If you have not read Master and Commander, O'Brian's first novel in the Aubrey/Maturin sequence, a fresh and surprising mix of naval engagement, medical practice, fine observations, and comic situations, which seemed to dart out in all directions, and assault the senses as much as any novel can, describing fear and bloodlust, famine and feasts, alongside musical appreciation, and an extensive knowledge of natural history, then I envy you , for it is a treat, as are its many sequels. Some may not share O'Brian's taste for the very, very long opening sentence, and others may find his flair for detail a little too rich. Whatever, the twentieth instalment has arrived, and if his readerrs are numerically few, they make up for it in loyalty. The loyalty is hard earned for the stories handle so many characters, so many changes of pace, or should we say, tack, so well. Jack and Stephen often share a cause, and their lives would be incomplete without each other. The friendship is viewed from both sides; sides which combine admiration and respect and a shared love of music with little understanding or much in common. This could be a description of a marriage and few writers do it better. Only dedicated fans are likely to have read this far, and are only reading as a poor substitute until the real dope arrives. The dust jacket of the present volume lists the familiar strengths: "There is brilliant narrative technique; there is richness and variety of characterisation; there is action..." All true, O'Brian's sesnse of craft is still fine. LIke the crew of the Ringle, under William Reade, who is not confident of his sermonising skills, and so sticks to the Articles of War on Sundays, the audience is in for more of the same. Sadly, O'Brian's spark is diminished and for some of the important action, such as a seal cull, and Jack's growing petulance at his continuing staton as a mere post captain, the prosing is delegated to Stephen. In earlier volumes with a greater sense of pace, and, indeed more story to tell, this was an admirable economy, giving insight into Stephen while pushing the events forward. Now it just puts distance between the reader and the action. Throughout the nineteen earlier works, O'Brian held off descending into formula. Certain mannerisms became apparent: a generous, tender, or admirable side to a character was discover a page or so before his sudden death; music would be made; Jack's indigestible nautical orations would be interrupted by Stephen's spying some improbable bird. Apart from the last, even these are missing. There is a battle, but Jack is now so experienced and cunning that there is no uncertainty, and no sense of danger. In short, the book is a disappointment. O'Brian has been deservedly compared to Jane Austen, but young love, and youthful hopes are more diverting than old men stubbornly refusing to retire.