Podcast on Literature, Travel, and Empire

Kapitoly

A Castaway's Kingdom

The World Gets Smaller

Defoe Creates a Genre

Swift's Satirical Voyage

The Novel and the Empire

The Island King

Meeting Friday

The Robinsonade Genre

Legacy and Reinterpretation

The Explorer-Scientist

The Captain's Log

A National Psychosis

The Dorking Effect

The Enemy Changes

More Than Just Armies

Reverse Colonization

Who is Malorie Blackman?

Welcome to Albion

A Series for Our Times

A New Voice in London

The Language of the People

Decolonizing the Novel

The Black City and Final Thoughts

Přepis

Sam: Imagine you're stuck on a deserted island. No Wi-Fi, no phone, not even a volleyball to talk to. What's the first thing you do? Probably panic, right?

Sara: Absolutely. But for one of literature's most famous characters, the first thing he did... was start building an empire, one salvaged plank at a time.

Sam: This is Studyfi Podcast, where we explore the big ideas for your exams. Today, we're setting sail into 18th-century Britain to see how a travel boom created the modern novel.

Sara: It's hard for us to imagine, but in the 1700s, the world was suddenly opening up for Britons. Trade routes were expanding, science was sending explorers everywhere, and the British Empire was growing.

Sam: So people were just on the move more?

Sara: Exactly. Roads and coaches got better, making it easier and cheaper to travel around Britain. Britain also became the world's dominant sea power.

Sam: And if you were a wealthy young man, you got to go on the original gap year, right? The Grand Tour.

Sara: That's a perfect way to put it! They'd spend a few years touring Europe with a tutor, learning languages and customs. It was a rite of passage.

Sam: And when people travel, they write. Diaries, letters, ships' logs... you name it.

Sara: Precisely. All this travel created a huge appetite for stories from faraway places. And one writer, Daniel Defoe, knew exactly how to feed it.

Sam: Okay, so let's talk about the big one: *Robinson Crusoe*, published in 1719.

Sara: It was a sensation. An absolute game-changer. Defoe wrote it to sound like a real autobiography, a true story of a man's 'surprizing adventures'.

Sam: And people bought it? Literally?

Sara: They did! They were fascinated by this character's inner world and his adventures in a strange land. It was inspired by the real story of a marooned sailor named Alexander Selkirk, which made it feel even more authentic.

Sam: So how popular was it?

Sara: It sold around 6,000 copies in just a few months, which was massive for the time. Defoe immediately saw he had a hit formula. He published *The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe* the same year.

Sam: He didn't stop there, did he?

Sara: Not at all. He started churning them out. *Captain Singleton* crosses Africa. *Moll Flanders* goes to North America. He even added maps to later editions of *Crusoe* to enhance the realism. He was building a brand.

Sam: So was everyone just writing these super-serious adventure stories?

Sara: Well, not everyone was impressed. Enter Jonathan Swift. In 1726, he published a book that looked exactly like one of Defoe's travelogues. It was called *Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World*, by a certain Lemuel Gulliver.

Sam: *Gulliver's Travels*! I know that one. Little people, giant people...

Sara: That's the one! But it was a brilliant parody. Swift used the travel novel format to make fun of everything—British politics, human nature, even the genre of travel writing itself.

Sam: So he's mocking Defoe's style while writing his own adventure story? That's bold.

Sara: Incredibly bold. And it worked! *Gulliver's Travels* outsold even *Crusoe*. It made readers aware of the tricks and tropes Defoe used, and it showed that the novel could be used for sharp social critique, not just adventure.

Sam: So we have travel leading to adventure stories, which then leads to satire. But there's a bigger idea here, isn't there? The theme of Empire.

Sara: Yes, and this is a key point for your exams. The critic Edward Said argued that *Robinson Crusoe* is the perfect prototype for the British colonist.

Sam: What did he mean by that? He's all alone.

