Tired of drinking rum the old fashioned way (straight from the bottle with the smell of burning ships in the air)? Of course not – yer a bloody pirate! But even a bloody pirate can enjoy mixing things up once in a while - figuratively AND literal. With his first book, Kahuna Kevin introduced us to a wide assortment of original rum-based cocktails. 40 concoctions of varying complexity featuring a large number of our favorite rums. And now, with Why is the Rum Gone? Volume 2, Kahuna brings us another 52 masterpieces suited to all sorts of skill-levels and tastes.

That last point can’t be emphasized enough. There was a time that I thought rum-drinkers fell into one of only two camps – those that enjoyed rum properly (straight up from a broken tankard), and those that enjoyed tropical froo-froo drinks with umbrellas on top. And in all truth, there’s nothing wrong with froo-froo drinks, and Kahuna caters with the likes of the Screaming Mimi (gold rum, plum bitters, black currant syrup, pineapple juice). But even those of us who prefer a little more swagger in our mugs can find a mixed drink to our liking. Consider La Tortuga Tortura, which features maple syrup, overproof rum, bitters, and smoked chipotle tabasco sauce. Or how about El Zacapa Exclusiva, which features all of three ingredients: Rum, rum, and more rum. Those who prefer some ironic humor in their drinks also won’t be disappointed as they enjoy a Sarlacc (garnished with a Boba Fett action figure) or the Hedgehog Bowl (featuring Ron de Jeremy rum, of course.)

That’s right – all tastes, all mixology skill levels. BUT, as before you will need a remarkably well and diversely stocked bar. Start collecting those Star Wars action figures and pink umbrellas as well, because drinks of this caliber must be presented with pride!

www.piratesanta.com

Got some pirate younkers in the house that need a proper Christmas tale? The sort that has less to do with Santa, and somewhat more to do with Slappy Claus, a mermaid, and eight tiny tiger sharks?

Much like Jack Skellington before them, the inventors of Talk Like a Pirate Day have set their sights on the Yule-tide season in their quest for total holiday domination. Does it all end in comical disaster as did Nightmare Before Christmas, or are the Pirate Guys savvy enough commandeer the king of all holidays?

Well, to answer that you’ll obviously need to read the book. But suffice to say, Slappy and Chumbucket aren’t alone in their mission – they’re assisted by several known names from the modern pirate community, including Mad Sally (wife of Chumbucket), Stynky (Pyracy Pub), Talderoy, (Studio City Tattoo), and several others (and, of course, the eight tiny tiger sharks.)

Charmingly written and illustrated, Pirate Santa is a tale that looks out for the “unconventionally” good child – those that tend  to engage in a little good-natured mischief throughout the year, and therefore might find themselves unfairly bounced into Santa’s naughty list. It’s these kids – PIRATE KIDS – that Cap’n Slappy has in mind when he dons the red.

Odds are, if you read Bilgemunky Reviews, then you already have a pirate ornament or two on your Christmas tree. You might even have a pirate stocking, and there’s at least a 50% chance your family, upon reading your gift wish list, have asked you, “what’s a blunderbuss?” If this indeed describes you, and if there are any knee-biting nieces, nephews, or direct offspring in your life, then Pirate Santa is practically a no- brainier. Check it out!

In case you require clarification, I love rum. Also, I love a good cocktail. Yet, strangely enough, aside from the occasional Mai Tai my mixed drinks of choice typically hail from the bourbon/whiskey camps – rum is rarely a piece of the equation.

Of course, that was before I learned of Kahuna Kevin’s “Why Is the Rum Gone? A collection of 40 tiki-licious rum cocktails.” That’s right – no less than 40 ORIGINAL rum drinks ranging from the sweet to the savory, and with such pirate-appropriate names as the Addled Wench, Blackbeard’s Depth Charge, Headhunter’s Punch, and yes, even the Scurvy Mouthbanger.

