tThere is something inherently absurd about any sort of qualitative evaluation (a la "how many stars do I give this on goodreads?") by a twenty-first century reader of a book like Robinson Crusoe. Published in 1719, it embodies a rather paradoxical identity crisis of being a novel that was written before novels really existed. It doesn't play by the rules -- simply because there were no rules when it was written. There are a lot of unfamiliar things that will put off, or even disgust, the modern reader. No, there really isn't anything along the lines of what we'd call "character development." Yes, Robinson is going to kill a bunch of "savages" and try to impart the word of God those he chooses not to kill. For readers who have trouble suspending their twenty-first century sensibilities, these are dangerous waters indeed.

tBut if you can get past all the imperialist hoo-ha and the passages that are just flat-out dull (I mean, there are quite a few), there's something about this book that is truly amazing -- and still would be, even if you attempted to scrub off the Important-with-a-capital-I stamp that the crusty old keepers of the literary canon have branded upon it. Robinson Crusoe is, at its core, a simple and affecting story about what it means to be human. Had I read that sentence I just wrote three weeks ago, I would have thought it a hollow cliche, but maybe because it is such a cliche, there are really so few books that invite us to consider our humanity in its most basic and elemental form. You can't read this book without putting yourself in Crusoe's shoes; would I be going to all this work just to harvest some corn, or would I have completely given up the will to survive by now? At what point is a single, isolated human life not worth living anymore? You ask yourself a lot of humbling questions while reading this book. Maybe Robinson's lack of character enables us to see ourselves in him more readily; plenty of people must have felt compelled to do this, or else we'd have the sad, sad fate of living in a world without Gilligan's Island (among a number of other TV shows.) The story of Robinson Crusoe ripples through our culture immeasurably.

tDoes this make up for the fact that sometimes it's insanely boring? For me, kind of. For everybody? Probably not. Maybe for you, if you are one of those awful people who think pirates jokes are indiscriminately funny, in which case, God help you. Regardless, I enjoyed this book quite a bit.

Creo que este gran clásico de la literatura universal se puede resumir en una palabra: resiliencia.

"La resiliencia o entereza es la capacidad para adaptarse a las situaciones adversas con resultados positivos" reza la definición de este palabro tan de moda en nuestros días.
El náufrago más conocido de la historia, nuestro Robinson Crusoé, supera toda una serie de dificultades haciendo que el lector participe de la experiencia vital de la mayor de las soledades.

Cuando a uno le hacen la típica pregunta de: ¿y tú qué llevarías a una isla desierta? Antes de responder yo recomendaría atender las reflexiones de Robinson, quien pasa por todas las etapas adaptativas en una situación tan devastadora y adversa.

Como lectores, vemos cómo se sobrepone a la ardua tarea del acopio de materiales, cómo se hace agricultor, cómo domestica los animales, como construye su casa y crea un hogar, cómo se refugia en Dios, cómo ansía la libertad a la par que teme salir de sus dominios... Una vez que aparecen otras personas, se le plantean dualidades ético-morales... La novela, más que ser de aventuras, es un diálogo interior donde el autocuidado y la constancia priman por encima de todas las cosas.

Y si yo tuviera que llevar algo a una isla desierta, sería el tenor y la constancia de este personaje para no abandonarse a sí mismo.

Edebiyat dünyası için en önemli kitaplardan biri Robinson Crusoe ve herhalde konusuyla en çok kitabı ve filmi esinleyen eserlerden de biri. Önceki Günün Adası, Uzun Sürmüş Bir Günün Akşamı, Marslı, Cast Away, Lost ilk aklıma gelenler. Doğrudan bir parodi olarak Michel Tournier de Cuma adında bir roman yazmış (bu kitaptan sonra onu okuyacağım). Defoe bu kitabını yazmamış olsaydı, muhtemelen bu ‘‘fantezi’’ yine keşfedilirdi, ama kim bilir ne zaman.

Kitap yazıldığı zamanın ruhuna uygun olarak, epizodik maceralar şeklinde ele alınmış. Robinson önce çeşitli maceralar yaşıyor, sonrasında adaya düşüyor. Adadaki bölümler o bölümlere kıyasla daha bütünlüklü dursa da, yine de epizodik anlatım hakim ve kitapta zaman bilinci pek yerinde değil, yazar bazen basit bir şeyi sayfalarca anlatırken bazen beş yıl sonraya atlayıveriyor, adada kalmaya başlayalı kaç yıl olduğu konusunda birkaç sayfa içerisinde farklı şeyler söyleyiveriyor.

