Tom Cunliffe

The sea generates literary art like nothing else on the planet. Love runs it a close second and war features well too, but for an endless source of great reading, sailing’s top of the bill.

Prodigal antiquarian book-buying has long been a diversion enjoyed by my wife, who is a well-known figure prowling the dusty corners of coastal bookstores. Her on-line presence haunts their websites, while our home shelves groan under the weight of beautifully written works in which the west winds blow, the trades hum, grass skirts sway under moonlit palms and desperate men battle against ice and gale to save not only their ships, but their immortal souls as well.

It’s not all romance either. An encyclopaedia of seamanship is waiting to be found in the experience of others. There may be little substitute for making our own mistakes, but when it