Ok, fancy names aside, how are the drinks? Before I answer that, let me tell you a little about the sort of obnoxiously spoiled drinker I am. When it comes to mixed drinks, I lead a remarkably charmed life – most bartenders I frequent have won international mixology competitions. They often make their own bitters, grow their own herbs, and some even carry degrees in the culinary arts. In short, rum&cokes don’t impress me, and if you top off my Manhattan with one of those crap dayglo-red maraschino cherries you get at Pick’n'Save, you may as well have strained the drink through an old tubesock.

So yeah, THAT’S the standard against which Kahuna Kevin is being measured, which is why I was so astounded at the shear artistry found within these pages. Angostura bitters, orange bitters, nutmeg, maple syrup, allspice, clove, bacon, vanilla… the ingredients list strays far and wide, making for a whole range of wonderfully unique drinks with remarkably complex flavors. But beware, this sort of inspiration does come at a cost – not only will you need dozens of rums (each drink is very specific in identifying which brand will best suit) and hundreds of ingredients if you hope to sample all 40 cocktails, but even individual drinks average 12 or so components. Indeed, the Headless Zombie boasts a whopping 17 ingredients, while the relatively modest Caramel Rebellion still chimes in at six. What I’m saying is, these drinks require some dedication and craftsmanship to bring to fruition, but if you’re up to the task you’re sure to be richly rewarded.

I’ve often been a vocal proponent of drinking rum as God intended – straight up, and perhaps directly from the bottle. But, much like when the devil invented rock music, Kahuna Kevin has shown us that even God might have missed a few gems along the way. For drinks like these, mixing up some top shelf rum isn’t only forgivable, but art.

Did your eyes just glaze over?

ECONOMICS

Did they do it again?

Seriously, most pirate enthusiasts are all psyched about swashbuckling adventure and high-seas glory – words like “economics” are often considered a fast-track to a coma. And yet, economics is something we’ve likely thought about – and discussed with each other – in excruciating detail time and again without even realizing it. Economics, despite popular conception, isn’t a pile of dry mathematical formulas and bland theories, but rather it’s the science of determining why people do what they do. And when economical theory is aimed at our beloved subject of piracy, it’s rather amazing the sort of things that come to light.

The Invisible Hook: The Hidden Economics of Pirates, examines buccaneers through the same lens that one would examine a business. On the surface, pirates were a wealth of peculiar contradictions – villains who would cut off a sailor’s ears, and yet gladly punish that same sailor’s captain for having abused his crew. Pirates; who shunned all notions of civilized society by engaging in rape, pillage, and plunder, and yet who democratically elected their leaders, allowed minorities to serve equally beside them, and even paid disability to their wounded cohorts. Were pirates the greatest humanitarians of their time, or the greatest monsters? In fact, as author Peter T. Leeson explains, they were neither.

Pirates were people, plain and simple. And they were people entangled in a unique web of circumstances that led them to behave in ways that at first seem paradoxical, but make perfect sense when envisioned through such concepts as “decision-making costs”, “principal-agent problems”, “high and low cost signaling”, etc. Through this economic prism, familiar pirate traits such as ship’s articles, the captain’s limited command, and even the Jolly Roger itself take on a newer, clearer light.

Why did pirates do what they did? Short answer: to do otherwise would have hurt their chances at survival and profit. Long answer: read The Invisible Hook. It’s educational, thought-provoking, and fun. The writing is clear and easily digested – a tad repetitive at times, but fascinating throughout. Dedicated pirate enthusiasts may find they have a much deeper appreciation for economics than they ever thought possible, and perhaps pick up some new words to impress folks at cocktail parties as a happy bonus.

I’ve said it before; reviewing pirate books geared at young adults is always a treat. The reason for this is twofold – first, it’s a noble effort to induct the young into an early appreciation of piracy. And second, it’s often a refreshing change of pace from reading material aimed at adults, which tends to be far denser, and at times daunting.