Robinson genel olarak azimli ve inatçı biri, başka bir şey söylemek zor. Adada karşısına çıkan bütün sorunlara rağmen devam ediyor, bazen tanrıdan da yardım alıyor. Bugünün perspektifiyle bakarsak kibirli olduğunu da söyleyebiliriz. Bunun haricinde onun için bir şey söylemek zor. Diğer insanlar ise ikiye ayrılıyor: Ona iyi davrananlar ve iyi davranmayanlar. İyi insanlar iyi davranıyor, kötü insanlar ise kötü davranıyor gibi basit bir akıl yürütmeye dayanıyor bu sınıflama.

Kitabın yazılış amaçlarından biri de, açıkça belli olduğu üzere bir din güzellemesi yapmak. İnançsız Robinson’un inançlı Robinson’a dönüşmesi, tanrıyı, tanrının gerçeklerini ıssız bir adada bulmanın bile mümkün olduğuna dair bir mesel. Ki farklı bir perspektifle, dinin bir hakikat sisteminde ziyade insanın dış dünyayla olan mücadelesinde, yetersiz kaldığını hissettiği için ihtiyaç duyduğu bir kurgu olduğunu bu kitapta net bir biçimde görebiliyoruz. Kaosun içindeki değersiz ve güçsüz insanın kaosa bir düzen getirme arzusu. Doğanın o kadar da umursamaz olamayacağı yanılgısı.

Romanı okurken en çok ilgimi çeken, bana en çok keyif veren şey ise Robinson’un düşünme biçimi üzerine düşünmek oldu. O günün sıradan bir insanı olarak Afrika yerlilerini insan eti yediği için ahlaksız olarak görürken, bugünün sıradan insanının da onu, yavru kedileri öldürdüğü için ahlaksız görebileceğini düşündüm. Tüm roman bu perspektiften okunacak kadar çok malzeme veriyor okura. Robinson’un kendini son derece doğal bir şekilde Cuma’nın efendisi olarak kabul etmesi, kölelikle ve sömürgecilikle ilgili ufacık bir rahatsız duymaması ama aynı zamanda katı bir ahlakçı olması, umarım bugünün yükselen ahlakçılığında ahlak kesenlere basit bir döngüyü gösterebilir: Ahlak zaman ve coğrafyanın çocuğudur. Tutarlı bir ahlaki sistem kurmak mümkün değildir. En katı ahlakçılar bile, sonradan ahlaksız olarak görülebilirler. Cinsiyetçi büyük düşünürler bunun en çarpıcı örneğidir.

Un po’ come tanti, da ragazzo ho letto anch’io la mia “brava” versione condensata di “Robinson Crusoè” (1719) traendone le fantasie e i voli tipici dell’età ma successivamente pur non facendo mancare alla mia libreria diverse versioni adulte, ho sempre rimandato la lettura integrale di questo capolavoro della letteratura e alla fine, quando mi sono deciso, ho optato per una edizione che contenesse anche il seguito delle avventure del protagonista: “Le Nuove Avventure di Robinson Crusoè” (1719). Inutile e superfluo ribadire l’indiscussa superiorità del primo romanzo della serie per l’idea di fondo così originale e per l’abilità dello scrittore di raccontare in maniera credibile come il protagonista riesca dopotutto a sopravvivere e a superare le molteplici difficoltà della vita quotidiana, della solitudine dell’anima, dello scoramento interiore e a inventarsi sempre nuovi traguardi per non deprimersi nell' isolamento. “Le Nuove Avventure” senza cadere nella mediocrità, ma senza nemmeno sfiorare l’eccellenza del precedente lavoro letterario, raccontano i viaggi che Robinson, ormai anziano e benestante ma sempre votato all’avventura, affronta successivamente al ritorno dall’isola alla civiltà, argomento trattato peraltro da una miriade di scrittori non solo dopo ma anche prima di Daniel Defoe [1660-1731] e in cui si percepisce il lavoro scritto più per motivi di lucro sull’onda dell’inattesa notorietà che per una nuova idea.

