Remember the Cabin Boy: The Shroud of the Thwacker

It loses a lot of momentum somewhere in the middle, but Chris Elliot's book, The Shroud of the Thwacker, is an irreverent, and anarchist sort-of experience. To capsulize it, one might say that it's a parody of Jack the Ripper-style historical fiction while poking at DaVinci Code-esque secret society conspiracy mumbo jumbo, but this is the least successful aspect of the book.

What really works here is Elliot's disregard for history. He depicts life in late 19th century New York in the same way that science fiction authors often depict life in far flung space colonies in the late 31st century, projecting current day attitudes and customs and blending them with a strange environment. This leads to some pleasing and often hilarious absurdity, like an anectdote about how New Yorkers in the late 19th century went crazy for the recently invented mayonnaise, buying it in paper cups like ice cream.

I laughed a lot while reading this, particularly at the actions of Teddy Roosevelt. Like any comedic endeavor, there are many jokes that fall flat, but when they do, they're buoyed by an infectious, breezy tone and it's not long before another joke makes up for all of the previous duds. The biggest problem I had with the book is that, while the narrative is clearly secondary to the comedy here, the machinations of the plot begin to wear thin at about the halfway point. The context for the comedy is, thus, a little tiring and doesn't hit quite as well. Thankfully, the book gets a late kick from the way Elliot himself becomes a character in the story and it ends as funny and silly as it begins.

I haven't seen Cabin Boy in many, many years, but I remember having about the same reaction to that film.