You'd kinda assume that all world-changing explorers were pretty good travellers, but apparently that's not the case. At many times in this travelogue, Wallace comes across as a tired, grumpy, unwell TripAdvisor reviewer unimpressed with the locals, the hospitality and frustrated that the expected local fauna isn't turning up to be shot on cue.
I read this to explore Wallace's writings and theories more, and that may not have been a good call. The book is as describes, an account of travels around Timor, Indonesia, Malaysia etc. Mostly Wallace describes how he got to an island, his `negotiations` (cough *threats* cough) to obtain housing in the local villages, his attempts to secure local labour, and then a description of the various birds and animals he shot for specimens while there. A great deal of the book involves frustrated criticisms of the limitations of local people, underpinned by many imperialist assumptions, and loving description of killing beautiful creatures. I can understand that many modern readers may find this hard going.
Wallace had relatively enlightened views on indigenous peoples for a European of the time - a fact I had to remind myself incessantly through the text. He still assumes as given that "primitive" peoples are stupider and lazier than "civilized" one, and this assumption colours his encounters. It is at times amusing to see: when he comments on the Papuans' laziness, right before complaining about not being able to eat because his staff are too ill to cook for him or climb trees for him, for example. Or his constant assumption that when locals do not wish to sail immediately, they are delaying him out of obstinance, followed invariably by him forcing sailing only to hit bad weather straight away.
At the end of the book, Wallace comments on the moral superiority of the indigenous peoples he has lived within compared to British people. This comes as a mild surprise given the tone of the rest, despite one musing on a Malay village with no crime and, he believes, no laws. It did make me wonder whether much of the other criticisms were exacerbated by being uncomfortable, often ill, and worried about shooting and preserving enough animals to pay off the voyage.
There are some passages of real wonder, humility and amazement in the book that elevate the work, and will stay with me. Most of these - the most striking being his description of his first journey by prau - are clearly cribbed from a journal kept at the time, sometimes slipping into the present tense. For these passages alone - when you can see the wild adventurer whose world is being broadened forever - the book is worth reading. Mostly they come towards the end.
You do get the occasional glimpse of Wallace's extraordinarily curious and deductive mind, but only occasional. His extrapolation of the Wallace line, and his hypothesis (mostly incorrect, but still)about the origins of the human racial groups in the area, for example. I suspect this is not a work to show off Wallace's brilliance, at the end of the day. I intend to read a book of his essays next, to see if that works better, and kinda wish I had started there, before the wild young naturalist revolutionary was replaced by a petulant, grumpy, high-handed traveller, with flashes of brilliance, in my head.