Three Men in a Boat

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There is usually a bit of personal regret—and perhaps a slight twinge of guilt—whenever I read a book like Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat, and determine it is one of the worst books I’ve ever read.

First published in 1889, the narrative follows three young gentlemen as they set off on a fortnight’s holiday sculling up the River Thames.  Along the way, they engage in light discussions about Victorian life, recount amusing stories from their past, float through lovely countryside and historical sites, and encounter adventures both funny and sometimes a little sad. 

At times, the book seems to be a collection of disconnected humorous anecdotes.  Other times, it’s a travel book or perhaps an autobiographical sketch.  While it’s possible for a successful book to employ all those genre variations—Yorkshire vet James Herriott was masterful in All Creatures Great and Small—Jerome simply doesn’t pull it off.

The banter among the three friends is somewhat similar to the repartee between Algernon and Jack in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest, but without the sophistication and wit.  In places, Jerome waxes poetically as he describes the English landscape, but it is awkward and sickly sweet—coming across as something a lovesick teenager might write rather than refined Victorian literature.

To be fair, Three Men in a Boat has its staunch admirers.  As recently as 2015, The Guardian ranked the book at #25 in its list of “The 100 Best Novels Written in English”—this from the nation that gave us Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Oscar Wilde, Rudyard Kipling and so many other masters.

Ultimately, Three Men in a Boat survives more as a literary curiosity than a compelling reading experience.  Its historical reputation may justify a single reading, but beyond that, it might have been better if this boat had never launched.

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