Fish is the story of Maurice Reidy, a boy who’s rather unremarkable save for his apparently inborn talent for swimming. Swimming comes as natural as walking for Maurice (who’s of course nicknamed ‘Fish’ by friends and family alike), but it’s a talent that’s of little use on a farm, and even less use when life finds Fish working for his uncle as a courier in the city. And so it would have continued, had young Fish not run afoul of some mischief during one of his routine runs. Not so routine, actually, as Fish had been tasked with a package of extreme import – so extreme, in fact, that pirates (and worse) seemed to spring from nowhere in an effort to acquire it at any cost.

In his efforts to regain the stolen parcel, Fish winds up amongst the pirate crew – very briefly as a stowaway, but then as a new recruit. It’s a role that Fish doesn’t find immediately to his liking, but he soon learns that the pirate crew – like most groups – has a rather diverse membership comprised of good and bad alike. Fortunately, the captain and his inner circle are of the former group, although the first mate and many of the crew are distinctly of the latter.

Beyond the mere good-or-badness of the crew, author Gregory Mone develops a piratical group that not only encompasses many of our favorite pirate trends, but even humorously formalizes them. The crew of the Scurvy Mistress is divided into several cliques, with such monikers as The Tea Leaves (being the former British Navy men of the bunch), the Over and Unders (the rope workers) and even the One-Eyed Willies (you can guess that one for yourself.)

The world that Fish and his new shipmates occupy is more-or-less that of our own (albeit in the age of Caribbean piracy), filled with characters of conflicting loyalties and mixed agendas. Some have flaws that define them, others flaws they overcome. It’s a world of shades of gray, although somewhat simplified so as to make it more palatable to the younger audience. The children in the story are a little sharper than average, while most of the adults – heroes and villains alike – are just a tad slower than might otherwise be expected, thus allowing Fish and his young colleagues to better play a part in the story. And while this might keep “Fish” from having the same crossover appeal as some pirate children’s novels, it’s target audience will likely be perfectly pleased with this pirate adventure.

Pirate Haiku is exactly that – 185 pages of haikus (one per page) about pirates doing piratey things. And while haiku purists might point out that while the 5-7-5 format remains intact, very few of these poems exhibit the meditative qualities or the kigo generally required in Japanese hai…

Wait, what the hell am I saying? This is supposed to be a review of a pirate haiku book, and I’m prattling on about the lack of seasonal references? Who cares, so long as there’s rum and seaborne violence? And Pirate Haiku dishes these up in abundance. There is, in fact, an entire chapter dedicated to rum, and another to wenches. And another, even, to pirates vs. ninjas, which would seem fitting considering the book’s format.

As East and West meet
form’s purity may waver
but rum reigns supreme
-Bilgemunky, 2010, summarizing Pirate Haiku is the most smartass way he can muster

Pirate Haiku would seem a perfect bathroom reader – something to pick up and grab a random page now and then. But in this it’s misleading because, to my own surprise, Pirate Haiku contains some semblance of a plot. These aren’t random selections, but rather poems with a progression from one to the next. A story is told, references revisited, and in-jokes formed and enjoyed. And this is what sets Pirate Haiku up a notch or two from being a mere collection of silliness. It should be enjoyed from beginning to end and in that order, because at the end of it all there is indeed a madness behind the method.

Authors Jamaica Rose and Captain Michael MacLeod are no strangers to sharing their piratical wisdom. Indeed, they’ve been the primary forces behind the pirate trade publication No Quarter Given for, what, 17 years now? That’s a long floggin’ time, and the sheer volume of their pirate travels alone makes them well suited to the task of ushering our young adults into a wider world of swashbuckling adventure.

The Book of Pirates is a book. Not a picture book (although it has pictures) and not an activity book (although it has activities.) Rather, it’s meant to be read – like a novel. But it’s also meant to be taken in parts, with sections on the history of pirates, the details of their weapons, the stories of famous pirates, the secrets behind pirate flags and ship’s articles… These are the intermidiate steps for kids (or adults, for that matter) that want to learn more about pirates than what they can get as younger children, but who also want to maintain a sense of fun, to build their own pirate costumes and foam pirate swords, and who want to hang out with their friends drinking (nonalcoholic) grog and singing pirate songs beyond those taught to them by Disney.

