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- Title: Old Times on the Mississippi
- Author: Mark Twain
- Narrator: John Greenman
- Length: 03:39:00
- Version: Abridged
- Release Date: 01/01/2011
- Publisher: LibriVox
- Genre: Travel, Essays & Travelogues
- ISBN13: SABFAB9780754
There’s something magical about listening to Mark Twain’s words while in motion – whether you’re on a train tracing the contours of a landscape or swaying in a hammock strung between two palms. “Old Times on the Mississippi”, narrated by John Greenman, is one of those rare audiobooks that doesn’t just recount a journey – it becomes one. As someone who’s spent years chasing stories along rivers from the Amazon to the Mekong, Twain’s recollections of his steamboat days struck a deep chord. I first pressed play while aboard a rickety wooden boat on Peru’s Ucayali River, the diesel engines thrumming in harmony with Greenman’s voice, and suddenly Twain’s 19th-century Mississippi felt startlingly present.
Twain’s 1875 memoir (later folded into “Life on the Mississippi”) is a masterclass in transporting prose. Through his eyes, we see the river as both a living entity and a stern teacher – its shifting channels a metaphor for the unpredictability of life itself. The audiobook format particularly shines in conveying Twain’s humor, which relies so heavily on timing and inflection. Greenman’s narration captures the wry twinkle in Twain’s voice when describing his cub pilot mishaps, like mistaking a harmless log for a deadly ‘towhead’ reef. You can practically hear the smirk when Twain recounts how veteran pilots would send him on fool’s errands to ask for nonexistent equipment like ‘a bucket of steam.’
What makes this recording special is how Greenman handles the musicality of Twain’s language. There’s a rhythm to river speech – the call-and-response of leadsmen calling depths (‘Mark twain!’), the lyrical descriptions of dawn breaking over muddy waters – that demands a narrator who understands pacing. Greenman delivers, letting silences linger like fog over the riverbanks. His performance reminded me of evenings spent with a Oaxacan grandmother who knew exactly when to pause for effect during her stories, making the tale breathe between sentences.
The memoir’s central tension – between the romantic myth of river life and its grueling realities – comes alive through audio. In print, Twain’s description of memorizing every bend and snag might read as impressive; hearing it narrated, you feel the exhaustion behind this feat of mental cartography. Particularly moving are passages where Twain, years removed from piloting, describes how the Civil War and railroads ‘killed’ his beloved river culture. Greenman’s voice takes on a tender melancholy here that no printed page could replicate.
As a travel writer, I was struck by how contemporary Twain’s observations feel. His sharp eye for character – the showboating pilots, the penny-pinching captains – parallels the eccentric locals we meet in today’s backpacker hostels and cargo ship bars. The audiobook format heightens this, making the raconteurs and river rats feel like they’re swapping tales beside you. Twain’s description of learning to ‘read’ the river’s surface for hidden dangers resonates with any traveler who’s had to decode unfamiliar terrains, whether navigating Cairo’s backstreets or interpreting Amazonian guides’ hand signals about piranha-infested waters.
Some listeners might find the technical river navigation passages slow going – there’s a reason this was originally serialized – but these sections showcase Twain’s gift for making specialized knowledge fascinating. The audiobook helps here; Greenman’s clear enunciation turns complex piloting maneuvers into engaging verbal diagrams. I found myself rewinding his explanation of crossing currents at Plum Point, as captivated as I was when a Bolivian boatman once explained how to ‘ride’ Andean rapids.
Compared to other Twain audiobooks, this stands out for its intimacy. While “Roughing It” thrives on broad frontier humor and “Huckleberry Finn” on dialect, “Old Times” has a confessional quality suited to audio. You’re not just hearing about Twain’s mistakes; you’re hearing him still wrestling with their lessons decades later. The only slight drawback is the recording’s occasional audio unevenness (a LibriVox hallmark), but this rawness oddly suits Twain’s unvarnished nostalgia.
For modern listeners, the cultural context requires some navigation. Twain’s depictions of enslaved workers (always peripheral in his river narratives) now land differently than in 1875. Greenman reads these passages neutrally, letting listeners sit with their discomfort – an approach I appreciated when recalling similar moments in colonial-era travelogues I’ve studied. The audiobook becomes not just entertainment but an invitation to reflect on how we memorialize the past.
This recording pairs beautifully with river journeys – I later replayed it while floating down Laos’s Mekong, Twain’s descriptions of vanished steamboat landings mirroring the French colonial ruins slipping past my boat. But it’s equally rewarding during mundane commutes, transforming subway tunnels into muddy river channels. At just over three hours, it’s the perfect length for a road trip leg or an afternoon walk.
Twain famously said the Mississippi’s language ‘was to me a book.’ In Greenman’s narration, that book opens anew, its water-stained pages whispering of dead channels and live memories. For travelers, history lovers, or anyone who’s ever been shaped by a place, this audiobook is a ticket to the pilothouse of American memory – and at LibriVox’s free price, it’s a voyage well worth taking.
With stories yet to be lived and rivers yet to be crossed,
Marcus Rivera