Sara: Think about it. Crusoe lands on a non-European island and immediately starts to control it. He maps it, farms it, and ultimately, he subjugates its native inhabitant, Friday, teaching him English and converting him to Christianity.

Sam: He turns the island into his own little kingdom.

Sara: Exactly. He becomes 'King and Lord of all this Country'. Said's point is that the novel as a form helped create and support the *idea* of having an empire. It normalized the act of a European going out into the world and taking charge.

Sam: Wow. So even when a novel isn't explicitly about colonialism, it can still be shaped by that mindset?

Sara: That's the argument. The novel's focus on the individual, on mapping space, on mastering one's environment... these are all ideas that align perfectly with an imperial project.

Sam: So Crusoe's journey isn't just about survival. It's about asserting dominance.

Sara: It really is. His individualism is forged in this colonial setting. He defines himself as a civilized, Protestant Englishman by controlling the land and the 'Other'. The novel is a product of its time, and its time was the dawn of a massive global empire.

Sam: So, that self-reliance we were talking about... it's not just personal. It's almost... national.

Sara: Exactly! Crusoe's tendency to see himself as a king or an emperor on his little island wasn't just a fantasy. It perfectly mirrored what was happening in England in the early eighteenth century.

Sam: Right, the British Empire was expanding, and there was this huge swelling of national pride tied to its overseas colonies.

Sara: That's the key. The novel basically soothed any anxieties people might have had about colonialism. It affirmed, through Crusoe, this idea of the 'exceptional' Englishman who could tame the wild and master his own destiny.

Sam: Master yourself, master your destiny, master... everyone else?

Sara: You're not wrong! It’s a powerful formula. And that formula is put to the ultimate test when Crusoe finally meets another person.

Sam: Ah, Friday. So he's not just a companion, he's more of a... a tool to prove Crusoe's superiority?

Sara: In many ways, yes. He's the ultimate mirror. He reflects back the self-image Crusoe wants to see: powerful, knowledgeable, and in charge. Remember, in English society, Crusoe was a common man. On the island, he gets to be a king.

Sam: And the first act of his reign is basically an identity takeover.

Sara: Immediately. He doesn't ask for the man's name. He just declares, "his Name should be Friday." And what does he teach him to say right after that?

Sam: He teaches him to say "Master."

Sara: Exactly. It's an act of possession. It erases Friday's entire history and begins the process of transforming him into a copy of Crusoe himself. This is done through 'education'—teaching him English, Christianity, and all about European trade.

Sam: So he's not saving a person, he's creating a subject.

Sara: Precisely. He even gets him 'tolerably well' clothed just like himself. It’s all about remaking the 'Other' in his own image.

Sam: It’s such a powerful fantasy. I bet it spawned a lot of copycats.

Sara: Oh, tons! It created a whole new genre called the "robinsonade." These were imitation stories, each using the desert island setup for its own purpose.

Sam: Like what? What other kinds could there be?

Sara: Well, the philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau loved it. He saw it as a perfect story about natural education—learning by doing. Then you have things like *The Swiss Family Robinson*.

Sam: I know that one! But it's way more... wholesome, right?

Sara: Definitely more wholesome. It was written to teach Christian moral lessons to a whole family. They basically turn the island into a Rousseauian university, learning about botany and zoology.

Sam: So the same deserted island idea can be used to teach completely different things. That's fascinating.

Sara: It is! And it shows how the novel itself was becoming this powerful medium for moral instruction and exploring the wider world from the comfort of your home.

Sam: So, Crusoe’s story is really a journey into the heart of the colonial mindset.

Sara: Absolutely. And its DNA is in so many stories that came after. You can see echoes of it in invasion literature and even the classic British spy novel—that idea of the capable, gentlemanly figure operating in a foreign, 'uncivilized' space.

Sam: And I imagine modern writers have had a lot to say about Friday's perspective.

