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The Sex Lives Of Cannibals
Fantasized about quitting the 9-5? Walking away from credit card debt and student loans? Think living in the South Pacific for two years sounds like a perfect solution and perhaps even a winning idea for your first novel? Maarten Troost does just that, setting up as a devil-may-care islander while his girlfriend, Sylvia, gets to work on saving the planet, or at least a little part of it on an end-of-the-world atoll, Tarawa.
Life on Tarawa resembles not so much paradise as a theatre of the absurd where planes fly with the aid of masking tape, Coconut Stalinism prevails as national government and Sylvia is co-opted by the CIA to spy on the Chinese. But abandoning continental hang-ups like barbequeing the local dogs and watching on as international industrial fishing trawlers plunder the world's richest tuna supply aren't so easy. Perhaps only by following the locals and letting go, one just might find a better way to live...
162 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 8, 2003
831 people are currently reading
27999 people want to read
About the author
J. Maarten Troost
8 books820 followersJan Maarten Troost (known professionally as J. Maarten Troost) (born 1969 in The Netherlands) is a Dutch-American travel writer and essayist.
J. Maarten Troost is the author of The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific. His essays have appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, the Washington Post, and the Prague Post. He spent two years in Kiribati in the equatorial Pacific and upon his return was hired as a consultant by the World Bank. After several years in Fiji, he recently relocated to the U.S. and now lives with his wife and son in California.
J. Maarten Troost is the author of The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific. His essays have appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, the Washington Post, and the Prague Post. He spent two years in Kiribati in the equatorial Pacific and upon his return was hired as a consultant by the World Bank. After several years in Fiji, he recently relocated to the U.S. and now lives with his wife and son in California.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,603 reviews
May 6, 2015
This book is like a sandwich. The first piece of dry bread is Troost smirkingly telling us that he is just too good, clever and unique to have to actually work and pay bills, like the rest of us. In the final, dry chapter he tells us just how superior he feels to the idiots who over-pay and over-respect him for his newly acquired job that he knows nothing at all about. He wants to return to the life of a house-husband on a tropical island, supported by his wife while he floats in the blue waters of the lagoon and procrastinates about writing a book.
Surprisingly, the filling of this sandwich is very tasty. He relates the history of Kiribati and the day-to-day life of a foreigner willingly marooned on a tiny tropical island in an amusing and somewhat spicy, biting fashion. Its very entertaining and - with the concise history - informative.
Troost, though, fails to penetrate the surface of the island life. He forever moans the 'golden age' he presumes the island must have been in before he and his ilk brought the outside world, the developed world, to the South Pacific. He presumes that the islanders are much degraded now in the poverty of their subsistence existence compared to the life they must have lived in this imagined 'golden age', often described elsewhere as 'the noble savage'. I don't like to bring race into it, but why, why, why do white men (and it is always whites) go to an island to skim the cream off the milk, earn salaries three times that of locals, insist on importing as many of the appurtenances of modern life as their luggage - or container - can hold and are then surprised when the local people would also like to have easy-to-prepare food, disposable nappies, pretty clothes and all those other items that we take for granted?
How do I know this so good? Because I live on a tiny tropical island myself. I have the pictures from my grandparents of the 'golden age' and I myself arrived before much modern development. The island has about 10% British and American folks on it. They mostly mix with each other (and local politicans and bigwigs who have travelled and understand how to behave at a cocktail party and whose children attend the American school - fees per month more than the average local income). The non-working partner generally joins some charity, mostly for the social life, the Reef Keepers, National Parks, Coastal Development et al that raise money at balls, art shows and $100 a head dinners, and seek to pressure outside agencies and local government into restricting further progress. All of them are devoted to keeping the island just as it was when they arrived or even taking it back further and bugger what the locals want. After all, how would such an uneducated, primitive people really be able to decide what is best for themselves?
Troot's only descriptions of the bustling town on Tarawa are brief and of a degraded, open-sewer, corrupt kind of existence. Does he really think the people live like that, is there no vibrance and ambition there? There are no descriptions at all of their working lives, of the education, of their ambitions, or even of courtship and marriage. He is very selective indeed about the cultural aspects of island-life he describes. Troost is as patronising as the ex-pats are on my island with their old-colonial attitudes now so out of place and out of time.
I would probably not want to read Maarten Troost's other book on Fiji, written while he was again a house-husband and before he relocated to the truly golden life of California. However, when his columns for Atlantic Monthly and the Washington Post are inevitably collected into a slim volume without the verbiage of a full-length book, I would definitely buy it. Small, appetizing bites can be even tastier than a full-scale meal.
Surprisingly, the filling of this sandwich is very tasty. He relates the history of Kiribati and the day-to-day life of a foreigner willingly marooned on a tiny tropical island in an amusing and somewhat spicy, biting fashion. Its very entertaining and - with the concise history - informative.
Troost, though, fails to penetrate the surface of the island life. He forever moans the 'golden age' he presumes the island must have been in before he and his ilk brought the outside world, the developed world, to the South Pacific. He presumes that the islanders are much degraded now in the poverty of their subsistence existence compared to the life they must have lived in this imagined 'golden age', often described elsewhere as 'the noble savage'. I don't like to bring race into it, but why, why, why do white men (and it is always whites) go to an island to skim the cream off the milk, earn salaries three times that of locals, insist on importing as many of the appurtenances of modern life as their luggage - or container - can hold and are then surprised when the local people would also like to have easy-to-prepare food, disposable nappies, pretty clothes and all those other items that we take for granted?
How do I know this so good? Because I live on a tiny tropical island myself. I have the pictures from my grandparents of the 'golden age' and I myself arrived before much modern development. The island has about 10% British and American folks on it. They mostly mix with each other (and local politicans and bigwigs who have travelled and understand how to behave at a cocktail party and whose children attend the American school - fees per month more than the average local income). The non-working partner generally joins some charity, mostly for the social life, the Reef Keepers, National Parks, Coastal Development et al that raise money at balls, art shows and $100 a head dinners, and seek to pressure outside agencies and local government into restricting further progress. All of them are devoted to keeping the island just as it was when they arrived or even taking it back further and bugger what the locals want. After all, how would such an uneducated, primitive people really be able to decide what is best for themselves?
Troot's only descriptions of the bustling town on Tarawa are brief and of a degraded, open-sewer, corrupt kind of existence. Does he really think the people live like that, is there no vibrance and ambition there? There are no descriptions at all of their working lives, of the education, of their ambitions, or even of courtship and marriage. He is very selective indeed about the cultural aspects of island-life he describes. Troost is as patronising as the ex-pats are on my island with their old-colonial attitudes now so out of place and out of time.
I would probably not want to read Maarten Troost's other book on Fiji, written while he was again a house-husband and before he relocated to the truly golden life of California. However, when his columns for Atlantic Monthly and the Washington Post are inevitably collected into a slim volume without the verbiage of a full-length book, I would definitely buy it. Small, appetizing bites can be even tastier than a full-scale meal.
February 10, 2008
Having lived in the exact same equatorial Pacific nation at the exact same time as the author, I feel an unprecedented connection to this book. I loved it and was a little bit bothered by it at the same time. Mostly I cracked up laughing the whole time, as if it was a book of inside jokes between the author and me, as he described the exact things that I experienced there: everything from the toilet with a unique ocean view on the Martha to Kiribati bureacracy. The part of me that loves Kiribati and the people there as a second home and family were a little bit embarrassed, in the "I can make fun of my family, but no one else better" kind of way, but overall I think the author (whom I think I met one time at dinner at the Otintai Hotel one night) showed appropriate respect. Having lived there longer and being more fluent in the language than the author, I also was in a position to notice a few errors and a few places where I think he doesn't realize that he was treated a certain way because of the culture. Those few things aside, I loved it. It made me at once homesick and amused. I'm glad he wrote it, because I don't know that I could have.
September 16, 2018
”There is no place on Earth where color has been rendered with such intense depth, from the first light of dawn illuminating a green coconut frond to the last ray of sunset, when the sky is reddened to biblical proportions. And the blue...have you seen just how blue blue can get in the equatorial Pacific? In comparison, Picasso’s blue period seems decidedly ash-gray.”
That look on Angel Fernandez de Soto for some reason reminds me of Maarten
When Maarten Troost’s girlfriend Sylvia comes home and asks him if he wants to move to a remote Pacific island it took him about three seconds to take stock of his life, and realize this was the best offer he’d ever had. They pack, mostly the wrong things, and before you can say Robinson Crusoe find themselves on the island of Tarawa in the Republic of Kiribati.
Now there are few issues you may have with Troost. First this title, though catchy and even giggle worthy, has nothing to do with the book. We do not meet cannibals in this book nor do we learn about cannibals in this book, and even more disappointing we don’t get an “insiders” look at the sex lives of such beastly people. So those of you, hopefully there are not many, who are looking for some information on a lifestyle revolving around the consumption of LONG PIG this is not the book for you. Although I’m sure Troost, his editor, and his publisher may have had a few belly laughs over this bit of tongue in cheek fraud.
Second, for me this concept would have been a bit more impressive if Troost is escaping the rigorous of a working life. If he had been slogging away at some dead end corporate job, like many of the rest of us, and had chucked it all for the back to nature, finding himself, adventure. He is more than a little smug about his life, pushing the snooze button on the alarm clock of life which is code to me for “I’m living off someone else”. My stiff-neck over this issue dissolved as I found myself chuckling frequently, maybe somewhat maliciously so, over his hapless adventures.
Third towards the end of the book Maarten is hired as a consultant for the World Bank. He is ludicrously overpaid and spends many pages talking about how idiotic these people were for hiring him. (I couldn’t disagree with him.) I could feel that stiff-neck coming back. He bragged about the elevated lifestyle that he and his now wife Sylvia were enjoying while thumbing his nose at his employers for giving it to him. It sounded to me like he could have helped a lot of people in need if he had taken the job more seriously; and maybe he did, and this is all just him building up this persona of himself as a ne’er-do-well.
Maybe I just need my neck rubbed by a lovely polynesian woman.
Troost can wax nostalgic about all the blues and the greens, but there are also absolutely disgusting eyesores in paradise. They take a walk on the small atoll of Majuro which is North of the island of Tarawa.
”There is a filthy fringe of beach that recedes into soppy mud before disappearing into a lifeless lagoon. On the ocean side of the atoll there is a gray and barren reef shelf stained with what from a distance look like large, whitish-brownish polyps that on closer inspection turn out to be used diapers, resting there under the high sun while awaiting an outgoing tide.”
Eeuuwh!
Once Maarten and Sylvia settle into Tarawa there are some fundamental problems that generally people living in civilization don’t have to deal with on a daily basis. The island has been in a drought and it isn’t long before they run out of water. Their main diet is fish, and given the nature of fish to decompose even quicker in this climate, food has to be procured every day. So Maarten instead of lazing around in a hammock all day long finds himself pedaling his bike furiously about the island trying to keep the two of them in food and water. ( I rather enjoyed reading about Maarten having to pull his own weight in this regard.) Fish is supplemented every so often by a ship from Australia offloading all the dented cans and conceptually unappealing food that the population of Australia refused to eat.