I know, I know... Robinson Crusoe is a book full of cultural relativism and unconscious cruelty. He's an imperialist bastard. I know.

But it is exactly these elements, plus the fact that it is one hell of an adventure story, that made me really like this book. Yes, it is absolutely provoking. But it also thinks deeply on religion, economy, and self. And it's an adventure. So while in some ways, the story/viewpoint/author are extremely distasteful, it is a very satisfying read.

I thoroughly enjoyed listening to this classic story on Audible. To be able to keep me interested in a man stuck on an island for six hours in my mind shows Defoe to be a master storyteller.

Full review to come

It's really sad that people judge books from the 17th century from their 21st century politically-correct perspective. You don't have to agree with Defoe's worldview and religious beliefs to like the book. I'm repulsed by Homer's beliefs but I know his works deserve to be classics.

People who think this book is boring probably think hikes through majestic mountains or quiet afternoons in a beautiful garden are boring. This book is slow at times. But the slowest parts are the best. Defoe is a master of detail. And the action is much more exciting when it comes after the calm. A book with only action would be boring to me (not to mention corny, e.g. Treasure Island).

This is, hands down, my favorite novel of all time. Rich detail, gripping plot, profound character development, insightful meditations, and the meeting of two radically different worlds in Robinson and the cannibals. I never stop reading this book. When I finish I start again. I love Robinson and Friday as if they were a real life father and brother.

BTW - There is an audio recording by Ron Keith that is spectacular. The publisher is Recorded Books.

بعضی از کتاب ها، بیشتر به خاطر فضایی که در اون خونده شدن، توی ذهن می مونن. برای من، رابینسون کروزو، قطعاً از این دسته است. بذارید توصیف کنم: ده دوازده سالم بود. پدر بزرگ مادری ام، یه خونه ی قدیمی داشت، توی قزوین که بسیار بسیار زیبا بود و پر بود از گل و گیاه و پیچک و دار و درخت. هم توی حیاطش، هم توی خود خونه، یه گلخونه ی مفصل داشتن.
من رابینسون کوروزو رو توی خونه ی پدربزرگم خوندم (از کتابخونه ی پدربزرگم کش رفتم و خوندم) و توی عوالم بچگی، حیاط پر از درخت پدربزرگم رو، جزیره ی متروکه تصور میکردم که من توش گرفتار شدم. یه جورایی، هم میخوندم و هم بازی میکردمش. یادم نمیره لذت اون روزی که مثلاً زیر بارون گیر افتاده بودم (واقعاً بارون میومد) و زیر درخت مخفی شدم که خیس نشم، چون سر پناه دیگه ای نداشتم. مادرم وقتی من رو خیس آب دید، حسابی دعوام کرد.

Роман създаден преди над 300 години, който все още безусловно вълнува читателите си!

Сам съм го чел няколко пъти на невръстна възраст и бях удивен от находчивостта и уменията за оцеляване на Робинзон Крузо, захвърлен на самотен остров след жестока буря и корабокрушение.

Всякакви опити да го изкарат расистки, възхваляващ колонизацията и утвърждаващ превъзходството на белия човек, са не само несъстоятелни, но и клонят от смешни към жалки. Може би не е лошо хулителите му да се позапознаят с живота и делото на автора му.

Все едно ще му накривят капата на Даниел Дефо!

P.S. "Робинзон Крузо" е писана по истински случай!

Oxford World's Classics edition ed. by Thomas Keymer.
I'd always wanted to *have read* the originals of stories like this, that are most famous in children's fairytale abridgements. But apart from Swift's Gulliver's Travels, which I read as a teenager because there was a yellowed old paperback in the house, I'd never bothered. I wanted to *have read* them, but didn't think I'd enjoy the reading process. (Gulliver's Travels only confirmed this.)

Robinson Crusoe did have its longueurs, and even most parts I enjoyed were relatively slow reading, but it was fascinating, historically and psychologically - also to watch a new form, the novel in English, trying to find its feet like a clumsy baby animal. I even connected with it personally, in ways I never expected from its reputation. Most popular discussion of the book relates to Crusoe's interaction with Friday, who doesn't even appear until about ¾ of the way into the novel.