Sara: A huge amount! That's the postcolonial narrative. Writers started asking, what was Friday's story before Crusoe? What did he think? It’s a complete reversal of perspective, giving a voice to the colonized.

Sam: So it goes from a colonial story to a postcolonial one.

Sara: Exactly. You see this shift in works by Irish writers like Swift or Stoker, all the way to contemporary authors. They use similar genres, but for entirely different purposes—to question power, not just reinforce it. It really makes you think about who gets to tell the story...

Sam: Which is a perfect segue into our next topic, where perspective is everything...

Sam: ...so that drive for precision really defined the era. And a perfect example of this is Captain James Cook.

Sara: Exactly. Cook wasn't just a sailor; he was a scientist on the sea. He led three incredible voyages of discovery.

Sam: Three? That’s a lot of time away from home. What was he looking for?

Sara: Everything! The first voyage was to Tahiti to observe the transit of Venus. It was a way to help measure the size of the universe. He also hunted for the Great Southern Continent.

Sam: The giant landmass they thought was balancing the northern hemisphere. Sounds like a fantasy novel.

Sara: It does! His second voyage pushed into the Antarctic, and his final one was a search for the fabled Northwest Passage to connect the Atlantic and Pacific.

Sam: So how do we know so much about what he saw and did?

Sara: The key is his journals. Cook kept meticulous records, constantly revising them. They became best-sellers in Europe.

Sam: Wow. So he was an influencer before influencers were a thing.

Sara: In a way, yes. A famous writer, James Boswell, described him as having 'a balance in his mind for truth'. He was just incredibly committed to accuracy.

Sam: And this accuracy was compelling to people back home?

Sara: Absolutely. Boswell himself said that after meeting Cook, he felt a 'strong inclination to go with him on his next voyage.'

Sam: I bet Cook’s response was, 'Sorry, the boat's full.'

Sara: Probably. But it shows Cook's power as a narrator. For the most part, he was a respectful ethnographer, trying to understand the cultures he encountered and protecting them from his own crew.

Sam: Here's the key takeaway then... His journals brought a whole new version of the world into view for Europeans. It was discovery happening right on the page.

Sara: Exactly. He was literally drawing the map as he went, which brings us to the art and science of cartography itself...

Sam: So that general anxiety in late-Victorian society we were just discussing... it didn't just stay in the newspapers. It bled into popular culture, right?

Sara: It absolutely exploded into popular culture. This is where we get a genre called 'invasion literature'. It’s this massive wave of fiction that popped up between about 1870 and the start of World War One.

Sam: Invasion literature. Sounds pretty self-explanatory.

Sara: It is, but the context is what’s fascinating. Britain had the world's largest empire... a tiny island controlling a quarter of the globe. And yet, they were terrified of being invaded.

Sam: That seems like a strange contradiction. Why were they so worried?

Sara: Well, with a big empire comes big rivals and resentful subjects. There was this growing fear that one of their European competitors, or even rebellious colonies, might strike back at the heart of the empire.

Sam: So they were worried the chickens would come home to roost, so to speak.

Sara: Exactly. The historian Barbara Tuchman said the idea of invasion became 'almost a psychosis' in Britain. It was the topic on everyone's lips.

Sam: So what kicked this whole craze off? Was there a single book that started it?

Sara: There was. It all goes back to the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. Germany's victory over France was so fast and so total... it just shocked everyone. It was a terrifying display of modern, organized warfare.

Sam: And Britain looked at that and thought... 'What if they come for us next?'

Sara: Precisely. As George Bernard Shaw put it, every country in Europe said to itself, “Good Heavens! what would happen if she attacked us?” And in that climate of fear, a military man named George Tomkyns Chesney wrote a short story.

Sam: Let me guess... *The Battle of Dorking*?

Sara: You got it. In 1871, he published *The Battle of Dorking*. It was a fictional account of a successful German invasion of Britain, all thanks to their superior technology and planning. It wasn't a pamphlet; it was a story. And it caused an absolute uproar.