*Shiver*
It doesn’t take long before those dented cans start to look like gourmet food to Maarten.
They have Peeping Tom issues, some of whom carry rather wicked looking machetes. The lovely; and of course, exotically caucasian visage of Sylvia was of endless fascination to the Kiribati male population. They were quite content to sit outside her window and watch her... read. Flattering, I’m sure, for about thirty seconds, and then progressively creepier as the minutes tick by.
The biggest problem that Maarten faced was one that followed him everywhere...the ceaseless sweating.
”I could either melt into an oozing puddle, drop by drop--a slow, torturous death, for certain--or I could ease my suffering with a swim in the world’s largest backyard pool, thereby risking life and limb to the schools of sharks that were, and I sensed this strongly, circling at reef’s edge, awaiting a meal featuring the other-other white meat.”
Is it wrong to root for the sharks?
Little does Maarten know there are LARGER, more TREACHEROUS things in the water.
”And then I saw what confronted me. It rested directly between myself and shore. It was massive. I had never seen anything like it. I sensed its power. I became very, very frightened.
It was an enormous brown bottom.
The possessor, a giant of a man, was squatting in the shadows, holding on to a ledge of coral rock. He emitted. He emitted some more. He was like a stricken oil tanker, oozing brown sludge. When he was done, he wiped himself with sticks. Not leaves. Sticks. Small branches. Twigs.
And then they were coming my way. Riding the ebbing tide., the sticks homed in on me. I became the North Star for shit-encrusted sticks. Whichever way I moved, and I was moving very quickly these sticks seemed to follow. They were closing in. I began to curse. In Dutch. This only happens when something primal is stirred.
Podverdomme!
His curse word makes more sense to me if you replace the P with a G, but I’m not a Dutch speaker. Okay so I laughed again the whole time I was typing this quote into this review maybe because I feel our hero, Maarten, could use some “crap” thrown his way.
Troost does give us some background on how the 19th century slave trade impacted the Kiribati. The men were first considered most valuable to work on plantations all over the Pacific, but soon the beautiful young women were sought after even more than the men for purposes that does not require much imagination to figure out. After laws were passed, and were beginning to be enforced the same type of men as the slavers came around inducing men and women to leave the islands for very low pay. This period of time is called the Pacific Labor Trade. Over 70% of the people living on these islands left for what they hoped was a better. Most never returned and not because they found wealth and comfort working for white men.
We meet a cast of colorful characters, of which, my favorite was Half Dead Fred. After living on the island of the Long Knives for nineteen years past the day his visa expired, the government, inexplicably, decides that it is time to enforce his removal from their country. He had numerous wives and a profitable business. The prospect of being dropped back into the middle of American culture is frankly terrifying to him.
”Half-Dead Fred had earned his moniker. He was so wasted in appearance that in comparison a cadaver would seem plump and rosy-cheeked. Tall and gangly with a long salt-and-pepper beard, Half-Dead Fred looked much as I imagined Robinson Crusoe would look had Robinson Crusoe been marooned for a few years longer. He wore a pair of shorts that anywhere else would have long been discarded or put to use as rags.”
Okay, so admittedly, I had issues with Troost. The only reason he bobbed back up on my radar is because he recently released a travel book which has something to do with Robert Louis Stevenson. So far the reviews of Headhunters on My Doorstep: A True Treasure Island Ghost Story are not encouraging. Again the title seems to have little to do with the subject matter of the book. His writing style is engaging and as I mentioned earlier he did make me chuckle more than once. This is a *** star book with a bump to ***½ for entertainment value.
That look on Angel Fernandez de Soto for some reason reminds me of Maarten
When Maarten Troost’s girlfriend Sylvia comes home and asks him if he wants to move to a remote Pacific island it took him about three seconds to take stock of his life, and realize this was the best offer he’d ever had. They pack, mostly the wrong things, and before you can say Robinson Crusoe find themselves on the island of Tarawa in the Republic of Kiribati.
Now there are few issues you may have with Troost. First this title, though catchy and even giggle worthy, has nothing to do with the book. We do not meet cannibals in this book nor do we learn about cannibals in this book, and even more disappointing we don’t get an “insiders” look at the sex lives of such beastly people. So those of you, hopefully there are not many, who are looking for some information on a lifestyle revolving around the consumption of LONG PIG this is not the book for you. Although I’m sure Troost, his editor, and his publisher may have had a few belly laughs over this bit of tongue in cheek fraud.
Second, for me this concept would have been a bit more impressive if Troost is escaping the rigorous of a working life. If he had been slogging away at some dead end corporate job, like many of the rest of us, and had chucked it all for the back to nature, finding himself, adventure. He is more than a little smug about his life, pushing the snooze button on the alarm clock of life which is code to me for “I’m living off someone else”. My stiff-neck over this issue dissolved as I found myself chuckling frequently, maybe somewhat maliciously so, over his hapless adventures.
Third towards the end of the book Maarten is hired as a consultant for the World Bank. He is ludicrously overpaid and spends many pages talking about how idiotic these people were for hiring him. (I couldn’t disagree with him.) I could feel that stiff-neck coming back. He bragged about the elevated lifestyle that he and his now wife Sylvia were enjoying while thumbing his nose at his employers for giving it to him. It sounded to me like he could have helped a lot of people in need if he had taken the job more seriously; and maybe he did, and this is all just him building up this persona of himself as a ne’er-do-well.
Maybe I just need my neck rubbed by a lovely polynesian woman.
Troost can wax nostalgic about all the blues and the greens, but there are also absolutely disgusting eyesores in paradise. They take a walk on the small atoll of Majuro which is North of the island of Tarawa.
”There is a filthy fringe of beach that recedes into soppy mud before disappearing into a lifeless lagoon. On the ocean side of the atoll there is a gray and barren reef shelf stained with what from a distance look like large, whitish-brownish polyps that on closer inspection turn out to be used diapers, resting there under the high sun while awaiting an outgoing tide.”
Eeuuwh!
Once Maarten and Sylvia settle into Tarawa there are some fundamental problems that generally people living in civilization don’t have to deal with on a daily basis. The island has been in a drought and it isn’t long before they run out of water. Their main diet is fish, and given the nature of fish to decompose even quicker in this climate, food has to be procured every day. So Maarten instead of lazing around in a hammock all day long finds himself pedaling his bike furiously about the island trying to keep the two of them in food and water. ( I rather enjoyed reading about Maarten having to pull his own weight in this regard.) Fish is supplemented every so often by a ship from Australia offloading all the dented cans and conceptually unappealing food that the population of Australia refused to eat.
*Shiver*
It doesn’t take long before those dented cans start to look like gourmet food to Maarten.
They have Peeping Tom issues, some of whom carry rather wicked looking machetes. The lovely; and of course, exotically caucasian visage of Sylvia was of endless fascination to the Kiribati male population. They were quite content to sit outside her window and watch her... read. Flattering, I’m sure, for about thirty seconds, and then progressively creepier as the minutes tick by.
The biggest problem that Maarten faced was one that followed him everywhere...the ceaseless sweating.
”I could either melt into an oozing puddle, drop by drop--a slow, torturous death, for certain--or I could ease my suffering with a swim in the world’s largest backyard pool, thereby risking life and limb to the schools of sharks that were, and I sensed this strongly, circling at reef’s edge, awaiting a meal featuring the other-other white meat.”
Is it wrong to root for the sharks?
Little does Maarten know there are LARGER, more TREACHEROUS things in the water.
”And then I saw what confronted me. It rested directly between myself and shore. It was massive. I had never seen anything like it. I sensed its power. I became very, very frightened.
It was an enormous brown bottom.
The possessor, a giant of a man, was squatting in the shadows, holding on to a ledge of coral rock. He emitted. He emitted some more. He was like a stricken oil tanker, oozing brown sludge. When he was done, he wiped himself with sticks. Not leaves. Sticks. Small branches. Twigs.
And then they were coming my way. Riding the ebbing tide., the sticks homed in on me. I became the North Star for shit-encrusted sticks. Whichever way I moved, and I was moving very quickly these sticks seemed to follow. They were closing in. I began to curse. In Dutch. This only happens when something primal is stirred.
Podverdomme!
His curse word makes more sense to me if you replace the P with a G, but I’m not a Dutch speaker. Okay so I laughed again the whole time I was typing this quote into this review maybe because I feel our hero, Maarten, could use some “crap” thrown his way.
Troost does give us some background on how the 19th century slave trade impacted the Kiribati. The men were first considered most valuable to work on plantations all over the Pacific, but soon the beautiful young women were sought after even more than the men for purposes that does not require much imagination to figure out. After laws were passed, and were beginning to be enforced the same type of men as the slavers came around inducing men and women to leave the islands for very low pay. This period of time is called the Pacific Labor Trade. Over 70% of the people living on these islands left for what they hoped was a better. Most never returned and not because they found wealth and comfort working for white men.
We meet a cast of colorful characters, of which, my favorite was Half Dead Fred. After living on the island of the Long Knives for nineteen years past the day his visa expired, the government, inexplicably, decides that it is time to enforce his removal from their country. He had numerous wives and a profitable business. The prospect of being dropped back into the middle of American culture is frankly terrifying to him.
”Half-Dead Fred had earned his moniker. He was so wasted in appearance that in comparison a cadaver would seem plump and rosy-cheeked. Tall and gangly with a long salt-and-pepper beard, Half-Dead Fred looked much as I imagined Robinson Crusoe would look had Robinson Crusoe been marooned for a few years longer. He wore a pair of shorts that anywhere else would have long been discarded or put to use as rags.”
Okay, so admittedly, I had issues with Troost. The only reason he bobbed back up on my radar is because he recently released a travel book which has something to do with Robert Louis Stevenson. So far the reviews of Headhunters on My Doorstep: A True Treasure Island Ghost Story are not encouraging. Again the title seems to have little to do with the subject matter of the book. His writing style is engaging and as I mentioned earlier he did make me chuckle more than once. This is a *** star book with a bump to ***½ for entertainment value.
August 26, 2015
That right there my friends is a dangerous title. Why? Because it's misleading. Let me explain...
Go to Youtube, find a video with a hyperbolic title - one that promises the BEST, MOST EXCITING, FUNNIEST of whatever the content is - watch it and if it doesn't live up to the billing see what the viewers say about it in the comment section and check out the ratio of "likes" and "dislikes". A few samplings of that will clearly and quickly display why a misleading title is a bad idea.
Sure, a title like The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific has the eye-catch-ability to sell more copies, but it will disappoint when the reader discovers there's no sex and no cannibals! Hell, the author isn't even adrift! He's on a bloody island!
J. Maarten Troost may be a lying sack of shit*, but he's also a funny guy. And a good sense of humor is necessary when you find yourself put in a situation and place that does not meet your expectations...or anyone's expectations for that matter.
Nothing earth-shattering happens in this light travel journal, which is another reason a writer with humor is important. It's something to keep the readers eyes moving forward, and that's important because the book can be a bit of an eye-opener for those of us completely unfamiliar with life in the Pacific Islands of today with its inhabitants' love of Spam and horrible pop music...well actually, a single horrible pop song...and who'd want to miss that?!
* I kid, I kid. My insults and outrage are, in and of themselves, hyperbolic. THUMBS DOWN!!!