Perhaps it should have been called “The Book of Pirates: Everything about Everything to Do With Pirates for the No Longer Young but Not Yet Old”, because that’s indeed what this is – suggestions for choosing pirate names, recipes for a pirate BBQ, stories of Blackbeard, Rackham, O’Mally, and so forth. Explanations of how to play games that pirates played, detailed accounts of the origins of buccaneers, fencing techniques, pirate insults, legends of sea monsters, etc. etc. All of it in detail, and yet written plainly and simply, with helpful illustrations and a sense of friendly (yet villainous) fun throughout. Worth every penny and a must have for any pirate wannabes who want to go above and beyond blindly waving a twig in the air and yelling “yarrr.”

Note: generally speaking, I avoid spoilers in my reviews. But this time I found it tough to avoid, so consider this your due warning – spoiler alert!

In my years of writing pirate book reviews, I’ve definitely seen those that I’ve adored, and others I’ve not cared for. It’s not always a question of quality, either – sometimes a book is well conceived and well crafted, but just isn’t for me. I’d thought that was going to be the case with this review, as indeed, the first 2/3 of the novel Hook&Jill by Andrea Jones simply wasn’t to my taste. But never have I seen such a recovery – the final third of this book felt like setting off a killer fireworks display that you’d spent the entire afternoon assembling – a long time coming, but worth the wait.

Essentially this book begins as the story of Peter Pan as we more or less know it. Wendy and her brothers have spent an undefined amount of time (a month? a century?) in the company of Peter and his Lost Boys. Wendy plays the mother to Peter’s father, and they all continue in an unchanged routine of daily adventures, Wendy’s tales, Peter’s rules about not growing up, and – for Wendy, anyways – a growing restlessness. Growing up is generally considered inevitable, no matter how strongly resisted, and Wendy and many of the Lost Boys soon find themselves longing for something more. No longer fitting into their rigidly defined childhood existence, their eyes turn to horizons outside their simple ‘family’. To some, the Indians no longer seem like “the enemy”, but perhaps just a different way of life – and one possibly to the liking of some of these Lost Boys turned men. So to with the pirates, who indeed have their own adventures, after a fashion, and who live in a world far larger than that of Peter’s eternal childhood. And for Pan himself? While the Indians and pirates may not be so bad after all, it appears that Peter may not be so good. The world of grownups is a complex one, and the world of Neverland is no different.

It all sounds like a brilliant concept for a story – and it is. But it’s not the story I found difficult. Rather, it was the execution, and on two very distinct accounts. First off, author Andrea Jones is a wizard of words and imagery more so than straight-up yarn-spinning. In this I mean she paints pictures with sentences that are just this side of prose. If you remember reading Shakespeare in school and thinking “It all sounds pretty enough, but just what exactly is going on?” then you have a sense of what I mean. That’s not to say Jones is anything as challenging as Shakespeare, but many of her scenes take a precious long time to get to the literal truth of a matter, opting instead to revel in metaphor, shadows, emotions… everything but simply stating the plain facts. It’s a stylistic choice, to be sure, and one that some readers may love. I, however, found it more than a little challenging – especially while reading at bed time.

The second challenge is again as much attributable to my own shortcomings as a reader as they might be to Jones’ storytelling. I just can’t keep up with the changing times of Neverland, it would seem. When Wendy and the Lost Boys begin to grow up, they do so with a vengeance. Far more aggressive than the usual growth spurt seen in normal children, these products of an artificially prolonged youth make up for lost time by crossing the bridge to adulthood at record speeds – not only physically, but emotionally. This in itself isn’t problematic, except that in discovering their adulthood, many of them also discover their own sexuality. This results in some detailed scenarios that initially seem to push the limits of decency (“Hey, Hook can’t do that to Wendy, she’s still a child!!! Wait, is she? [flip back a few chapters] No, I guess she’s gown up by now. I hope. Should I be reading this?”)

