from the middle of the series, rather than the opener from which it takes its name. And it's a good movie. Really good. Rusty Crowe and Paul Bettany swashbuckle up a storm and there is action and derring-do and all kinds of explosions and exciting stuff. Give it a watch as an entree, if you like.

But if you're ready for a genuine literary feast, then take a sip of wine to cleanse your palate, pick your napkin up off the floor, make your way to the buffet...

And get stuck in to the real stuff.

*Don't worry, this is not big-headedness. I'm the first to admit I was coming off a low bar.

**Yes, Mr O'Brian is sadly no longer with us, having inconveniently passed away partway through writing the 21st book in the series. No consideration.

***Also, being a dabbler in one little span of the fictional spectrum does not preclude an author from enjoying the work of those who dabble in the other bits. After all, a short-order burger cook can still frequent and enjoy a Michelin-starred restaurant (I'll leave you to figure out who's flipping the patties in this analogy).

****I feel a little bit of guilt about this paragraph as I've had numerous series, both literary and televisual, recommended to me with the proviso "It gets better a few episodes/books/series in" to which my almost universal mental response has been "Pfft." So, this may be one of those 'do as I say and not as I do' cases.