The author of UNKNOWN WATERS, Alfred McLaren, may have been a highly effective submarine commander and overall naval officer; unfortunately, however, his expertise does not extend to the written word. From beginning to end, UNKNOWN WATERS is replete with naval military acronyms and the “boilerplate” phraseology that is to be found in every letter of commendation and every citation ever awarded to sailors, soldiers and airmen. Broad generalizations and banalities abound.
If this weren't bad enough, McLaren demonstrates a military predisposition to hinting at events that he can't tell the reader about because, presumably, they're still classified as military secrets, the fact that they all occurred during the so-called “cold war,” which is long over, notwithstanding. And, if we can stand one more critical description, he is the most self-centered, egocentric author I've encountered in some while, frequently indulging in self-congratulation and even at one point listing all his military awards and recognitions. The book, in fact, is as much an ego trip for the author as it is a description of the under-ice voyage of USS Queenfish.
But don't take my word for these traits. Does this really communicate anything to anyone not already intimately familiar with a submarine: “Queenfish's crew, moreover, had the responsibility for preparing the requisite valve and/or switch lineups and operating instructions for all modes of operation and emergencies for each fluid and electrical system installed....”? Non-communicative wording of that sort is part and parcel of a military unit commendation letter.
Sometimes, the author can't make up his mind as to whether a trip is long or short, either: The first paragraph on page 49 refers to “the long transit to Seattle,” while the very next one, speaking of the very same trip, describes “the relatively short … transit to Seattle.” By the way, McLaren's boat never travels, glides, drifts, or even moves. It always “transits.” Official-sounding and repetitious jargon such as this permeates the writing and leaves the reader searching in vain for any sort of imaginative or truly descriptive verb somewhere—anywhere—in the text.
Though not excessively so, McLaren can be quite ungrammatical, too: “Standing very high on the list of desirables was, without a doubt, a very careful review by the supply and commissary officer …, the chief of the boat..., and I [sic] of the food stores and freeze-box load for the Arctic voyage.” Using the nominative pronoun “I” after the preposition “by” is not something an educated person does. And what is a “freeze-box load” anyway?
Euphemisms are no stranger to McLaren's writing either. Describing an inept watch officer who could not perform his duties, the author writes, “This was not so much his personal fault as it was the less-than-optimum detailing by the Navy Bureau of Personnel....” The bureau mis-assigned this guy. It failed to evaluate his abilities correctly. The personnel clerks really messed up! “Less than optimum detailing”? Oh, please!
The photographs are even lacking in interest—unless, of course, one wants to see the author depicted in every conceivable pose. A few other members of the Queenfish's crew make it in but usually while standing beside the author. Two photographs of a polar bear and her cubs taken through the periscope are the only notable exceptions to a run of ho-hum pictures.
So we can conclude that the writing style is atrocious, but what about the trip itself? Except for a very brief reference to having maneuvered into an ice-surrounded cul-de-sac, the reader is treated to endless repetitions of the boat's surfacing in polynyas (open water surrounded by ice) and “transiting” between ice overhead and the ocean floor below. If the trip was as boring as the description of it is, that any member of the crew survived is nothing short of amazing.
Can I think of anyone at all who might really enjoy reading UNKNOWN WATERS? Perhaps a current or former submariner would be able to relate to many of the descriptions on a personal level and would not have to constantly refer to the glossary in the back of the book to interpret the acronyms that are liberally sprinkled throughout the text. Anyone else will likely be bored to death.