It's also a great example of how important it is to read contextual material for a book this old. Thomas Keymer's introduction to Tom Jones (Penguin), was excellent, so I was glad to see he'd also edited Crusoe. (I also really like the cover of this edition, with its 18th-century woodcut comic-strip.) There are dozens of Goodreads reviews by readers apparently unaware that (as is explained by Keymer) Crusoe's repeated talk of the island as his kingdom was part of an elaborate satire and allegory of James II and Jacobites stretching throughout the novel. Defoe wasn't, and probably didn't intend the reader to be, entirely on Crusoe's side; this is part of the slipperiness of the text as an emergent novel: the conventions of the unreliable narrator were not yet set, Crusoe does not always fit them, and Defoe's own views are not always clear.

Reading Tom Jones (1749), Oroonoko (1688), and now Crusoe (1719) this year, I've realised how important and how divisive Jacobitism was in English culture and politics for decades, and how the memory of the 1685 Monmouth rebellion rankled as long as its veterans lived. In Tom Jones, set during the '45 uprising and invasion, the level of public partisanship and debate made it a lot like reading about the current Brexit situation. The 18th century had a lot of attention in TV documentaries and pop culture over the last twenty years or so, but the pervasiveness of Jacobitism and Hanoverianism was usually overlooked - whereas it's very apparent in this small sample of surviving novels. (Tho it's barely mentioned in the quarter of Pamela (1740) I've read at time of writing this post.)

An early surprise was that Crusoe's father was a Continental European immigrant, Kreutznaer. I'd always assumed 'Crusoe' to be of the same stable of English surnames ending with o-sounds as [Bobby] Shaftoe, [Alan] Sillitoe, and Chatto [& Windus] - but no, it's Anglicised German! Oddly topical to find this in one of the foundation texts of English literature, reading during the Brexit turmoil. (It's probably a Hanoverian reference - the dad, more sober-minded and sensible than his reckless, arrogant son Robinson, was from Bremen.) For years I've been aware of early-modern German immigration to Poland, and at time of writing this review, I'm reading Gogol's Dead Souls (1842) which has several references to German immigrants Russia and Ukraine: they were moving both eastwards and westwards.

I don't think Keymer is as good on Crusoe as he was on Tom Jones. This edition's notes (by James Kelly) on some aspects of Crusoe are also patchy - especially the variable level of information about wildlife and the political circumstances of areas in Africa. In the intro, Keymer doesn't cover the popular reception and adaptation of Defoe's novel, so important in global cultural history - not only for apparently creating a new basic plot-type, but politically. It is nonetheless easy to see how, as the 18th and then 19th centuries wore on (and Jacobitism fell from popular consciousness), Crusoe's attitudes, in this book that became beloved of British boys, helped to fuel the imperialist-colonialist mindset. Not since I read the Iliad have I encountered a book that so blatantly read that way.

Keymer mounts an interesting defence which, in combination with the novel itself, I found, at first, somewhat more convincing than the similar defence I'd read of Heart of Darkness several years ago. In this recent podcast, two academics call Conrad "a racist anti-racist" and Heart of Darkness "a racist critique of racism", which nails that more succinctly. By the end of Crusoe I thought there may be a similar ambiguity in Defoe's take on slavery. The defence rests on a lacuna. Crusoe is being punished by God, through the means of isolation. He becomes aware of the reasons why - or most of the reasons: failure to listen to previous warnings, greed, and not being content with his already adequate lot, first as a merchant's son who shunned his parents' advice, and secondly as a plantation owner who was doing well financially before he overreached by going on a new voyage to increase his wealth. One can, like Keymer, think of Crusoe as also being punished for enslaving other people (on the plantation, and sailing to capture and enslave yet more) when he has every reason to know better, having spent several years as a slave himself to Moors, where, as a pretty young man, he was used as a sex/rape slave as well as for chores. But the novel is silent as to whether Crusoe was also being punished for enslaving others. The silence may illustrate Crusoe's incomplete self-awareness - or a colonialist mindset in which slavery was a fact of life, decades before abolitionists became a political force. Keymer plumps for the former in the light of Defoe's other work. (Which was not entirely consistent because he was a mercenary journalist who would write almost anything to keep the wolf from the door - but he did write another novel, Captain Singleton, with a Quaker hero who was clearly anti-slavery.) By the end of the book, I was less convinced about this structure in which Crusoe is unwittingly punished for enslaving people. He prospers after his return to Europe, still not having denounced slavery, and the story arc by that point seems like more of an adventure /wish fulfilment fantasy than a parable. (However, as a succession of classic novels with religious content have reminded me over the last few months, devout Christians consider that God moves in mysterious ways and it is not for people to understand all his actions. Or would that just be an excuse for a messy early novel, full of holes and repetitions, that never saw a modern editor?)

