Tom Neale (1) (1902–1977)

Rounding up from 2.5 stars
In retrospect, I should have realized this book wasn't going to be great. Running away to an island is not just my dream--it's a common one--so it seems unlikely that a really good book on the subject would remain as obscure as An Island to Oneself. Neale is an unlikeable narrator, an extremely idiosyncratic, single-minded person who takes pride in odd things. The things that are appealing about the tropics--the sunshine, the ease of life, the glory of the sunsets, the beauty of the reefs--are barely present in his account. Instead, he obsessively delineates his narrow diet and his many labors, and he doesn't seem to enjoy his surroundings except for the hardships they impose. He doesn't seem to have been in love with islands at all, but only with solitude. He could just as easily have been alone in the middle of the woods in Montana (and now that I think of it, there is something unabomber-ish about him) or Alaska; he kind of reminds me of Chris McCandless from Into the Wild, minus the charm and youthful exuberance. Maybe he would have been more likable if Jon Krakauer had written this story. At the very least he would have been a lot more interesting.

This review is an excerpt from a longer review on my blog, Around the World in 2000 Books.… (mais)

I didn't understand what would make a person pick up and leave all aspects of civilization until I read An Island to Oneself. Even Frisbie's account in The Book of Puka-Puka didn't answer the question because at least Frisbie lived and married among the natives. There were people to talk to. On the atoll of Suvarov in the South Pacific Tom Neale had (on his first visit 1952 - 1954) two cats, chickens & a wild duck he tamed for companionship. The occasional freighter would deter from its shipping lane, but those visits were few and far between. And yet, Neale thrived in that environment. Survival was his challenge and he prided himself on his ingenuity, creativeness and sheer willpower to make his self imposed solitary confinement comfortable. He spent his days keeping his abode spotless, working the land for farming, and fishing (the pig slaughter was a little difficult to read). On his second journey to Suvarov (he left the first time due to illness), Neale came back a smarter man. He built a better cook stove, brought more appropriate supplies and was better prepared for the wild weather that could batter his island from time to time. This time he stayed from 1960 to 1963. It wasn't that Neale didn't like people. He enjoyed the "tourists" who ended up visiting him. It was just that he wanted to do his own thing. Being alone wasn't lonely.… (mais)