Go to Youtube, find a video with a hyperbolic title - one that promises the BEST, MOST EXCITING, FUNNIEST of whatever the content is - watch it and if it doesn't live up to the billing see what the viewers say about it in the comment section and check out the ratio of "likes" and "dislikes". A few samplings of that will clearly and quickly display why a misleading title is a bad idea.
Sure, a title like The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific has the eye-catch-ability to sell more copies, but it will disappoint when the reader discovers there's no sex and no cannibals! Hell, the author isn't even adrift! He's on a bloody island!
J. Maarten Troost may be a lying sack of shit*, but he's also a funny guy. And a good sense of humor is necessary when you find yourself put in a situation and place that does not meet your expectations...or anyone's expectations for that matter.
Nothing earth-shattering happens in this light travel journal, which is another reason a writer with humor is important. It's something to keep the readers eyes moving forward, and that's important because the book can be a bit of an eye-opener for those of us completely unfamiliar with life in the Pacific Islands of today with its inhabitants' love of Spam and horrible pop music...well actually, a single horrible pop song...and who'd want to miss that?!
* I kid, I kid. My insults and outrage are, in and of themselves, hyperbolic. THUMBS DOWN!!!
August 5, 2015
Burdened with student loans and crushing credit card debt, the author decides to run away from responsibility escape with his ladylove to Tarawa, a tiny South Pacific island in the Republic of Kiribati.
Troost's visions of a lush tropical paradise are soon swallowed by the harsh reality of beaches studded with feces (human), and a diet consisting of boiled (occasionally toxic) fish. And beer. (Thank God for the beer!)
To picture Kiribati, imagine that the continental U.S. were to conveniently disappear leaving only Baltimore and a vast swath of very blue ocean in its place. Now chop up Baltimore into thirty-three pieces, place a neighborhood where Maine used to be, another where California once was, and so on, until you have thirty-three pieces of Baltimore dispersed in such a way as to ensure that 32/33 of Baltimorians will never attend an Orioles game again. Now take away electricity, running water, toilets, television, restaurants, buildings, and airplanes (except for two very old prop planes, tended by people who have no word for "maintenance"). Replace with thatch. Flatten all land into a uniform two feet above sea level. Toy with islands by melting polar ice caps. Add palm trees. Sprinkle with hepatitis A, B, and C. Stir in dengue fever and intestinal parasites. Take away doctors. Isolate and bake at a constant temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The result is the Republic of Kiribati.
Funny . . . it doesn't look that bad from the air.
So, while his girlfriend went to work everyday managing programs that sought to improve child and maternal health, alleviate vitamin A deficiency, raise environmental awareness, and advance the cause of sanitation. . ., Troost was left on his own. His attempts to write a novel never got off the first page (sentence, really), so he became something of a househusband whose duties included finding fish for dinner that would provide nutrition without actually killing the couple.
You may envy or scorn Troost's copious amounts of free time, but you'll have to admit he had a fairly interesting experience. I was waffling between three and four stars as there really isn't much to this book, but the author's method of dealing with Mormons who come a-knocking bumped the star-o-meter up to four.
Elder Jeb and Elder Brian were twenty-year-old Mormon missionaries from Utah. They wanted my soul.
"Come in," I said. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"No, thanks."
"How about a cigarette?"
"No, really."
"Beer?"
"No, we can't"
When I inquired if they had had any luck finding wives, they decided to move on and try their chances elsewhere.
Troost - if you come up with a clever way to get rid of the Jehovah's Witnesses who haunt my doorway, I'll bump your score up to five.
Troost's visions of a lush tropical paradise are soon swallowed by the harsh reality of beaches studded with feces (human), and a diet consisting of boiled (occasionally toxic) fish. And beer. (Thank God for the beer!)
To picture Kiribati, imagine that the continental U.S. were to conveniently disappear leaving only Baltimore and a vast swath of very blue ocean in its place. Now chop up Baltimore into thirty-three pieces, place a neighborhood where Maine used to be, another where California once was, and so on, until you have thirty-three pieces of Baltimore dispersed in such a way as to ensure that 32/33 of Baltimorians will never attend an Orioles game again. Now take away electricity, running water, toilets, television, restaurants, buildings, and airplanes (except for two very old prop planes, tended by people who have no word for "maintenance"). Replace with thatch. Flatten all land into a uniform two feet above sea level. Toy with islands by melting polar ice caps. Add palm trees. Sprinkle with hepatitis A, B, and C. Stir in dengue fever and intestinal parasites. Take away doctors. Isolate and bake at a constant temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The result is the Republic of Kiribati.
Funny . . . it doesn't look that bad from the air.
So, while his girlfriend went to work everyday managing programs that sought to improve child and maternal health, alleviate vitamin A deficiency, raise environmental awareness, and advance the cause of sanitation. . ., Troost was left on his own. His attempts to write a novel never got off the first page (sentence, really), so he became something of a househusband whose duties included finding fish for dinner that would provide nutrition without actually killing the couple.
You may envy or scorn Troost's copious amounts of free time, but you'll have to admit he had a fairly interesting experience. I was waffling between three and four stars as there really isn't much to this book, but the author's method of dealing with Mormons who come a-knocking bumped the star-o-meter up to four.
Elder Jeb and Elder Brian were twenty-year-old Mormon missionaries from Utah. They wanted my soul.
"Come in," I said. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"No, thanks."
"How about a cigarette?"
"No, really."
"Beer?"
"No, we can't"
When I inquired if they had had any luck finding wives, they decided to move on and try their chances elsewhere.
Troost - if you come up with a clever way to get rid of the Jehovah's Witnesses who haunt my doorway, I'll bump your score up to five.
November 20, 2010
First of all, this is a very misleading title. There were no sexytimes or people eating.
If you ask people what they enjoy doing, what they love, what's necessary, many will list "travel." But what does that mean? Flying somewhere with an itinerary to spend a few nights in a 5 star hotel with continental breakfast? Living out of a backpack and wearing through your shoes? It's such a blobby answer, "travel."
There was a brief period where I had cable and in that brief period I watched maybe 2 episodes of Daria. One was about some advertising woman who tried to be a teenager and have a finger on the pulse of that crowd. She dressed in age-inappropriate clothing and most of all, used slang that meant nothing. Daria's dad would go pop-eyed with rage at the inanity of her speech, "Jiggy??? What does it mean?!?!?!"
In the movie Miss Congeniality, there's a very funny sequence about how to answer the judges when they ask you what you want most, or would give anything for. Our heroine, undercover agent Sandra Bullock, is coached to say "world peace" and there's a montage of other contestants saying "world peace." She answers honestly, something about 'harsher punishment for parole violations,' but at the unhappy expressions on the judges' faces, tacked on the standard "...and, world peace."
Jiggy and world peace, overused to the point of meaninglessness, like travel. Well? What does that mean?
I sat next to a Dutchman on a short flight this summer and we talked about career, family, and pastimes. His father had recently passed away and when he spoke about regrets, the things forever unsaid, he leaned forward in the too-small space, hands open as if pleading, voice very animated with inflections and volume changes, eye contact that allowed me to note his were very blue. When he spoke of travel, he got the same way. But when he spoke of travel, as important as it was to him, he couldn't explain very well what he meant. He did that thing where people start a sentence then trail off, expecting you to fill in the significant blanks with an "ahhh" of agreement.
Why does "travel" make people incoherent and blank? I think one of the best reasons is that going places is an important part of understanding the size of the world, how big and at the same time small it can be and that people are people the world over. It's like how my dad will rage about Japan and the Japanese but when meeting one in person, he'll be so friendly that my head spins. If you're awake and aware, it helps you be less...selfish. Ugh. I can't find the way to say what I want to say. World peace, man.
Anyway, travel. I guess everyone has a different conception of what it involves. To bring it back to the book, I doubt anyone can disagree that what this dude did was Travel. What a terrific book! Because he's a Dutchman, I heard my blue-eyed Dutchman's voice in my mind as I read this. Delicious. :) He and his girlfriend decide they want to go somewhere, anywhere. She gets a position in a tiny Pacific island and he tags along. I've seen some reviews where people think he's a slacker who took advantage in order to do nothing, but I don't think it's any different from all the wives who followed their husbands around, like with the military or other business that transplant their managers. What does it matter that she worked and he kept house/played/tried to write a book? If they were fine with it, cool. It's the new millenium and sometimes the women are the breadwinners.
They live there for a couple years. Capital T, travel. No television, barely any radio (he has to experiment to find out the 10 minutes where he'll get BBC clearly enough to hear), only old magazines and whatever new visitors bring along. Holy cow, it sounds simultaneously awful and wonderfully immersive. They have critters, different foods, lots of gastrointestinal distress, crap everywhere, cultural stereotypes and expectations upended. It's Travel.
He writes of his experiences and impressions. It's entertaining and informative. There's whining and yet, it doesn't grate. I learned some history. And very funny, the dry, European kind. Highly recommend this book.
If you ask people what they enjoy doing, what they love, what's necessary, many will list "travel." But what does that mean? Flying somewhere with an itinerary to spend a few nights in a 5 star hotel with continental breakfast? Living out of a backpack and wearing through your shoes? It's such a blobby answer, "travel."
There was a brief period where I had cable and in that brief period I watched maybe 2 episodes of Daria. One was about some advertising woman who tried to be a teenager and have a finger on the pulse of that crowd. She dressed in age-inappropriate clothing and most of all, used slang that meant nothing. Daria's dad would go pop-eyed with rage at the inanity of her speech, "Jiggy??? What does it mean?!?!?!"
In the movie Miss Congeniality, there's a very funny sequence about how to answer the judges when they ask you what you want most, or would give anything for. Our heroine, undercover agent Sandra Bullock, is coached to say "world peace" and there's a montage of other contestants saying "world peace." She answers honestly, something about 'harsher punishment for parole violations,' but at the unhappy expressions on the judges' faces, tacked on the standard "...and, world peace."
Jiggy and world peace, overused to the point of meaninglessness, like travel. Well? What does that mean?
I sat next to a Dutchman on a short flight this summer and we talked about career, family, and pastimes. His father had recently passed away and when he spoke about regrets, the things forever unsaid, he leaned forward in the too-small space, hands open as if pleading, voice very animated with inflections and volume changes, eye contact that allowed me to note his were very blue. When he spoke of travel, he got the same way. But when he spoke of travel, as important as it was to him, he couldn't explain very well what he meant. He did that thing where people start a sentence then trail off, expecting you to fill in the significant blanks with an "ahhh" of agreement.
Why does "travel" make people incoherent and blank? I think one of the best reasons is that going places is an important part of understanding the size of the world, how big and at the same time small it can be and that people are people the world over. It's like how my dad will rage about Japan and the Japanese but when meeting one in person, he'll be so friendly that my head spins. If you're awake and aware, it helps you be less...selfish. Ugh. I can't find the way to say what I want to say. World peace, man.