21st century readers know the outcomes of colonialism - and view Robinson Crusoe from that perspective. In the novel, though, the psychological world of early colonisers is apparent; a dog-eat-dog world where you risked being prey as much as predator, and you might be both at different points in your career. Sea voyages were at the mercy of the weather to an extent it's easy to forget, and could take a vastly long time if the conditions weren't right. In the great storm that afflicts Crusoe's first voyage, the cargo ship takes 6 days from Hull to Yarmouth, then the crew wait another 7 days at Yarmouth to set sail again for London. (Hull to Tilbury - a major docks for London - is about 200 miles on modern roads.) Shipwreck or, on the open sea, capture by pirates, was a real risk, as he finds. And with the long distances, slow travel, absence of telecommunications and relatively small numbers involved, there was no-one in space to hear you scream - nor, usually, to come along in a few hours, days or even weeks to help. At the same time, the seventeenth-century Europeans were already a menace to many other peoples because they had guns - even if they, compared with 19th-century imperialists, felt in greater danger, and less secure in their numbers, firepower and attitude (an attitude partly moulded by this novel). They were also a menace to wildlife, as is clear not just when Crusoe is on the island, but when he washes up on the West African coast after escaping from slavery and kills lions - once evidently in self-defence, but on another occasion more to be on the safe side. At least twice, on both sides of the Atlantic, he speculates that his might have been the first gun heard in his current location in the entire history of the world. It was a moment which I could on one hand understand as feeling historically epic, probably a source of pride and excitement to thousands of 19th century readers, but which also pissed me off a great deal, wishing it (the real-life equivalent) had never happened and that explorers had been content with staying nearer home, or at least disturbing things as little as possible.

I like my own space more and more, yet never thought I would connect quite so much with Robinson Crusoe's time alone on the island. For one thing, it's very hot in the Caribbean, and I wilt uselessly in weather approaching 25C. But immediately, I did connect, especially with the Heath-Robinson ways he had to devise to do everything on his own from scratch. For me it was analogous to experiences stretching from hefting improbably large Ikea items home on buses as a recent graduate and building them on my own, to, in more recent times, adapting common tasks around illness and disability. (And if I didn't have that to deal with, I'd want to do historical reconstruction, so I loved hearing about old methods.) The narrative spoke of detailed inner experience while doing practical work, in a way you rarely see in novels. And, forced to live in an unusual amount of solitude, to an extent he wouldn't otherwise have chosen, Crusoe discovers its unexpected advantages. It is quite useful for getting over traumas (his own enslavement, storms at sea) - but it's not entirely curative (cf. how bloody terrified, retraumatised, he is when his cautious circumnavigation of the island nearly goes wrong, so he won't dare attempt it again). It's great for contemplation and thinking; you come to understand why hermits and traditional yogis were solitary (and that removing many everyday annoyances from their lives could be viewed as a cheat or fast-track towards becoming more peaceful). Crusoe's years of thinking-time help him make sense of his life in a therapeutic manner, though of course his interpretation is primarily religious, not based on modern Western psychology. He has a Bible (but no Shakespeare) and not long after being washed up, he begins a Christian conversion, having formerly shunned religion. Whilst I found his island years a very convincing portrait of someone forced to spend a lot of time alone, making the best of it, and sometimes thriving on it, he doesn't talk of survivor's guilt to the extent that disaster-survivors tend to in contemporary interviews. Whether this can be ascribed to religiosity, or the uneven quality of Defoe's novel, it's hard to say.

