He died in 1995, but his nautical adventure books continue to bring entertainment and escape to legions of fans worldwide. He was larger than life, perhaps the most successful sailing writer of the twentieth century. But, as Anthony Dalton's meticulously researched biography reveals, Tristan Jones was not who he said he was.
Wayward Sailor began as an uncomplicated tribute to a great adventurer and writer, but one line of inquiry branched to another, plunging Dalton into a three-year odyssey of his own. With the cooperation of Tristan's friends and supporters, Dalton pursued Tristan's life through correspondence, logbooks, government documents, and interviews worldwide. With each new revelation, Tristan's voyage through life seemed more and more like his greatest adventure.
His real name was Arthur Jones. He was born in Liverpool in 1929, the illegitimate son of a working-class Lancashire girl, and he grew up in orphanages with little education. Too young to see action in the World War II naval battles he would later write about so movingly, he joined the Royal Navy in 1946 and served fourteen unremarkable years.
Arthur Jones then bought an old sailboat and tried his hand at smuggling whiskey cross-Channel. In his early thirties he sailed into a Mediterranean limbo, scraping a living from charters by day and haunting the bars of Ibiza by night. When he was drunk, which was often, he could be loud and obnoxious and had the scars to prove it. He had no family, no attachments, no accomplishments.
Then came a midlife sea change. Arthur Jones looked into his future, imagined greatness, and began to claw his way to it. Having taught himself to sail, he taught himself to write. He was a natural at both. As Tristan Jones, in his midforties, he sailed out of Brazil's Mato Grosso and into a Greenwich Village apartment to write six books in three years and reinvent his past.
The Tristan Jones of his books was born in a storm at sea in 1924 on his father's tramp steamer; was torpedoed three time in epic World War II engagements; completed the first circumnavigation of Iceland; traveled farther north and farther up the Amazon River than any sailor before him; and sailed more than 400,000 miles, 180,000 of them solo. Readers loved his books and crowded his lectures and signings. He had a bard's voice and a street performer's delivery. He had more renown than he could have dreamed.
Having invented a life, Tristan Jones tried to live it. After the amputation of his left leg in 1982 he sailed more than halfway around the world. He lost his right leg in 1991 yet still returned briefly to sea. But as his body failed him, so too did his spirits. It was as if the life from which he'd bodily lifted himself were pulling him down again. He died a bitter man.
Wayward Sailor is the biography Tristan Jones did not want. His books were autobiographical, he said; there was no more to tell. But there was. Wayward Sailor is the last Tristan Jones story and the most incredible one of the story of a man who invented himself.
The author takes a sadistic pleasure in bursting the bubble of Jones' life. Tristan's readers know to take his stories with a large grain of salt. We didn't need Dalton to rub the salt into the wound after Jones' death.
As one of the other Reviewers commented I think this book had to be written. I’m also one of those who has enjoyed reading several Tristan Jones’s books. However, after reading Wayward Sailor, I came away, feeling conflicted and a bit angry at Jones for his deception and misuse of his amazing talents as a writer and a storyteller. For example, now whenever I see his bio printed on the dust jackets about how he enlisted in the Royal Navy as a teenager and served in World War II, I feel deceived. His book Heart of Oak was founded on this fantasy. Indeed, there is a special disdain for individuals who claim military records and heroics that truly belong to others. I’m left thinking if only Jones could have been honest with us, his stories would still be amazing and he could have also had the freedom to write first rate nautical adventures like Patrick O’Brien. Dalton seems also to struggle with Jones legacy of being Such a talented writer with a fatal flaw.
Although this was easy to read and didn't take me long to get through, by the end I was beginning to dislike the author more than I disliked Tristan Jones, in spite of the latter's compulsive avoidance of the truth. This was because Dalton seemed to focus more intently on what Jones did not do, rather than on what he did do. This gave the text the complexion of a character assassination, rather than a biography. Moreover, at times I felt almost sympathetic towards Tristan Jones, given that Dalton appeared to relish the opportunity to stick the proverbial boot in, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Okay, Jones told tall tales, sometimes leading him to write works which were entirely fictional. But he didn't kill anyone. He didn't go out of his way to wreck others lives. And yet at times, I felt that Dalton was more intent on painting a picture of a villain than he was on telling the genuine story of Tristan Jones.
That said, it was a straightforward read that passed the time and shed light on Jones' story in a manner which hasn't been done before. If nothing else, it was a brave decision of Dalton's to write this, it's just a shame that he let the revelations on Tristan Jones untruths to dominate the book in a way which overshadowed the true story of the man's life.
I read this book, about a Welsh sailor, because I had just finished studying abroad in Swansea, Wales for a semester. I love Wales and I love sailing so I figured this would be the book for me. The amount of research behind this book is to be marveled at, but the book itself is a bit tedious because of it. I felt as though for every line of truth about Tristan Jones, there were few of those, had to be backed up by thirty pages of evidence - no exaggeration. It is a good and fascinating read, but it can be really in depth and slow at parts.
I suppose this book had to be written, but having enjoyed all of Tristan's books I would of been happier wondering about the facts. Now I feel deceived....