FICTION: The Journey of Anders Sparrman: A Biographical Novel,by Per Wästberg, translated by Tom Geddes, Granta, 401pp, £18.99
ANYONE WITH an interest in natural science, particularly botany, or in the great European expeditions of the late 18th century, just as the Enlightenment was yielding to Romanticism, may recognise the name Anders Sparrman. It is true he usually features in specialist footnotes, often in reference to his being the final protege of Carl Linnaeus, the founder of modern botanical classification. Yet Sparrman, a medical doctor by training, was a pioneering naturalist and an independent thinker, a free spirit who never allowed his interest in science to stand in the way of his humanity. He was an idealist, a loner, a romantic and, as Per Wästberg shows, wonderful material for a novel.
Writer, human-rights campaigner and chairman of the Nobel Committee for Literature, Wästberg brings vast reading and genuine admiration to this understated yet exciting narrative of one man’s journey through life.
Anders, a rector’s son, was quiet and studious, a natural loner who had good friends but found love only once. Wästberg, an established writer in his native Sweden, evokes a vivid sense of his country’s topography. This is one of the quiet novels that easily slip by, overshadowed by literary prizes and publisher’s hype yet vastly superior to Tom McCarthy’s over-rated Man Booker favourite, C.
Reading The Journey of Anders Sparrmanis an adventure that not only retrieves a lost figure from history but also recaptures the excitement of the age of discovery. Decades before Darwin, men such as Sparrman and Joseph Banks were setting off on quests to bring back botanical treasures, as well as, often controversially, animals.
Told partly through extracts from Sparrman’s writings, including letters, written in English, to his friend George Forster, the narrative has a period feel. Wästberg’s prose is formal and rich in vivid descriptions of the natural world.
Young Anders is clever and earns the favour of his professor, the grumpy, often moody Linnaeus, who one day puts a proposition to him: “I know you are wont to stutter, but give me your response in a measured and natural voice, and only answer after you have afforded a few minutes’ consideration to what I am about to propose. Would you be willing to embark on a voyage to China in two months’ time? As barber-surgeon, since you have not yet taken your examinations. But actually as my botanist. Southern China is fertile and luxuriant; grapes may be unknown, but the trees are in bloom twice a year . . .”
It is the chance of a lifetime, and it changes the young man’s life. Not a man given to wild praise, Linnaeus informs his student that he suspects he is idle, only to add: “But I believe you have a modicum of genius. And you are a good-natured soul, without artifice.”
As a ship’s doctor Sparrman succeeds in becoming afflicted with many of the ailments “he had been appointed to cure”. Sparrman collects seeds, fossils and plants, and after about 20 months abroad he returns to Sweden to complete his doctorate. There have been changes, including the death of his father. Linnaeus beckons again, and this time Anders sets off for South Africa.
AT THIS POINTWästberg's tale settles down into an astonishing account of discovery and the sense of wonder that accompanies seeing particular specimen plants and animals for the first time. With dramatic use of historical detail, South Africa emerges as a beautiful paradise in hell. "One of the mighty African elms had fallen across their path. It looked as if it were reclining on its elbow. The termites would soon lay it to rest. A warthog appeared and shook its head, as if it had water in its ear. Anders came upon some mushrooms that looked like honey fungus, a delicate flavour, harmless."
Before that there are the sequences featuring life at sea in cramped, stinking conditions. Anders delights in the natural world yet also notes the white man’s lack of justice. It leaves him with a hatred of slavery.
Sparrman joined Cook on the historic second expedition to Antarctica and Tahiti. Wästberg at times assumes the voice of the historian: “On the 1st of November 1772 Captain James Cook sailed into Cape Town on his second circumnavigation of the world. Anders Sparrman was invited to join the crew of the Resolution to assist the Forsters [famous English father-and-son scientists] as zoologist, botanist and physician.”
The invitation came at a timely moment; Anders was weary of tutoring the spoilt children of a wealthy man, the Resident, who had recently commented: “You are passing on to my children learning from Europe that I never had myself. Unless my memory is failing, I hope you are balancing the scientific discoveries that are undermining God’s majesty with your lessons in moral behaviour.”
Anders emerges as a singular individual, sympathetic and commendably indifferent to petty authority, at the hands of which he was to suffer when responsible for the Swedish natural-history museum. The facts dazzle: “Sparrman was the first zoologist to study the African rhinoceros – and at such close quarters that he put himself in mortal danger. He established that the rhinoceros’ sunken eyes could see only indistinctly, and only straight ahead . . . He was also the first to find evidence that both male and female ostriches sat on their eggs, laid on the bare earth at least ten at a time, sometimes as many as sixteen.”
He set off on foot and horseback into the interior of South Africa. “Observe the symmetry of Nature,” he remarked to Daniel Immelman, his companion on that expedition to the far limits of Dutch colonialisation. “If you keep that in view, you can hold the confusion of life at bay. There is a healing power in the geometry, even when the pattern is hard to distinguish. We struggle on, but order brings serenity. That is why we create gardens.”
His great travels were over by the time he reached his mid 30s, and Sparrman settled uneasily into a life in Sweden, arguing with officialdom. Eventually he concentrated on serving the poor as a doctor. Approaching 50, he fell in love with Lotta, a working woman who did not understand his science but did grasp him – in every way. Sparrman died in 1820, aged 72 “and a half”.
Wästberg has brought a quiet hero to life. This generous, not-to-be-missed book should feature in every school and university library; history teachers should look to Wästberg’s methodology. At no time does he presume to climb into Sparrman’s mind, yet he succeeds in conjuring up the heart and soul of a rare imagination.
Eileen Battersby is Literary Correspondent of The Irish Times