Anyway, travel. I guess everyone has a different conception of what it involves. To bring it back to the book, I doubt anyone can disagree that what this dude did was Travel. What a terrific book! Because he's a Dutchman, I heard my blue-eyed Dutchman's voice in my mind as I read this. Delicious. :) He and his girlfriend decide they want to go somewhere, anywhere. She gets a position in a tiny Pacific island and he tags along. I've seen some reviews where people think he's a slacker who took advantage in order to do nothing, but I don't think it's any different from all the wives who followed their husbands around, like with the military or other business that transplant their managers. What does it matter that she worked and he kept house/played/tried to write a book? If they were fine with it, cool. It's the new millenium and sometimes the women are the breadwinners.
They live there for a couple years. Capital T, travel. No television, barely any radio (he has to experiment to find out the 10 minutes where he'll get BBC clearly enough to hear), only old magazines and whatever new visitors bring along. Holy cow, it sounds simultaneously awful and wonderfully immersive. They have critters, different foods, lots of gastrointestinal distress, crap everywhere, cultural stereotypes and expectations upended. It's Travel.
He writes of his experiences and impressions. It's entertaining and informative. There's whining and yet, it doesn't grate. I learned some history. And very funny, the dry, European kind. Highly recommend this book.
April 17, 2009
To Mr.Troost,
I learned that you are a liar and a disgraceful man, and my opinion about you lay on the beaches of Tarawa. You wrote about my culture, my people and my island I dearly love so you can be famous and rich!!! The title is a scheme and a trick to get people's attention so they can buy your book. The book was given to me because I refused to buy it. I was on the island in 1997 and I didn't remember the LaMacarena and the beer crisis. You got a sick mind. Temawa (rest her soul)was my best friend and cousin, and Faroug (deported to Africa) at FSP and what you said about them were not true!!!!.You make me sick. I agree that you are not good with names(two years wait before you wrote this book is a long time for your brain) but disagreed that you tried to protect the people's identity. You should be sued. You are cruel and insensitive to get a laugh out of an innocent culture so you can be useful and most of all get rich so you can supplement your pathetic past. I hope that is not the case but Mr. Troost YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. For those who are contributing to troost'S pocket, beware your beloved home land could be next or maybe its too late since he's already written several more books.
I learned that you are a liar and a disgraceful man, and my opinion about you lay on the beaches of Tarawa. You wrote about my culture, my people and my island I dearly love so you can be famous and rich!!! The title is a scheme and a trick to get people's attention so they can buy your book. The book was given to me because I refused to buy it. I was on the island in 1997 and I didn't remember the LaMacarena and the beer crisis. You got a sick mind. Temawa (rest her soul)was my best friend and cousin, and Faroug (deported to Africa) at FSP and what you said about them were not true!!!!.You make me sick. I agree that you are not good with names(two years wait before you wrote this book is a long time for your brain) but disagreed that you tried to protect the people's identity. You should be sued. You are cruel and insensitive to get a laugh out of an innocent culture so you can be useful and most of all get rich so you can supplement your pathetic past. I hope that is not the case but Mr. Troost YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. For those who are contributing to troost'S pocket, beware your beloved home land could be next or maybe its too late since he's already written several more books.
August 4, 2023
Absolutely enthralling!
At the advanced age of 26, author Troost was struggling with the angst of an as yet undefined career path that seemed on a fast track to nowhere. So when his lovely wife, Sylvia, was given the opportunity to take over the administration of an NGO located on Kiribati, an almost impossibly isolated collection of atolls located in the western equatorial Pacific, the opportunity to collect his thoughts and create a literary masterpiece in the peace and contentment of a tropical paradise seemed heaven sent. He was convinced that his opus magnum would virtually write itself.
Of course, the rest, as they say, is history. Kiribati was anything but a tropical paradise and the result was not the great American novel. And it certainly didn't write itself. Instead, after numerous false starts, at the cost of copious sweat and blood, J Maarten Troost, drawing on previously untapped wells of insight and skill, wrote an absolutely enchanting masterpiece of travel literature called THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS.
Travel, adventure, sociology, anthropology, ethnography, history, geography, politics, culture - it's all here! THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS is also an almost bewildering but thoroughly enchanting collection of polar extremes - mind-numbing tedium and boredom versus nail-biting adventure; erotic hedonism versus the most curious instances of prudishness; virtually complete periods of isolation contrasted with an island that has arguably the highest population density in the world; stunningly beautiful tropical scenery occasionally marred by the most egregious instances of filth and pollution.
My guess is that most of us have no real idea what the term "culture shock" really entails ... but, having read THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS, I'm beginning to get the idea!
Laugh-out-loud humour; outrageous profanity pitched at exactly the right levels in exactly the right places; informative, scholarly side-bar essays on an incredibly rich variety of topics related to Kiribati's story; travel advice for those tempted to dip their toes into a Van Gogh beachcomber lifestyle; and much, much more. If you can imagine a style that is a North American hybrid of Bill Bryson and Simon Winchester, you've probably got a good idea of what to expect.
A fabulously entertaining read from first page to last. Highly recommended.
Paul Weiss
At the advanced age of 26, author Troost was struggling with the angst of an as yet undefined career path that seemed on a fast track to nowhere. So when his lovely wife, Sylvia, was given the opportunity to take over the administration of an NGO located on Kiribati, an almost impossibly isolated collection of atolls located in the western equatorial Pacific, the opportunity to collect his thoughts and create a literary masterpiece in the peace and contentment of a tropical paradise seemed heaven sent. He was convinced that his opus magnum would virtually write itself.
Of course, the rest, as they say, is history. Kiribati was anything but a tropical paradise and the result was not the great American novel. And it certainly didn't write itself. Instead, after numerous false starts, at the cost of copious sweat and blood, J Maarten Troost, drawing on previously untapped wells of insight and skill, wrote an absolutely enchanting masterpiece of travel literature called THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS.
Travel, adventure, sociology, anthropology, ethnography, history, geography, politics, culture - it's all here! THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS is also an almost bewildering but thoroughly enchanting collection of polar extremes - mind-numbing tedium and boredom versus nail-biting adventure; erotic hedonism versus the most curious instances of prudishness; virtually complete periods of isolation contrasted with an island that has arguably the highest population density in the world; stunningly beautiful tropical scenery occasionally marred by the most egregious instances of filth and pollution.
My guess is that most of us have no real idea what the term "culture shock" really entails ... but, having read THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS, I'm beginning to get the idea!
Laugh-out-loud humour; outrageous profanity pitched at exactly the right levels in exactly the right places; informative, scholarly side-bar essays on an incredibly rich variety of topics related to Kiribati's story; travel advice for those tempted to dip their toes into a Van Gogh beachcomber lifestyle; and much, much more. If you can imagine a style that is a North American hybrid of Bill Bryson and Simon Winchester, you've probably got a good idea of what to expect.
A fabulously entertaining read from first page to last. Highly recommended.
Paul Weiss
July 5, 2023
J. Maarten Troost's memoir recounts his experiences living on Tarawa, a remote South Pacific atoll in the Republic of Kiribati. The title may be misleading, as the book focuses more on the challenges and realities of life on the island rather than cannibalism. However, if the expression "dog-eats-dog" is taken literally, cannibalism does exist on the island. Menus consisted mostly of fish, with no vegetables, and occasionally expired canned food from Australia that nobody wanted to eat anyway. Fresh dog meat... well...it's a popular, sought-after delicatessen, and therefore, the islanders don't control the dog population, even though the dogs themselves suffer from malnutrition. Even the dogs eat dogs. So yes, cannibalism is an issue on the island, among the dog population, and historically among the human inhabitants as well, before the arrival of missionaries and later the British government. In a sense, the title is acceptable.
It's not a paradise for vegans or vegetarians. However, they might be interested in a coconut diet, as there are plenty of coconuts around. Oh yes, taro pits and breadfruit as well. But that's it.
From the blurb: "At the age of twenty-six, Maarten Troost, who had been pushing the snooze button on the alarm clock of life by racking up useless graduate degrees and muddling through a series of temp jobs, decided to pack up his flip-flops and move to Tarawa, a remote South Pacific island in the Republic of Kiribati. He was restless and lacked direction, and the idea of dropping everything and moving to the ends of the Earth was irresistibly romantic. He should have known better. The Sex Lives of Cannibals tells the hilarious story of what happens when Troost discovers that Tarawa is not the island paradise he dreamed of."
I appreciate the tone of the memoir, which avoids the wishy-washy romanticism of an actual challenging situation. Troost provides comprehensive information on the climate, geography, population, politics, and history to ensure an engaging read. The day-to-day challenges varied enough not to become boring. He masterfully describes the natural beauty of the islands: the presence of bright, intense colors; the drama of the waves; the wonder of rain, and the friendliness and laissez faire-attitude of the residents.
The dry wit and humor contribute to the book's entertaining narrative, offering a lighthearted approach that makes the reading experience enjoyable and provides a unique perspective on the author's encounters with the island's pollution, poor sanitation practices, limited food choices, malnutrition, and overpopulation.
Of all the challenges they had to face, the islanders' devotion to the 'La Macarena' is the biggest. It is Troost's worst 'UGH!'. The major driving force behind him being driven to insanity. The song was everywhere, often ear-shattering loud, blasted at a 120-beat-a-minute, beat enhancement straight from an overburdened minibus full of people and fish; it looped over and over and over. All day, every day.
Maartin: If I was drinking with a few of the soccer players who kindly let me demonstrate my mediocrity on the soccer field with them, our piss-up in one of the seedy dives in Betio would occur to the skull-racking jangle of 'La Macarena'.
Radio Kiribati carried ten minutes of Radio Australia's news broadcast, while searching for yet another version of the 'La Macarena' to play for the rest of the day. The final straw was when his neighbors across the road acquired a boom box and broadcasted 'La Macarena' all over the island indefinitely.
He had to make a plan.
The book effectively conveys the less glamorous aspects of living in such a remote and challenging environment, helping to balance out the more serious topics discussed in the memoir and making it an engaging read overall.
Afterward, I roamed the internet to find more information, and photos, of the Republic of Kiribati, in the Micronesia region of the central Pacific Ocean. Travelogues are one of my great pleasures, and this one introduced me to a totally unfamiliar region of the world. I loved exploring the island and its people with the author. I learned a lot while laughing out loud from time to time.
We all need humor to survive the odds.
If you enjoy memoirs with a lighthearted approach and an exploration of unconventional living situations, this book may be worth reading.
It's not a paradise for vegans or vegetarians. However, they might be interested in a coconut diet, as there are plenty of coconuts around. Oh yes, taro pits and breadfruit as well. But that's it.
From the blurb: "At the age of twenty-six, Maarten Troost, who had been pushing the snooze button on the alarm clock of life by racking up useless graduate degrees and muddling through a series of temp jobs, decided to pack up his flip-flops and move to Tarawa, a remote South Pacific island in the Republic of Kiribati. He was restless and lacked direction, and the idea of dropping everything and moving to the ends of the Earth was irresistibly romantic. He should have known better. The Sex Lives of Cannibals tells the hilarious story of what happens when Troost discovers that Tarawa is not the island paradise he dreamed of."
I appreciate the tone of the memoir, which avoids the wishy-washy romanticism of an actual challenging situation. Troost provides comprehensive information on the climate, geography, population, politics, and history to ensure an engaging read. The day-to-day challenges varied enough not to become boring. He masterfully describes the natural beauty of the islands: the presence of bright, intense colors; the drama of the waves; the wonder of rain, and the friendliness and laissez faire-attitude of the residents.
