52 books like Typee

I love adventure stories that offer unexpected challenges in foreign lands. 

This story, set in upper-class England and rural China in the 1920s, is about Kitty, a selfish, beautiful, and attention-seeking woman, and the shy and unattractive English bacteriologist, Walter, who falls hopelessly in love and asks for Kitty’s hand in marriage. Kitty consents, but Walter’s discovery of her lover and the resulting social pressure, force the couple to enter into a marriage doomed for failure. 

Even though bitterness prevails, the couple set off for Walter’s assignment in the cholera-infected area of China. It is an act of suicide, fraught with peril. 

During their dangerous sojourn in this strange and foreign land, the couple’s discoveries are many. In the end, they realize that the greatest discovery is their mutual love.

Is Claire supernatural because she can go through the stones? Her skin is certainly milk-soft and bright enough to shimmer in sunlight, but she doesn’t. Even when her hair starts to go white, it doesn’t exactly shimmer. However, she does fit, and so does the story because Unusual things happen to quite ordinary-looking people.

But the most magical thing about this book is the love that Jamie and Claire find in each other. Swoon.

I am particularly drawn to stories about early adventures at sea. 

Life on a whaling ship was difficult and bred all manner of contemptible acts by the crew. When the journey was ill-fated, like the one in this book, it pointed the spotlight directly on the tainted core of ship life. 

This book introduced the greedy side of the 1800s whaling industry and told the story surrounding the doomed whaling ship and the ship’s drug-addicted surgeon. It presented the raw side of humanity and what lengths desperate men resort to in order to survive. It was shades of whaling seamen Herman Melville and John Rumell’s experiences surviving with savages. 

The story was riveting and begged the question: Who are the real savages?

Norwegian-born Thor Hyerdahl was disenchanted with the civilized world and desired a more primitive lifestyle. In 1938, he took a bride and set out for the wild and remote Marquesan Island of Fatu Hiva—minus all worldly possessions. 

The couple stepped headlong into the unknown—most notably the natives. But the once-hostile natives had abandoned their savage ways, allowing for a peaceful co-existence. A year later, the extreme hazards of island living won out over idealism, forcing the Hyerdahls to return to civilization.

Hyerdahl’s notion that he could shed his civilized cloak to live bare-skinned in paradise was foolhardy. Like Herman Melville, Hyerdahl survived to tell his amazing story. Other daring adventurers, like my branded relative, were less fortunate.

This book is one of those books I reread every few years for the pleasure of Stevenson’s prose mastery and its richness in accurate detail of South Pacific Island existence.

RLS ranked this novella among his top accomplishments. Written in his final years at his home on the island of Upolu in Samoa, it is a lesson in the art of storytelling. Set on a small South Seas Island, it encapsulates in its tale of one white trader’s experience the essence of the human interface between two disparate cultures. While his In the South Seas journals more deeply explore the intricacies of island life, This book takes you there 150 years ago.

In Samoan, white people are called papalagi, which means skybreaker. All the other books on this list are by papalagi, intruders, or outside observers, I called them.  John Kneubuhl was a native Samoan.  His father was a U.S. sailor. So, in a way, his observer/observed situation—the interface, the dialogue between the two disparate cultures—was internal. In these three acclaimed plays, Kneubuhl brings to life memorable characters who embody—and sometimes resolve—that conflict.

These three plays—Think of a Garden, Mele Kanikau: A Pageant, and A Play, A Play—portray the true lives of twentieth-century, “post-colonial” Polynesians. They are the culminating works of this stage, screen, and TV dramatist’s long and accomplished career, and they deserve to be read.

Before M*A*S*H and Catch 22, Michner’s book gave American readers a captivating view of the human side of U.S. soldiers and sailors at war in the South Pacific. This sequential series of interconnected short stories set in Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands works like the best TV mini-series. There are not just sailors and marines; there are locals and colonial characters. 

A great read. Don’t just take my word for it: it won a Pulitzer in 1947. And yes, the highly successful musical play South Pacific by Rodgers and Hammerstein is based on stories from this Michener classic. 

Look, if you have read this far about South Seas books—admit it—you would not mind going there, at least on the page and probably on the beach. I spent 26 years in the islands, and I can tell you that this book is the best travel guide for both the body and the imagination. I once reviewed all the available island handbooks for a newspaper column, after which I discarded all the rest.

For each island nation and territory, Stanley provides impeccably researched info on their history, government, economy, people, climate, geography, flora, and fauna, along with up-to-date tips on accommodations, services, events, and cautions.  An encyclopedia of South Seas skivvy unmatched by its competitors.  

The Australian historian Greg Dening was one of the great creative thinkers of the late twentieth century, and his influence is everywhere in the modern history and anthropology of the Pacific. Dening, who died in 2008, was especially fascinated by ambiguous interactions and encounters between people from different worlds. One of his earliest books, Islands and Beaches, focuses on the period in the Marquesas when Europeans first arrived, bringing God, guns, germs, and a whole host of other complications. At once sparklingly and scholarly, it tells the vivid story of this tragic and consequential period in Polynesian history.

One might read Melville’s accounts of the Pacific and reckon with only literary sources and contexts for his books. Bercaw Edwards lays bare the sounds of Pacific voices, the oral sources for his work. Drawing on a wealth of popular accounts as well as theories of discourse and linguistics, she identifies three “languages” Melville learned in his Pacific travels: sailor talk, (a rich world of yarns, folklore, and tall tales), “cannibal” talk (both islanders’ stories and the narratives they inspired), and missionary talk (accounts by religious leaders in the islands). Bercaw Edwards brings deep appreciation and unforgettable zest to Melville’s work, showing his remarkable ear and memory for rich varieties of speech and what they convey about cultural encounters.