Sam: It made the threat feel real, I imagine.

Sara: It did. It helped launch a public campaign for military 'preparedness' and set the template for decades of invasion stories to come. Suddenly, fiction was the best way to scare the public into action.

Sam: So after *Dorking*, was Germany always the big bad guy in these stories?

Sara: Not always! And this is where it gets really interesting. The villain changed depending on who Britain was most nervous about at the time. It's like a pop culture barometer for foreign policy.

Sam: So who was on the list?

Sara: In the 1870s, it was definitely Germany. Then in the 1890s, tensions with France and Russia were high, so they became the invaders in the stories. After the turn of the century, it swung firmly back to Germany.

Sam: That's wild. The authors were just swapping out the uniforms on the bad guys to match the headlines.

Sara: Pretty much! And they were also adding new technology. As the 1890s rolled on, you start seeing stories speculating about futuristic weapons... like airships and submarines changing the game entirely.

Sam: So it's not just an invasion, it's a *high-tech* invasion. That adds a whole new layer of fear.

Sara: Exactly. It tapped into anxieties about falling behind, not just militarily, but technologically too.

Sam: Was it always about military invasions, though? Soldiers marching through London?

Sara: Great question. And the answer is no. This is what some critics call 'invasion literature 2.0'. The fear wasn't just about troops... it was about other kinds of invasions. Cultural, social, even biological.

Sam: Okay, now I'm intrigued. What does a non-military invasion look like?

Sara: Think of it this way. The empire created this two-way traffic. People and ideas were flowing *out*, but they were also flowing *in*. There were huge anxieties about colonial subjects immigrating to Britain, or colonial problems spreading to the homeland.

Sam: Ah, so the fear was about the 'other' showing up on your doorstep, not as an army, but as a neighbor.

Sara: You've nailed it. This is where you get the 'yellow peril' stories, tales of sinister masterminds from Asia taking over. And it bleeds into other genres, too. Like gothic horror.

Sam: Gothic horror? How does a ghost story connect to the British Empire?

Sara: Think about the most famous one from that period... Bram Stoker's *Dracula*, from 1897. He's not a general with an army. He's a single, aristocratic intruder from the 'primitive' East.

Sam: Right, he sails to London to buy up property. So... he’s an invading landlord?

Sara: In a way, yes! But what he really represents is the ultimate fear of the time: reverse colonization.

Sam: Reverse colonization? What's that?

Sara: It's the terrifying idea that the colonizer could become the colonized. The British had spent a century imposing their will on the world... now, the fear was that these 'primitive' forces would come back and do the same to them.

Sam: Whoa. So Dracula isn't just a monster; he's a symbol of imperial payback.

Sara: Exactly. He doesn't just kill his victims; he appropriates and transforms them. When you're bitten, you 'go native' by becoming a vampire yourself. Your racial and cultural identity is literally erased and replaced by his.

Sam: That is way deeper than I ever thought. It's a fear of losing not just your life, but your very British-ness.

Sara: And it's everywhere once you look for it! Even Sherlock Holmes fights these threats. His arch-nemesis, Moriarty, is often read as an embodiment of Irish anxieties. Many of his cases are about crimes from the colonies coming back to haunt people in London.

Sam: So all these stories... they're not just entertainment. They're a window into a culture terrified that its time at the top was coming to an end.

Sara: That's the key takeaway. This fiction shows an empire deeply uneasy, saturated with a sense of decline and the fear that the people it had conquered were, in one way or another, coming back for them.

Sam: So some authors don't just tell stories, they build entire worlds to make us think.

Sara: Exactly. And a perfect example of this is Malorie Blackman. The first Noughts & Crosses book was so popular it made the BBC’s list of the UK’s all-time favourite books.

Sam: She's a huge deal in British literature, right?

Sara: A massive deal! She's written over 70 books, is a Bafta winner, a former Children's Laureate, and has an OBE. Her parents came to Britain from Barbados as part of the Windrush generation.