The dry wit and humor contribute to the book's entertaining narrative, offering a lighthearted approach that makes the reading experience enjoyable and provides a unique perspective on the author's encounters with the island's pollution, poor sanitation practices, limited food choices, malnutrition, and overpopulation.
Of all the challenges they had to face, the islanders' devotion to the 'La Macarena' is the biggest. It is Troost's worst 'UGH!'. The major driving force behind him being driven to insanity. The song was everywhere, often ear-shattering loud, blasted at a 120-beat-a-minute, beat enhancement straight from an overburdened minibus full of people and fish; it looped over and over and over. All day, every day.
Maartin: If I was drinking with a few of the soccer players who kindly let me demonstrate my mediocrity on the soccer field with them, our piss-up in one of the seedy dives in Betio would occur to the skull-racking jangle of 'La Macarena'.
Radio Kiribati carried ten minutes of Radio Australia's news broadcast, while searching for yet another version of the 'La Macarena' to play for the rest of the day. The final straw was when his neighbors across the road acquired a boom box and broadcasted 'La Macarena' all over the island indefinitely.
He had to make a plan.
(Tiabo) You must tell me which song, in your opinion, do you find to be the most offensive.”
“What?” she asked wearily.
“I want you to tell me which song is so terrible that the I-Kiribati will cover their ears and beg me to turn it off.”
“You are a strange I-Matang.”
I popped in the Beastie Boys’ Check Your Head. I forwarded it to the song “Gratitude,” which is an abrasive and highly aggressive song.
“What do think?” I yelled.
“I like it.”
Damn. I moved on to Nirvana’s Lithium. I was sure that grunge-metal-punk would not find a happy audience on an equatorial atoll.
“It’s very good,” Tiabo said.
Now I was stumped. I tried a different tack. I inserted Rachmaninoff.
“I don’t like this,” Tiabo said.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Okay, Tiabo. How about this?” We listened to a few minutes of La Bohème. Even I felt a little discombobulated listening to an opera on Tarawa.
“That’s very bad,” Tiabo said.
“Why?”
“I-Kiribati people like fast music. This is too slow and the singing is very bad.”
“Good, good. How about this?” I played Kind of Blue by Miles Davis.
“That’s terrible. Ugh . . . stop it.”
Tiabo covered her ears.
Bingo. I moved the speakers to the open door.
“What are you doing?” Tiabo asked.
I turned up the volume. For ten glorious minutes, Tarawa was bathed in the melancholic sounds of Miles Davis. Tiabo stood shocked. Her eyes were closed. Her fingers plugged her ears. I had high hopes that the entire neighborhood was doing likewise. Finally, I turned it off. I listened to the breakers. I heard the rustling of the palm fronds. A pig squealed. But I did not hear “La Macarena.” Victory.
“Thank you, Tiabo. That was wonderful.”
The book effectively conveys the less glamorous aspects of living in such a remote and challenging environment, helping to balance out the more serious topics discussed in the memoir and making it an engaging read overall.
Afterward, I roamed the internet to find more information, and photos, of the Republic of Kiribati, in the Micronesia region of the central Pacific Ocean. Travelogues are one of my great pleasures, and this one introduced me to a totally unfamiliar region of the world. I loved exploring the island and its people with the author. I learned a lot while laughing out loud from time to time.
We all need humor to survive the odds.
If you enjoy memoirs with a lighthearted approach and an exploration of unconventional living situations, this book may be worth reading.
February 13, 2016
I have mixed feelings about "The Sex Lives of Cannibals" because I alternated between many opinions about this text as I was reading it. It had been on my "too read" list for years, and now having read it I am not sure it deserved its spot.
The first 50 pages or so of this book are irritating beyond belief because the author, J. Maarten Troost, has a pedantic and pseudo intellectual vibe going that comes across as the writer being smarmy and cute. It does not endear him to his reader, and that is a problem. However, by chapter seven I was use to his voice and got over my distaste.
"The Sex Lives of Cannibals" is heavily labeled as a humorous book, and it is funny. More of a smirk and occasional chuckle funny than laugh out loud funny, but Mr. Troost is witty and he employs his wit and sarcasm to nice effect in this travelogue.
I think some of the reviews have been unfair of Troost when they say he is unlikable. Indeed he is at times, especially in the last 25 pages of the book, but his being likable is not a necessary condition for a good read. Some readers have also complained that it was not as anthropological as they had hoped. Mr. Troost is not Tony Horwitz and other writers of that ilk, and to expect him to be is unfair.
I enjoyed this book while reading it (with the exception of the above qualms) but I finished it about four days ago and I am having trouble remembering specifics about the text. I guess that says a lot. I will also note that Mr. Troost's two other books of travel will not jump onto my reading list. I may read them on a beach somewhere sometime, but there is no urgency to devour more of his work.
The first 50 pages or so of this book are irritating beyond belief because the author, J. Maarten Troost, has a pedantic and pseudo intellectual vibe going that comes across as the writer being smarmy and cute. It does not endear him to his reader, and that is a problem. However, by chapter seven I was use to his voice and got over my distaste.
"The Sex Lives of Cannibals" is heavily labeled as a humorous book, and it is funny. More of a smirk and occasional chuckle funny than laugh out loud funny, but Mr. Troost is witty and he employs his wit and sarcasm to nice effect in this travelogue.
I think some of the reviews have been unfair of Troost when they say he is unlikable. Indeed he is at times, especially in the last 25 pages of the book, but his being likable is not a necessary condition for a good read. Some readers have also complained that it was not as anthropological as they had hoped. Mr. Troost is not Tony Horwitz and other writers of that ilk, and to expect him to be is unfair.
I enjoyed this book while reading it (with the exception of the above qualms) but I finished it about four days ago and I am having trouble remembering specifics about the text. I guess that says a lot. I will also note that Mr. Troost's two other books of travel will not jump onto my reading list. I may read them on a beach somewhere sometime, but there is no urgency to devour more of his work.
May 15, 2012
I think it is important to separate the subject matter of a book from the book itself. Kiribati? Fascinating. The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific? Not good. The research was interesting. The factoids were interesting. But the author comes across as a complete tool. I would have been far more interested in hearing about his girlfriend's experience in the Republic of Kiribati, since she was actually working with people and doing things, unlike J. Maarten.
It isn't a funny book, although I keep seeing reviews that say it is. The situation the author and his girlfriend find themselves in is incredibly uncomfortable and rather unhygienic - they are lucky to have survived it, quite honestly. People shit where they eat, literally, in fact his girlfriend is being sent there in order to do sanitation education. It is a greater sense of isolation than simply being out of their comfort zone. They turn into survivalists just like everyone else living on a tiny island with nothing to make a living off of. Funny? Not really. Definitely not "rip-roaring" as the book jacket claims. The author is a drifter and ultimately doesn't contribute much to the book. (And he wrote it!)
Even though I have it on my to-read shelf, I'm not sure I'll be bothering with Getting Stoned with Savages: A Trip Through the Islands of Fiji and Vanuatu. Give me another Sara Wheeler any day.
It isn't a funny book, although I keep seeing reviews that say it is. The situation the author and his girlfriend find themselves in is incredibly uncomfortable and rather unhygienic - they are lucky to have survived it, quite honestly. People shit where they eat, literally, in fact his girlfriend is being sent there in order to do sanitation education. It is a greater sense of isolation than simply being out of their comfort zone. They turn into survivalists just like everyone else living on a tiny island with nothing to make a living off of. Funny? Not really. Definitely not "rip-roaring" as the book jacket claims. The author is a drifter and ultimately doesn't contribute much to the book. (And he wrote it!)
Even though I have it on my to-read shelf, I'm not sure I'll be bothering with Getting Stoned with Savages: A Trip Through the Islands of Fiji and Vanuatu. Give me another Sara Wheeler any day.
August 12, 2021
My wife has wanted me to read this book for years now. I wish I would have read it sooner. The writing style is very witty.
January 14, 2020
Turtle Gods of the Tortillan Empire
Maarten Troost and his wife Sylvia, tired of boring urban jobs and the usual ratrace in America’s capital, decided to pack it all in and move somewhere different. I must say they chose very well. They moved to Kiribati, a chain of atolls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and lived two years in a most different environment. Having visited Kiribati myself many years ago when tourist traffic amounted to around 100 souls a year, I was interested to see what the author would say. The title of the book led me to believe that it would probably be a lot of scandalous gossip gleaned in bars. Well, I did find the book in one of those little free libraries, this one by a local beach, where Danielle Steel usually outpoints Kiribati! After reading it, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Troost’s title has about as much bearing on his book as my title here (above) has on my review! I guess he wanted to attract attention. Duhh.
His take on Kiribati might be the view of someone who had not lived much in those many countries of the world where life is neither clean nor orderly, where government does not function at a grassroots level due to inefficiency, lack of funds, lack of training, corruption or all of the above. I found his frequent concern with shit to be tiring, though no doubt accurate in its claims. If you pack thousands of people on an extremely narrow atoll (South Tarawa) and there are no sanitary facilities to speak of, what else would you expect? There is a certain kind of travel writing which I would call “The Yuck School” and Troost often begins to head in that direction, emphasizing all the uncomfortable details for the benefit of those lucky enough to be born in wealthier countries. So you couldn’t get coffee or a Big Mac. Big deal! But Troost has a kind heart, he got on with the people, and though his plan was to write a novel, he emerged from the experience with this book instead. I would highly recommend it if you’d like a very humorous inside look at a foreigner’s day to day life in Kiribati. The humor zeroes in on himself rather than the I-Kiribati. We read of the natural beauties of the islands, about the big battle of Tarawa in 1943, airplanes plastered with duct tape, his attempts at surfing, fishing, and sailing, cannibal street dogs, and the wiles of overpaid dudes working in international aid programs. All this will keep your attention. Whether Kiribati will survive climate change is another question. Most of it is only a couple of feet above sea level. If you don’t plan to go there, at least you can read this entertaining and ultimately informative book about a place not often discussed.
I have given five stars to Turgenev, Faulkner, Balzac and many more. Do I class this book with them? Obviously not. It's a question of genre. This is a gem of a humorous travelogue. That's it.
Maarten Troost and his wife Sylvia, tired of boring urban jobs and the usual ratrace in America’s capital, decided to pack it all in and move somewhere different. I must say they chose very well. They moved to Kiribati, a chain of atolls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and lived two years in a most different environment. Having visited Kiribati myself many years ago when tourist traffic amounted to around 100 souls a year, I was interested to see what the author would say. The title of the book led me to believe that it would probably be a lot of scandalous gossip gleaned in bars. Well, I did find the book in one of those little free libraries, this one by a local beach, where Danielle Steel usually outpoints Kiribati! After reading it, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Troost’s title has about as much bearing on his book as my title here (above) has on my review! I guess he wanted to attract attention. Duhh.
