Stories and travel are inextricably linked. Stories tell of what has, could have, or might happen – they cannot, save for obliquely, address the present. That sense of inherent dislocation from the present necessitates travel. From that it is easy to see how geographic travel becomes bound up in the very fabric of texts we read – of course stories of far-off lands and dangerous trips are going to dominate over stories of how life at home was much the same as it ever was.
So, I felt it was rather apt to be reading Literary Journeys, which aims to map fictional travels across the world of literature (an interesting physical metaphor), as I travelled. I was on route home from Scotland and as I moved from text to text in the book, steadily moving from the past to the present, I would look up and see the landscape changing as I steadily moved closer to home. Each text is explored by a different writer, with an introduction by the general editor John McMurtrie.
Literary Journeys’ scope is impressive, covering not only all of history (and some might argue that the oral traditions of Homer stretch back into prehistory), but also a wide geographic area. Such a scope should not be impressive, but so often studies of the “world of literature” are just studies of European literature, with the odd outlier. The introduction addresses this and mentions how English literary studies have long focused on male anglophone writers. McMurtrie, in addressing this, avoids any of the works mentioned feeling tokenistic – it is, of course, not a perfect but it is open about its limitations and pushes at their bounds.
It is also far more refreshing than it ought to be for a work covering literature throughout history to actually approach now. Far too often it seems that they peter out in editor’s childhood decade, but Literary Journeys continues its examination right up to the present decade – and so gives a truer sense of history as a continuum of which we are still part.
However, no mention of what translations are used when non-English texts are quoted in English – this, to me, elides the distance between languages that must be travelled to understand the text, which feels particularly noticeable in a book about literary journeys. For what journey is more intrinsic to literature than the journey between different languages? I would also have preferred to see who wrote about each of the texts as I read about them, rather than only seeing that when looking at the “about the contributors” section at the end of the book.
As an object, Literary Journeys has a pleasing weight to it, well suited to vicarious travel from the comfort of your sofa. That physicality combined with the sumptuous images – for this is not a book afraid to give space to art – creates a sense of reverence for travel that, in the age of cheap flights, is often no longer present. It helps that it is structured so, although there is a chronologic order, it can be dipped into, perhaps with coffee as you prepare for your own travels.
It is also worth noting that even texts that feel familiar can benefit from a new perspective. For example, Robinson Crusoe is not a text I associate with travel but Lezard’s analysis both reminds me of the often-forgotten non-island-based parts of the book and fully contextualises it.
That ability to cast a new light on specific texts, whilst showing the wider journey of literature, is what Literary Journeys excels at. Like good travel writing it focuses on the individual points as a way of illuminating the journey, rather than trying to somehow describe the journey itself.
Words by Ed Bedford
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