Sam: Wow, that’s quite the resume.

Sara: It is! And she uses her platform to explore really powerful themes, turning literature into a medium for empathy.

Sam: So let's talk about that famous series, Noughts & Crosses.

Sara: It's set in an alternative Britain called Albion. But here's the twist… it was colonised by Africa. The black population are called Crosses and they're the ruling class.

Sam: And the white population?

Sara: They're called Noughts. They're poorer and face institutional discrimination. The whole world is flipped.

Sam: That sounds intense. So what's the story?

Sara: The first book is about Sephy, a privileged Cross, and Callum, a Nought whose mum is Sephy's housekeeper. Their romance is completely forbidden, like a dystopian Romeo and Juliet.

Sam: Of course it is! Always a forbidden romance.

Sara: Exactly. But the series didn't stop there. Over 20 years, it grew to nine books and three novellas.

Sam: So what kept it going?

Sara: The real world. She thought she was done, but then Brexit and Trump's election happened. That prompted her to write 'Crossfire', where a Nought becomes the first prime minister.

Sam: So she's directly reflecting our society?

Sara: Precisely. The final book, 'Endgame', even references a pandemic and a 'Nought Lives Matter' movement. Her world evolves right alongside ours.

Sam: That's the key takeaway, then. Using an alternate reality to hold a mirror up to our own. Incredible stuff.

Sam: Wow, that's a fascinating look at the post-war literary scene. And that brings us perfectly to our final author, Samuel Selvon.

Sara: Exactly. You can't talk about this period without him. Selvon was an East Indian Trinidadian who moved to London in the 1950s. He’s often called the ‘father of black writing’ in Britain.

Sam: So he arrived right when those tensions were starting to build?

Sara: He did. Though colonial citizens had British passports, things were getting hostile. By the late 50s, there were racial disturbances, and new laws were designed to keep ‘coloured’ citizens out.

Sam: That must have been incredibly difficult.

Sara: It was. And Selvon captures this feeling of being an outsider. His characters often live in single rooms, which becomes a powerful metaphor for their in-between existence—not quite English, but no longer fully Caribbean either.

Sam: So how did he translate that experience onto the page? It seems like standard English wouldn't quite capture it.

Sara: You've hit on the most important point. Selvon’s great innovation was language. He wanted to capture the ordinary language of the people, so he wrote his novels in a creolized English.

Sam: A mix of different dialects?

Sara: That’s right. It wasn’t just Trinidadian or Jamaican, but an amalgamation of Caribbean dialects. He actually said he tried writing the narrative in standard English at first, but it felt flat. Once he switched the narration itself to dialect, the story just “shot along.”

Sam: So he was basically... remixing the English language?

Sara: You could say that! He was the original DJ of dialect. And by doing that, *The Lonely Londoners* became a major step in cultural decolonization.

Sam: Here's why that matters... he was taking the colonizer's language and reshaping it, right?

Sara: Precisely. He was presenting English back to the English, but new and repurposed. It gave legitimacy and authenticity to a Caribbean way of speaking and thinking, giving a voice to characters who were previously voiceless.

Sam: And he applied this new voice to London itself.

Sara: Yes, he created what we call the 'Black City.' He wrote about the hardship, the racist housing practices, but also the romance and dreams of London. It was this magnet that could also be a nightmare.

Sam: A promised land that wasn't quite as promised.

Sara: Exactly. He paints this hidden world through characters like the world-weary Moses and the optimistic, flashy Galahad. It’s a whole new way of seeing the city. So, to recap, from the Modernists to the post-war voices and Selvon, we see writers constantly reinventing language to capture their reality.

Sam: A fantastic overview. That's all the time we have for today on the Studyfi Podcast. A huge thank you to our expert, Sara.

Sara: My pleasure, Sam.

Sam: And thank you all for listening. Join us next time for more deep dives into the literature you need to know. Happy studying!