His take on Kiribati might be the view of someone who had not lived much in those many countries of the world where life is neither clean nor orderly, where government does not function at a grassroots level due to inefficiency, lack of funds, lack of training, corruption or all of the above. I found his frequent concern with shit to be tiring, though no doubt accurate in its claims. If you pack thousands of people on an extremely narrow atoll (South Tarawa) and there are no sanitary facilities to speak of, what else would you expect? There is a certain kind of travel writing which I would call “The Yuck School” and Troost often begins to head in that direction, emphasizing all the uncomfortable details for the benefit of those lucky enough to be born in wealthier countries. So you couldn’t get coffee or a Big Mac. Big deal! But Troost has a kind heart, he got on with the people, and though his plan was to write a novel, he emerged from the experience with this book instead. I would highly recommend it if you’d like a very humorous inside look at a foreigner’s day to day life in Kiribati. The humor zeroes in on himself rather than the I-Kiribati. We read of the natural beauties of the islands, about the big battle of Tarawa in 1943, airplanes plastered with duct tape, his attempts at surfing, fishing, and sailing, cannibal street dogs, and the wiles of overpaid dudes working in international aid programs. All this will keep your attention. Whether Kiribati will survive climate change is another question. Most of it is only a couple of feet above sea level. If you don’t plan to go there, at least you can read this entertaining and ultimately informative book about a place not often discussed.
I have given five stars to Turgenev, Faulkner, Balzac and many more. Do I class this book with them? Obviously not. It's a question of genre. This is a gem of a humorous travelogue. That's it.
May 14, 2020
'The Sex Lives of Cannibals' (2004) by J. Maarten Troost is a fun travelogue, well-written too. I enjoyed reading it. His adventures on the South Pacific islands of Kiribati are entertaining. I am very envious of people who can travel!
But not this time.
Twenty-six-year-old Troost and his wife Sylvia decided to sign up for jobs overseas in the most remote of places. Intentionally. They both had been attending University seemingly forever, and they were ready to abandon their mundane lives in America. Sylvia worked for an NGO that focused on international development. Troost waited on tables, did house painting, and did clerical temp work.
Then Sylvia was assigned to Tarawa, Republic of Kiribati, a two-year contract. Hooray!
About Kiribati:
-population (1996): 79,386
-life expectancy (male): 52.56
-life expectancy (female): 55.78
-infant mortality rate: 9.84%
-arable land: 0%
-natural resources: phosphate (bird poop, production stopped in 1979)
-television: none
-military: none
-radio: one AM
-exports: fish, copra, shark fins
-per capital GDP: Australian dollar $800 (American $450)
Tarawa had no sewers, no electricity, no medical equipment. Hepititus A, B, and C, dengue fever and intestinal parasites are endemic. The people defecated directly into the ocean by squatting down on their beaches, which smelled disgustingly as a result. The heat is devastating. There are lots of feral dogs and bugs and rats. Food is fish (carefully selected, see note about the people shitting directly into the water from the beach) and canned corned beef. There is one state-run school for secondary students. Supply boats are irregular. The airline had two planes, both decrepit and poorly maintained. The landing field had pigs and children playing soccer on it, with no landing lights. The only source of water is a few wells of brackish water and rainwater collectors. There are droughts of many years. Tarawa is twelve square miles, most of it flat with only some transplanted coconut trees. Housing are shacks made of various coconut tree products and flotsom, although there are some buildings built by the British from colonialism days. There are occasionally shortages of everything for weeks, including beer. Troost doesn't linger on the drunks who come after Sylvia when she is home alone, or the boys who scrounge around their house looking for stuff to steal. He keeps the book light-hearted.
Hooray?
Um. No. Just, no.
This book helped me enjoy the lockdown of America. Highly recommend.
Essential prepping if vacationing in Tarawa: https://youtu.be/OzV63IRR8BQ
But not this time.
Twenty-six-year-old Troost and his wife Sylvia decided to sign up for jobs overseas in the most remote of places. Intentionally. They both had been attending University seemingly forever, and they were ready to abandon their mundane lives in America. Sylvia worked for an NGO that focused on international development. Troost waited on tables, did house painting, and did clerical temp work.
Then Sylvia was assigned to Tarawa, Republic of Kiribati, a two-year contract. Hooray!
About Kiribati:
-population (1996): 79,386
-life expectancy (male): 52.56
-life expectancy (female): 55.78
-infant mortality rate: 9.84%
-arable land: 0%
-natural resources: phosphate (bird poop, production stopped in 1979)
-television: none
-military: none
-radio: one AM
-exports: fish, copra, shark fins
-per capital GDP: Australian dollar $800 (American $450)
Tarawa had no sewers, no electricity, no medical equipment. Hepititus A, B, and C, dengue fever and intestinal parasites are endemic. The people defecated directly into the ocean by squatting down on their beaches, which smelled disgustingly as a result. The heat is devastating. There are lots of feral dogs and bugs and rats. Food is fish (carefully selected, see note about the people shitting directly into the water from the beach) and canned corned beef. There is one state-run school for secondary students. Supply boats are irregular. The airline had two planes, both decrepit and poorly maintained. The landing field had pigs and children playing soccer on it, with no landing lights. The only source of water is a few wells of brackish water and rainwater collectors. There are droughts of many years. Tarawa is twelve square miles, most of it flat with only some transplanted coconut trees. Housing are shacks made of various coconut tree products and flotsom, although there are some buildings built by the British from colonialism days. There are occasionally shortages of everything for weeks, including beer. Troost doesn't linger on the drunks who come after Sylvia when she is home alone, or the boys who scrounge around their house looking for stuff to steal. He keeps the book light-hearted.
Hooray?
Um. No. Just, no.
This book helped me enjoy the lockdown of America. Highly recommend.
Essential prepping if vacationing in Tarawa: https://youtu.be/OzV63IRR8BQ
June 27, 2011
False Advertisement. Defined (loosely) as misrepresenting a product in such a fashion as to entice the buyer to make a purchase "sight unseen". Alternatively, this work stands in nicely.
J. Marten Troost goes out to the middle of "No Where", and there he finds something so trope that he absolutely must write a novel about it. But first, he'll describe his failings to write a novel. In his novel. A non-fiction account of his inability to write fiction. At least I can hope he lies poorly?
There is something pitifully post-modern about his realization. It's almost expected. He finds the simple island life to be compelling, despite its flaws. Human shit floating in the sea is better than its metaphorical partner sitting next to him in the cubical back "home". Capitalism is a wellspring of obesity, not happiness. This is the expected realization, the predicted discovery. In another author, I would hope for the pained self realization that would be the awareness that he was telling me something he knew that I would see coming. Maybe, Troost thinks that even though "Life is better simple, just different" is as obvious as a bullet in my brain, I simply haven't actually been shot yet; I just think I've been.
There is no understanding. There is just trope. The trope is, will be, and continues because I'm told there is a sequel.
There are few cannibals. There is almost no sex. There is defiantly little about their sex lives. There is one American man's discovery that he likes sandals and real shit.
Where is my novel where a Cannibal discovers he likes Gucci and Shiatsu?
J. Marten Troost goes out to the middle of "No Where", and there he finds something so trope that he absolutely must write a novel about it. But first, he'll describe his failings to write a novel. In his novel. A non-fiction account of his inability to write fiction. At least I can hope he lies poorly?
There is something pitifully post-modern about his realization. It's almost expected. He finds the simple island life to be compelling, despite its flaws. Human shit floating in the sea is better than its metaphorical partner sitting next to him in the cubical back "home". Capitalism is a wellspring of obesity, not happiness. This is the expected realization, the predicted discovery. In another author, I would hope for the pained self realization that would be the awareness that he was telling me something he knew that I would see coming. Maybe, Troost thinks that even though "Life is better simple, just different" is as obvious as a bullet in my brain, I simply haven't actually been shot yet; I just think I've been.
There is no understanding. There is just trope. The trope is, will be, and continues because I'm told there is a sequel.
There are few cannibals. There is almost no sex. There is defiantly little about their sex lives. There is one American man's discovery that he likes sandals and real shit.
Where is my novel where a Cannibal discovers he likes Gucci and Shiatsu?
November 1, 2018
Su didele humoro doze autorius apraso savo gyvenima vienoje is atkampiausiu salu, Tarawa (Kiribatyje), Okeanijoje. Su zmona kelerius metus praleide "rojuje zemeje", be iprastu patogumu, neturint pakankamai vandens, kenciant nuo skurdaus maisto raciono it t. t. ir pan. visgi uzsikrecia salietisku gyvenimo budu ir nebepritampa prie vakarietisko gyvenimo...
Yra cia ir regiono tradiciju aprasymo, istorijos...Zodziu, visai sauni knyga, rekomenduoju.
Btw, knygoje neuzsimenama apie seksa ir zmogedras...Va toks tas autoriaus humoro jausmas.
Yra cia ir regiono tradiciju aprasymo, istorijos...Zodziu, visai sauni knyga, rekomenduoju.
Btw, knygoje neuzsimenama apie seksa ir zmogedras...Va toks tas autoriaus humoro jausmas.
July 2, 2025
mega mi się nie podobało, po jakichś 70% dałem sobie spokój
July 28, 2025
The Sex Lives of Cannibals is J. Maarten Troost's memoir of his two-year stay (1996-1998) on Tarawa, a remote coral atoll in the Pacific nation of the Kiribati (pronounced kir-ee-bas), where he accompanied his girlfriend Sylvia who had been offered a position with a humanitarian organization. The memoir details Troost's adjustment to life in the middle of the equatorial Pacific, roughly 2,400 miles (3,850 km) from the nearest continent, where modern conveniences are scarce, food consists largely of fish and coconut, and the culture is completely different from what he is used to in the western world.
It is structured in episodes related to his experiences. The title is tongue-in-cheek, in keeping with the author’s irreverent and self-deprecating style. Troost is a “fish-out-of-water” and uses his outsider status for comedic effect, especially with respect to cross-cultural misunderstandings, where he learns many lessons on what to do (and especially what not to do). He examines the disconnect between romanticized notions of "paradise" and the realities of subsistence living, environmental degradation, problems with unsanitary conditions and related diseases, and economic hardships that residents must deal with every day. His admiration for the people of Kiribati is obvious.
The memoir is interspersed with the history of the region, including the Battle of Tarawa in WWII. It also covers the impact of colonialism, weather, geography, politics, and other pertinent information. The memoir succeeds in bringing attention to Pacific Island issues to the rest of the world, the vast majority of whom will likely never travel thousands of miles across the immense Pacific to visit.
It is structured in episodes related to his experiences. The title is tongue-in-cheek, in keeping with the author’s irreverent and self-deprecating style. Troost is a “fish-out-of-water” and uses his outsider status for comedic effect, especially with respect to cross-cultural misunderstandings, where he learns many lessons on what to do (and especially what not to do). He examines the disconnect between romanticized notions of "paradise" and the realities of subsistence living, environmental degradation, problems with unsanitary conditions and related diseases, and economic hardships that residents must deal with every day. His admiration for the people of Kiribati is obvious.
The memoir is interspersed with the history of the region, including the Battle of Tarawa in WWII. It also covers the impact of colonialism, weather, geography, politics, and other pertinent information. The memoir succeeds in bringing attention to Pacific Island issues to the rest of the world, the vast majority of whom will likely never travel thousands of miles across the immense Pacific to visit.
