
More reviews of Cathedral of the World.
From Kirkus Reviews
If this miscellany of essays and letters
and fragments is any indication, Arms has not only logged some
serious mileage on his sailboat, but raked up some impressive down
time between watches. The idle hours were anything but, for Arms
is given to pondering why the ocean makes him feel so good. He
keeps that musing quality alive in these pieces as he struggles to
convey the spirit that moves him: the edges are raw and
unfiltered, as if he might be bouncing a notion or two off you
while sitting around the galley table, with just enough buffing
to add focus. Its the sum of many small things that pleases him
so, most of them having to do with "the exquisite geometry of an
inscrutable universe infinitely chaotic, infinitely simple.'' Take
the weather as a good example, its thousand faces and unadorned
lessons: Arms can reel and roar along with the rogue seas, go
quiescent on flat days, mimic and adapt. There is the strange
world of charts, their wealth of information and half-truths,
queer scale and miscalculations, the credulity and skepticism
necessary to put oneself in their hands. There are the colors of
the water, which can be read like a book and are too often signals
of distress from pollution; the daring trickery and sly wing work
(the "avian magic show'') of shearwater, fulmar, and petrel; the
sensible offerings to the sea gods, who just may be feeling a
little squally. For the artful, guileless Arms, one senses it
comes down to the migratory urge, what he calls the "oughtness''
of wandering, in his case over big water, where he can "focus on
today and embrace the journey as if it were all of life.''