Combine these two factors (prose-like writing, and children growing up far faster than my poor mind can process) with a few more smaller factors (a slow pace that addresses emotions as much as events, seemingly half the characters changing their names midstream, etc.) and I found the initial 2/3 of this book a challenge. A fine enough story, no doubt, but a tad more difficult to absorb than the average swashbuckler. But then the final third saw things all fall together. By now, the prose-like writing had become easier for me to follow, and the rapidly aging characters had finally settled into their new lives as adults. But most importantly, these new adult lives were far more gripping than were their late childhoods and reluctant growth spurts.

In no character is this new adult role more pronounced than that of Wendy. Having adopted the new moniker of Red-Handed Jill, she has joined ranks with the pirates and shares a bed with Hook (she’s all growed up now, remember.) And as awkward as “Wendy-sort-of-an-adult-I-guess” was, Red-Handed Jill – the fully established woman and pirate queen – is a downright bad ass. Tough and sexy, a storyteller and leader alike who can bestow cruelty or mercy as the situation dictates, Jill is most definitely a pirate lass worth reading about.

And therein lies the hook (if you’ll pardon the play on words.) This is because Hook&Jill isn’t a single book, but rather it’s the first of a series. It’s an introduction that for me was awkward, and yet it was also entirely effective. Although this first novel may not stand on its own as much as I’d wish, it does intriguingly set a foundation for which I’m eager to see further developed. As the book closes, Hook has become the complex rogue we want in our literary pirate kings, Pan is now the anti-hero, made a villain not through ill-intent, but through a pronounced lack of ability to change (or to allow for change in others, for that matter), Wendy the child is now Jill the entirely awesome pirate chick, and Neverland is a vast sea dotted with countless islands and possibilities yet to be explored.

And no one does this better than Ted Bell, author of Nick of Time, and now its sequel The Time Pirate. Set in the early days of World War 2, Nick and his family reside on a strategically important island in the English Channel, which soon finds itself overrun by Nazi invaders. Nick, who was already established in the first novel to be a boy of admirable patriotism, daring, and creativity, does his best to defend his homeland, even going so far as to restore (and fly) his father’s WWI airplane and engaging in home-made bomb runs over a Nazi base-camp. But flying vintage airplanes is the least of Nick’s anachronistic adventures – for he is of course the owner of one of only two Tempus Machina, with the other possessed by the infamous pirate Captain Billy Blood. And Blood, of course, can’t rest until he’s the sole possessor of this time-travel technology, at which point he would truly be unstoppable. Which leads Blood to kidnap Nick’s younger sister and transport her back to 1781 Jamaica in the hopes of forcing an exchange.

The tale leads from one point in time to the next, with WWII England, pirate-era Jamaica, and Revolutionary War America each taking their turn at front-and-center. The story is gripping and fun. But for me, despite the fun of such a wide-ranging adventure, it’s not the story that makes this series truly stand apart.

The Time Pirate, like its predecessor, is a young adult adventure. Nick is a clever and admirable boy, and his sister Kate displays equally, if different, admirable traits. But there are limits to what they can accomplish at such a young age – or there would be, if it weren’t for Nick’s additional qualities of loyalty, honor, and duty. Many young adult books seek to identify with their readers by addressing such concepts as broken families, rebellion, insecurity, and so on. But rarely does a modern novel so clearly paint boyhood as the road to manhood, with all the challenges that entails. The obstacles and dilemmas Nick faces may not be those of the average boy, but they are gripping and thought provoking: How can a young boy who loves his home play a part in fending off an invasion? How can one balance their duties to their family with their duties to their country? Or most intriguing of all, can it be honorable to betray your own country in the past, with the knowledge it may save your country in the future? No, these aren’t questions that today’s youth commonly face, but they are fascinating nonetheless, and Nick’s efforts to wrestle with them can be nothing short of inspiring.