January 22, 2018
I enjoyed reading about the author's 2 years on Tarawa, one of the Kiribati islands. It was a fast and funny read, which mixed the author's experiences with some history about the islands. What I particularly liked was that my feelings about the place changed with those of the author: at first it seemed like a hellish place, but in the end I found I really cared for the island and its people, and would have loved to read some more. I plan to read more travelogues by Maarten J. Troost.
November 27, 2019
Pat 4,5 zvaigznes. Trāpīgi attēlota jauna amerikāņu pāra dzīve Kiribati ( es googlēju - šī salu valsts atrodas uz DA no Austrālijas). Vienmēr ir interesanti uzzināt kaut ko par valsti,ko iepriekš es diezvai būtu spējusi sameklēt kartē. Patika,ka autors neizskaistina īstenību. Jā, sala ir skaista,bet līdzās smilšainajām pludmalēm pastāv nabadzība, ēdiena/ medikamentu trūkums, idioti - ierēdņi, slimības ( ir iespāja saslimt ar lepru) utt. Patiesi, draudzīgi,neparasti cilvēki, tas viss ir pieminēts šajā grāmatā. Papildus ieguvums noteikti ir autora pārdomas par labdarības organizāciju darbu - daudz labu ideju,kas pazūd lielajā birokrātijas un vienaldzības mudžeklī.
December 23, 2015
2.5 stars
Martin Troost’s life wasn’t going much of anywhere, so he lucked out when his girlfriend got a job in the remote Pacific island nation of Kiribati, where he spent his time learning to surf, drinking with other expats, and trying to write a novel. He never succeeded – from the superficial depictions of everyone else in this book, I suspect character development was a problem – but their two-year stint on the island of Tarawa provided fodder for this book, about the difficulties, pitfalls, and occasional rewards of expat life on the island.
Troost’s storytelling is competent, and the stories about, for instance, his struggle to buy fresh water when the tank ran dry (the water company offered it for sale... but how to transport water home when the only fire truck is broken?) and a voyage on stormy seas in a plywood boat, are entertaining and sometimes humorous. He also includes a brief history of the country, which is informative. I couldn’t read more than a chapter or two at a time without finding the writing tiring, though. And this is definitely a book for those with strong stomachs: from the descriptions of public defecation, to the critters in the water tank and medical refuse on the reef, to the mother dog biting off a passing puppy’s leg to feed to her own pups, much of the content is fairly repulsive.
My biggest issue with the book, though, is its irrelevance. Troost spent two years in Kiribati, but to judge by this book, he never got to know any of the locals, and his observations of the culture are infrequent and superficial. I can’t help comparing it to the three Peace Corps memoirs and one excellent travel narrative I’ve read this year, and the comparison does not serve this book well. Troost lazed away his time on Tarawa, learned little and provides no insight into the place (though his observations about poor foreign aid decisions are biting).
Also, there’s no sex and no cannibalism – unless you count the dogs.
I hesitate to even count this as my challenge book for Kiribati; the problem is that the island nation has only around 100,000 inhabitants, none of whom have ever produced a novel, memoir, or short story collection. (The blogger I linked to got an I-Kiribati professor to mail her his poetry-cum-essay collection, much of which is not in English, which is further than I'm willing to go for my challenge right now.) Nor, per the Goodreads country page, has any foreigner ever written a novel starring an I-Kiribati character. Which leaves me with travel narratives; I’m keeping my eyes open for a richer one than this.
Martin Troost’s life wasn’t going much of anywhere, so he lucked out when his girlfriend got a job in the remote Pacific island nation of Kiribati, where he spent his time learning to surf, drinking with other expats, and trying to write a novel. He never succeeded – from the superficial depictions of everyone else in this book, I suspect character development was a problem – but their two-year stint on the island of Tarawa provided fodder for this book, about the difficulties, pitfalls, and occasional rewards of expat life on the island.
Troost’s storytelling is competent, and the stories about, for instance, his struggle to buy fresh water when the tank ran dry (the water company offered it for sale... but how to transport water home when the only fire truck is broken?) and a voyage on stormy seas in a plywood boat, are entertaining and sometimes humorous. He also includes a brief history of the country, which is informative. I couldn’t read more than a chapter or two at a time without finding the writing tiring, though. And this is definitely a book for those with strong stomachs: from the descriptions of public defecation, to the critters in the water tank and medical refuse on the reef, to the mother dog biting off a passing puppy’s leg to feed to her own pups, much of the content is fairly repulsive.
My biggest issue with the book, though, is its irrelevance. Troost spent two years in Kiribati, but to judge by this book, he never got to know any of the locals, and his observations of the culture are infrequent and superficial. I can’t help comparing it to the three Peace Corps memoirs and one excellent travel narrative I’ve read this year, and the comparison does not serve this book well. Troost lazed away his time on Tarawa, learned little and provides no insight into the place (though his observations about poor foreign aid decisions are biting).
Also, there’s no sex and no cannibalism – unless you count the dogs.
I hesitate to even count this as my challenge book for Kiribati; the problem is that the island nation has only around 100,000 inhabitants, none of whom have ever produced a novel, memoir, or short story collection. (The blogger I linked to got an I-Kiribati professor to mail her his poetry-cum-essay collection, much of which is not in English, which is further than I'm willing to go for my challenge right now.) Nor, per the Goodreads country page, has any foreigner ever written a novel starring an I-Kiribati character. Which leaves me with travel narratives; I’m keeping my eyes open for a richer one than this.
January 26, 2008
I get a kick out of this guy. I can't remember which one I liked better, this one or Getting Stoned with Savages. They're not always as funny as I expected, but I learned a lot about Pacific island people and customs. I thought this was particularly interesting:
"In the 'bubuti' system, someone can walk up to you and say "I bubuti you for your flipflops,' and without a peep of complaint you are obliged to hand over your flipflops. The following day, you can go up to the guy who is now wearing your flipflops, and say 'I bubuti you for your fishing net,' and suddenly you have a new fishing net. In such a way, Kiribati remains profoundly egalitarian."
Hmmm....don't think that system would go over well here in the land of "mine, mine, mine, mine!"
"In the 'bubuti' system, someone can walk up to you and say "I bubuti you for your flipflops,' and without a peep of complaint you are obliged to hand over your flipflops. The following day, you can go up to the guy who is now wearing your flipflops, and say 'I bubuti you for your fishing net,' and suddenly you have a new fishing net. In such a way, Kiribati remains profoundly egalitarian."
Hmmm....don't think that system would go over well here in the land of "mine, mine, mine, mine!"
January 2, 2014
Want to learn about the fascinating, oft-disturbing, sometimes frightening cultures of the South Pacific? Want to enjoy a humorous fish-out-of-water tale by a westerner in a strange and foreign land? Want to read a book that teaches you a little about the human condition and the challenges of life in cultural isolation?
Look somewhere else.
Troost fails on nearly every level possible in this weak, misogynist, and most of all -boring- attempt to regale us with his misadventures on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The author manages to be simultaneously hateful and boring, teasing you with tidbits about the potentially amazing brand of life one finds in these Atoll island nations. Instead he takes every opportunity to keep the focus on him - he being a lazy, lying asshole who spends his days surfing - I'm sorry, BODY surfing - and getting drunk while his girlfriend works for the Tarawan government to try and make the life of the people of this desperately poor country a teensy bit better. While we get tiny shreds of information about the other fascinating personalities on the islands, they are meted out among vast oceans (see what I did there?) of Troost bitching about his boring life, or preaching about how other people should do things differently to make -his- life (and maaaybe theirs) better.
Great examples of this are his interactions with an American ex-pat who builds ocean-going ships and canoes by hand and has lived on the islands for years, often traveling the dangerous waters of the Pacific without help for days or weeks at a time. Sounds interesting, right? He gets maybe two lines in the book in service of a story where Troost tries to humble-brag about his own sailing prowess. Or when we learn that Kiribati men have a history of abducting, raping, and forcing marriage on women of their choice, who they then sometimes subject to a traditional type of sexual torture. THIS IS MENTIONED ABOUT 40 PAGES FROM THE END OF THE BOOK. In fact, it's only mentioned after Troost has spent most of the memoir waxing poetic (in his own crappy way) about how sexually uninhibited the Kiribati are, and how attractive island girls are.
All in all Troost is a thoroughgoing dick. He is a selfish lazy narcissist who spent two years in a deeply foreign place and has little to show for it beyond a healthy(?) disregard for people different from him. He wastes hundreds of pages on his own sad tale while almost completely ignoring the vibrant, often terrifying stories happening around him. Stories like that of his girlfriend, who is rarely mentioned and only in ways that revolve around Troost's boring activities.
From what I've read Troost now works for World Bank, and organization that is in no small part responsible for the nightmarish situation of places like Tarawa, and whose representatives he mocks in this very book.
So, to summarize: the prolonged, boring vacation diary of a hypocritical loser.
Look somewhere else.
Troost fails on nearly every level possible in this weak, misogynist, and most of all -boring- attempt to regale us with his misadventures on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The author manages to be simultaneously hateful and boring, teasing you with tidbits about the potentially amazing brand of life one finds in these Atoll island nations. Instead he takes every opportunity to keep the focus on him - he being a lazy, lying asshole who spends his days surfing - I'm sorry, BODY surfing - and getting drunk while his girlfriend works for the Tarawan government to try and make the life of the people of this desperately poor country a teensy bit better. While we get tiny shreds of information about the other fascinating personalities on the islands, they are meted out among vast oceans (see what I did there?) of Troost bitching about his boring life, or preaching about how other people should do things differently to make -his- life (and maaaybe theirs) better.
Great examples of this are his interactions with an American ex-pat who builds ocean-going ships and canoes by hand and has lived on the islands for years, often traveling the dangerous waters of the Pacific without help for days or weeks at a time. Sounds interesting, right? He gets maybe two lines in the book in service of a story where Troost tries to humble-brag about his own sailing prowess. Or when we learn that Kiribati men have a history of abducting, raping, and forcing marriage on women of their choice, who they then sometimes subject to a traditional type of sexual torture. THIS IS MENTIONED ABOUT 40 PAGES FROM THE END OF THE BOOK. In fact, it's only mentioned after Troost has spent most of the memoir waxing poetic (in his own crappy way) about how sexually uninhibited the Kiribati are, and how attractive island girls are.
All in all Troost is a thoroughgoing dick. He is a selfish lazy narcissist who spent two years in a deeply foreign place and has little to show for it beyond a healthy(?) disregard for people different from him. He wastes hundreds of pages on his own sad tale while almost completely ignoring the vibrant, often terrifying stories happening around him. Stories like that of his girlfriend, who is rarely mentioned and only in ways that revolve around Troost's boring activities.
From what I've read Troost now works for World Bank, and organization that is in no small part responsible for the nightmarish situation of places like Tarawa, and whose representatives he mocks in this very book.
So, to summarize: the prolonged, boring vacation diary of a hypocritical loser.