His fortitude and approach to tasks is impressive and, along with the religious content, forms another self-help facet of the novel. He persists in projects (such as building things) which take months, and most salutary of all is his learning skills that take a long time to get right (weeks or months, occasionally years), and which he could have scraped by without, making innumerable failed attempts before things start to work. Spending an inordinate amount of time alone can be a great way to shake off ideas of others' expectations, fashion etc, in a way that seems to take some people decades otherwise, and it would have helped knowing he had no-one looking over his shoulder at what a mess it was, or telling him to hurry up. But as someone who was always easily bored by things that weren't either absolutely necessary or which didn't come naturally (and was never trained out of it as a kid), I found the sheer detail of this persistence vividly interesting. It was the closest I'd come to experiencing it, and it seems to have lodged in my mind almost like a lived experience, or at least a 'how to' video. I can well understand how Robinson Crusoe became as much self-help manual as adventure novel, and was once a favourite of millions because it combined the two.

Crusoe obviously was from - and the novel helped reproduce - a very hierarchical society. But, after years of doing just about everything yourself, you also just wish that someone else would bloody do stuff for you. I can't see it as *only* hierarchy that makes him want a servant at least as much as a companion. You want a rest from doing everything yourself, and (as is often said of middle-aged and older people who've lived alone a long time) you get very used to your own space and very set in your ways: you want things done the right way.

Regardless, the portrayal of Friday is still shocking, because, in contrast to Crusoe himself, he has so little character development. For Crusoe, Defoe creates believable thought patterns in response to extreme experiences - he can obviously write an interesting character - but he simply does not show Friday as a full and rounded personality with interiority. Friday is good at everything he does, but he's just a role, and often a stereotype, not a person as is Crusoe. An SF Crusoe could have a robot turn up to fill the Friday role, and it would be a fair reflection of the original.

On Crusoe's return to Europe, the two of them feature in another mini adventure I'd never read of before - though it's absolutely ripping and was perhaps my favourite part of the book. Taking a chance in crossing the Pyrenees in deep winter snow with a small party of other men, they are surrounded by literally hundreds of wolves. As a cold-weather adventure, deeply primal, also echoing (and perhaps inspiring) a favourite book from my childhood, The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, this pressed all the right buttons and had me riveted as I had been with no other episode in the novel. And as I was unfamiliar with the story, and this near the end, it carried a genuine sense of peril as none of the rest of the novel had. I'd been angry about Crusoe shooting the lions, yet as I read this I could imagine nothing more thrilling than to travel back in time as a healthy man and live these scenes. Real action-movie stuff.

I'm glad to have finally found out what's in the original Robinson Crusoe: often better, but sometimes worse, than expected.

(Read Sept-Oct; reviewed Nov 2019)

I'm so happy this nightmare is over! I only trudged through to the end because it's a classic.

Look at me, yes me, I'm Robinson Crusoe and I'm stuck here on this Island and I'm going to tell you all about it, down to the minutest detail... oh and I'm going to do this more than once and... if that's not good enough, I'm going to tell you how I found Providence - that's right - because there is a reason I survived the sunk ship, so I'm going to thank Providence over and over and over and, just when you thought I was humble enough, I'm going to show you how human I am and how things go wrong when I forget to thank Providence, so I'll do it all over again and again and again. Since I'm on this Island all by myself for 200 pages long, you'll have to put up with every wisp of internal monolog too, that's right. And I'm going to be scared and worried until I figure out each obstacle - even though you'll hope for tension and excitement about the state of my imagined dangers, there's really nothing to worry about. I'm a genius, yes, because even though I was stuck here at a young age all by myself, and even though I hardly knew a thing about the world beforehand, I'm going to figure out farming, goat herding, carpentry, sewing, weaponry, tool making, boat building and so many other skills, and I'm going to be an expert in each one of them. Ok ok, you've put up with all of this right? Now I'm going to reward you with a bit of action here and there for the last 100 pages, but mind you, I'm never in real danger and I'll always be the victor and supreme ruler of my Island, AND I'll thank Providence after each victory. Basically, I'm blessed and everyone I'm in touch with will have good fortune and will give me in return nothing but good fortune, no one will ever cheat me, lie to me, betray me, hurt me or do any evil unto me. There you are, everything works out, smooth sailing all the way, the end.

This tale was first published in 1719, and was one of the earliest example of a fictionalized account of possibly real events. I recall that the first time I read it, I was fascinated by the very long titles for every chapter, and somewhat put off by the archaic style.

I still highly recommend this book as a glimpse back into the roots of novels, as well as being a great tale.