You’d think you would pretty much know what to expect from any book that touts on the back cover “the boys will only be able to escape these harrowing perils through courage and determined pluck.” Well, guess what, you’d be exactly right. This book, although written some 150 years ago, is as similar to any number of Hardy Boys mysteries as anything published. The story is actually a fairly rousing tale of determined pluck, and that’s not necessarily such a bad thing. Three boys find themselves stranded on a South Pacific deserted island after their schooner wrecks in a storm. These three young men keep their wits about them, and a la Robinson Crusoe, form for themselves a very pleasant lifestyle.
For the most part, in this area the book is enjoyable and entertaining. I really enjoy the survival aspect of stories like this. The boys keep their heads and manage to create a very nice living environment. I mean, they’re not like the Professor from Gilligan’s Island, but they seem to manage ok. The problem with this story, is the inevitable second part. The part of the story that all of these types of books can’t seem to just drop is the inevitable confrontation with unruly natives or a murderous band of pirates. Well, The Coral Island has both of these, in spades. Our heroes are pitted against the “bloodthirsty savages” on many occasions; and we are lead to the inevitable ‘message’ that the only hope for redemption will come from the fearless Christian missionaries. Because really, nothing will save these poor fellow’s souls except the word of God… riiiiiight.
I understand that you have to take this kind of historical fiction in the context within which it was produced, but this book at least goes too far. The Pacific Island natives are portrayed as a load of crazed cannibals that have only to be shown the light and love of God to redeem them. It is ridiculous. I understand that there was some pretty gruesome practices amongst the natives at one time; but what the hell. There was some pretty gruesome practices among the Europeans too. And the Islanders never engaged in monumental Holy Wars, killing untold numbers for their gods. I’m just going to stop here with this line of dialogue though, because I admittedly don’t know enough about this subject. It just annoys me.
At the end of the day, this book was exactly what I expected it to be. Well, maybe it was slightly more annoying than it could have been. Anyhow, it’s supposedly a piece of ‘Classic’ literature, but does that mean it’s really worth reading? I think not. Just skip this one. It’s not worth the aggravation.
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