November 22, 2016
I'm not sure whether he was trying to be sarcastic or ironic or both, but a great bit of this book stopped short of either and just came across as bitchy. (Long enough sentence?) Anyway, the ending was nice but he bitched about the island so much that I'm not sure I even want to visit Hawaii. Wait, that's nuts, Hawaii is better than Tarawa. Right? Guess I'll have to grab my swimsuit and find out. Oh, the sacrifices I make. *sigh*
March 15, 2007
Perhaps I'll rewrite this review, but for now,... this book is an easy read. It's about a couple, independent in their ideals and beliefs, who move to Kiribati in the Pacific for a 2 year stint for international development efforts. The guy (author) goes through wonderful details of the people, the climate, culture, and societal oddities, and oooooooohhhhh so much more.
I couldn't put it down. I must say (and I am definitely easily enthusiastic about new places to travel and experience) I never want to go there. His writing is very well done, and the misadventures so vicarious in nature, I feel like I've already been there, done that, and what's better about the whole situation,... I take comfort in the fact that it wasn't me... and that I can laugh at their situations... and laugh... and laugh... and laugh.
No masterpiece here, no prestigious awards, no deep hidden metaphors or inner reflection required... just a damn funny book that I couldn't stop reading and one of the MOST enjoyable books I've ever read.
Highly recommended.
May the drifting tide not bring you poop and may you always find yourself in the company of those who think so highly of you, that you are served canned corned beef. (yes, they are references to this fabulous read...)
I couldn't put it down. I must say (and I am definitely easily enthusiastic about new places to travel and experience) I never want to go there. His writing is very well done, and the misadventures so vicarious in nature, I feel like I've already been there, done that, and what's better about the whole situation,... I take comfort in the fact that it wasn't me... and that I can laugh at their situations... and laugh... and laugh... and laugh.
No masterpiece here, no prestigious awards, no deep hidden metaphors or inner reflection required... just a damn funny book that I couldn't stop reading and one of the MOST enjoyable books I've ever read.
Highly recommended.
May the drifting tide not bring you poop and may you always find yourself in the company of those who think so highly of you, that you are served canned corned beef. (yes, they are references to this fabulous read...)
November 28, 2008
J. Maarten Troost has already turned into one of my favorite authors although this is the first I've read of his work. His writing is intelligently witty, dry, and sarcastic. Some chapters of this book are slower than others, but are necessary for the reader to fully understand why the I-Kiribati people behave in the ways they do or maintain their ways of life. I began reading this book around the same time I moved to St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands, and the hilarious pickles in which the author manages to tangle himself made my transition to island life seem like a breeze. I believe this book would be a perfect summer read, but only for those who enjoy a little more substance than really light summer reads about fashion or romance. I cannot wait to see how this novel ends or to read other books by this author.
I just finished this today (Nov. 28, 2008) and I totally recommend this to anyone, especially those who love to travel or have ever relocated to an island. It made my transition to the Virgin Islands seem far less problematic after reading his adventures in Kiribati. I hope everyone can get a chance to read this one. You won't be let down by his easy writing style, and intelligent and sometimes hilarious writing.
I just finished this today (Nov. 28, 2008) and I totally recommend this to anyone, especially those who love to travel or have ever relocated to an island. It made my transition to the Virgin Islands seem far less problematic after reading his adventures in Kiribati. I hope everyone can get a chance to read this one. You won't be let down by his easy writing style, and intelligent and sometimes hilarious writing.
January 18, 2010
A fantastic and fun read, one that cured me of ever wanting to live on a remote island in the tropics. Here's how Troost saved me:
1. reiterates throughout the book that it is very hot. VERY VERY hot. While he does this in an entertaining way, one can almost feel (and smell) the humid discomfort.
2. He describes the lack of variety of food. Seafood up the wazoo, and it's not exactly quality stuff. However, dog, if prepared properly is "kang kang". (tasty!!!!!!!!)
3. He tells me of the lack of all the creature comforts I take for granted. Access to clean water, electricity, plumbing... I guess I'm spoiled.
4. He speaks of the horrors of lack of fresh reading material. Forget that question, "If you went to a deserted island, what book would you take?" You'd want a whole lot more than just one!
I would most certainly pack other books by Troost, easy and entertaining. They might even bring a smile to my face while the mosquitoes eat me alive.
1. reiterates throughout the book that it is very hot. VERY VERY hot. While he does this in an entertaining way, one can almost feel (and smell) the humid discomfort.
2. He describes the lack of variety of food. Seafood up the wazoo, and it's not exactly quality stuff. However, dog, if prepared properly is "kang kang". (tasty!!!!!!!!)
3. He tells me of the lack of all the creature comforts I take for granted. Access to clean water, electricity, plumbing... I guess I'm spoiled.
4. He speaks of the horrors of lack of fresh reading material. Forget that question, "If you went to a deserted island, what book would you take?" You'd want a whole lot more than just one!
I would most certainly pack other books by Troost, easy and entertaining. They might even bring a smile to my face while the mosquitoes eat me alive.
January 10, 2020
A gut-busting, laugh out loud travelogue about a couple's well-intentioned-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time relocation to a small Micronesian island in the equatorial pacific and all that goes wrong (which is a lot). I want to read every book this guy has written. I truly wish I had been in a tropical environment while reading this, as it would have made it that much more enjoyable, but alas, I am stuck with cold and foggy San Francisco. Highly recommended if you need a good laugh and enjoy a little schadenfreude. :)
June 23, 2024
Zmarnowałam 3,5 godziny życia 💩.
August 20, 2017
Rounded up 3.5 stars.
KIRR-E-BAS, the "ti" sound in I-Kiribati is always an "s" sound. Gonna learn you today.
As part of my ongoing read around the world project, this title was not my first choice - a white man gallivanting amongst the natives on remote island nation? Sounds like a problematic disaster waiting to be read. Unfortunately, I can only read English and Kiribati itself hasn't produced much in the way of accessible literature for people as limited as I am. So, with Troost we shall persevere.
The book opens with a self-deprecating look into why he moved to Tarawa, Kiribati for two years, comparing himself to unnamed memoirs of go-getters who "feel alive when [they are] nearly dead." Troost had no real answer for his journey across the world; he was a person who had Aged into Adulting without the requisite understanding of What Comes Next. "Like many highly educated people, I didn't have much in the way of actual skills." It is a little more self-aware than I was expecting, given the title. His girlfriend Sylvia was the real impetus - she was offered a position on the atoll; Troost came along as little more than a house-husband with vague ambitions to write a book.
He acknowledges that he was entirely unprepared for atoll living; he was imagining a tropical paradise and what he got was more along the lines of a very hot, very humid, very isolated place with very few options in, well, anything. It's obvious that he was often bewildered by the I-Kiribati and their culture, but it was tempered by a fairly heavy dose of respect for the people - if not always their customs. See: shitting in the ocean downstream from where he is swimming.
Troost mostly focused on things that affected day-to-day living in the atoll, like dog cannibalism and the bubuti, which was the cultural system of trading favor for favor whenever asked. Never being able to say no to a favor sounds like a goddamn nightmare. Even without my dirty capitalist upbringing, being beholden to anyone is not my cup of tea. Even the I-Kiribati are wary of it, hating being promoted because it means they have more to give. I-Matang (people who are not I-Kiribati) are allowed to refuse bubuti, but they are the only ones:
Troost also commented on a broader political sphere, speaking of the colonialist history of the Pacific and the current issues plaguing the islands due to the Western world's complacency: "There was, it seemed to me, considerable dissonance between the health care concerns of westerners and the realities of the Pacific. Diarrhea and acute respiratory infections, for instance, killed nearly 10 percent of children under the age of five. But glamorous people don't die of diarrhea. Elizabeth Taylor doesn't hold fundraisers for people with the runs."
After two years, Troost and his girlfriend left Tarawa and tried to adjust back to the Western world, with its too many options and faster pace. They had a baby, but when the opportunity to go back to the Pacific arose, they jumped on it and brought him along. "A day might be wonderful or terrible, but it was never, ever boring. [...] I am quite likely the world's laziest adrenaline-junkie, and so living in Tarawa worked well for me. I didn't have to do anything. Shit just happened on Tarawa."
KIRR-E-BAS, the "ti" sound in I-Kiribati is always an "s" sound. Gonna learn you today.
As part of my ongoing read around the world project, this title was not my first choice - a white man gallivanting amongst the natives on remote island nation? Sounds like a problematic disaster waiting to be read. Unfortunately, I can only read English and Kiribati itself hasn't produced much in the way of accessible literature for people as limited as I am. So, with Troost we shall persevere.
The book opens with a self-deprecating look into why he moved to Tarawa, Kiribati for two years, comparing himself to unnamed memoirs of go-getters who "feel alive when [they are] nearly dead." Troost had no real answer for his journey across the world; he was a person who had Aged into Adulting without the requisite understanding of What Comes Next. "Like many highly educated people, I didn't have much in the way of actual skills." It is a little more self-aware than I was expecting, given the title. His girlfriend Sylvia was the real impetus - she was offered a position on the atoll; Troost came along as little more than a house-husband with vague ambitions to write a book.
He acknowledges that he was entirely unprepared for atoll living; he was imagining a tropical paradise and what he got was more along the lines of a very hot, very humid, very isolated place with very few options in, well, anything. It's obvious that he was often bewildered by the I-Kiribati and their culture, but it was tempered by a fairly heavy dose of respect for the people - if not always their customs. See: shitting in the ocean downstream from where he is swimming.
Troost mostly focused on things that affected day-to-day living in the atoll, like dog cannibalism and the bubuti, which was the cultural system of trading favor for favor whenever asked. Never being able to say no to a favor sounds like a goddamn nightmare. Even without my dirty capitalist upbringing, being beholden to anyone is not my cup of tea. Even the I-Kiribati are wary of it, hating being promoted because it means they have more to give. I-Matang (people who are not I-Kiribati) are allowed to refuse bubuti, but they are the only ones:
"[Airan, a young Australian-educated employee of the Bank of Kiribati] was, however, miserable. He had just been promoted to assistant manager.This system is why many governmental Kiribati positions remain in I-Matang hands. "Sylvia's presence ensured that the organization would not crumble under the demands of bubuti system, which is exactly what occurred when the only other international nongovernmental organization to work in Kiribati decided to localize. Its project funds were soon gobbled up in a flurry of bubutis and the organization dissolved."
"This is very bad," he said.
"Why?" I asked. "That's excellent news."
"No. People will come to me with bubuti. They will bubuti me for money. They will bubuti me for jobs. It is very difficult."
Troost also commented on a broader political sphere, speaking of the colonialist history of the Pacific and the current issues plaguing the islands due to the Western world's complacency: "There was, it seemed to me, considerable dissonance between the health care concerns of westerners and the realities of the Pacific. Diarrhea and acute respiratory infections, for instance, killed nearly 10 percent of children under the age of five. But glamorous people don't die of diarrhea. Elizabeth Taylor doesn't hold fundraisers for people with the runs."
After two years, Troost and his girlfriend left Tarawa and tried to adjust back to the Western world, with its too many options and faster pace. They had a baby, but when the opportunity to go back to the Pacific arose, they jumped on it and brought him along. "A day might be wonderful or terrible, but it was never, ever boring. [...] I am quite likely the world's laziest adrenaline-junkie, and so living in Tarawa worked well for me. I didn't have to do anything. Shit just happened on Tarawa."
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