While Nick and his time-travel adventures are pure fiction, the history he explores is very real. From General Washington to Winston Churchill, this book is full of historical figures and the challenges they faced, and it does a remarkable job of bringing history to life. But while such prominent historical men are given a heroic treatment, it’s even more admirable to note this book’s treatment of other, less prominent adults. Nick’s parents and friends of the family, for example, are treated with depth and respect, thus humanizing them rather than simply treating them as a backdrop for Nick’s adventures. Far from being a childish madcap adventure, Nick is doing his best to survive in an adult’s world, full of grown-up heroes, villains, and those just trying their best to get themselves and their families from one day to the next in the most difficult of days.

I’ve read many entertaining pirate books intended for young adults – indeed, many of them are amongst my favorites, regardless of age. But rarely is a book such an enjoyable read while also imparting the sort of life-lessons found in the Nick McIver Time Adventures. Heartily recommended!

Vampirates – is there a combination of archtypes that were ever more perfect to be merged? Actually, I generally think yes. Despite the play on words made possible in their names, vampires and pirates seem to have very little room for creative overlap. Pirates drink rum, vampires drink blood. Pirates suntan, vampires burst into flames. Pirates spread joy and sunshine wherever they go, vampires spread only misery and despair. See? Incompatible. And yet, author Justin Somper actually does a decent job of bringing these two entities together into a relatively cohesive and entertaining package.

Vampirates: Demons of the Ocean, is the first of at least six stories in the Vampirates series. The tale begins with Connor and Grace Tempest, two recently orphaned teenagers whose late father had often comforted them at night with a unique sea shanty about, well, vampirates. Clearly Mr. Tempest had a thing or two to learn about appropriate bedtime songs, but this becomes a moot point with his unfortunate demise, leading the Tempest children to flee their island home lest they find themselves in an orphanage (or worse, adopted.)

Sailing off in their father’s ship, Grace and Conner run afoul of the weather, are sunk, and separated. Conner finds himself rescued by a ship of pirates. Not vampirates, mind you, but the regular kind. I mean, some of them went to ‘pirate academy’ and everything. Conner’s introduction to, and gradual initiation into, the pirate crew makes for a fun read – for me actually more fun than the vampires, but I’m crazy that way. The captain, Molucco Wrathe, is a brilliant character (and well portrayed if you listen to the Audible version of this book), and the continual friction between himself and his no-nonsence first mate Cheng Li makes for some intriguing interaction.

Grace was also rescued, but while Conner was fortunate enough to find himself in the merry world of piracy, Grace’s own fate is darker. At first locked in her room and only allowed to interract with a single crewman, Grace eventually learns that the ship is crewed primarily by… are you ready for it?… Vampirates. Actually, it’s not as silly as it sounds. The mysterious vampirate captain seems a kindly, but tormented creature, who’s constantly fighting to maintain control of a crew of hungry vampires. The ship itself seems less intended for piracy, but more as a drifting halfway house. In this way the needs of the vampires are met, while also protecting the outside world from the evil they might otherwise unleash.

Where Conner’s adventures with the pirates is a whirlwind journey, Grace’s is slow and somber. The chapters bounce from one to the next and back again, and they play rather well off each other. Vampirates is primarily a book for young adults, and mostly it translates well enough to an adult audience as well. Actually, my only concern with this book was the world in which it takes place – namely in that I wasn’t sure when or where the hell it all was. Initially I’d assumed the 17 or 1800′s, as this is common for most pirate stories. But references to technologies more appropriate to the industrial revolution (and even later) left me wondering, as did some of the attire worn by the vampires (including a 1920′s flapper ensemble.) Eventually it became evident that the story was meant to be somewhere areound 2500, so I was only about a thousand years off. I guess that explains the existence of a Pirate Academy, which still strikes me as bizarre. But hey, Somper made Vampirates seem feasible, so why not a Pirate Academy as well?

Vampirates: Demons of the Ocean is a fun, well-told story. Considering that it’s intended for young adults, it’s actually very good indeed. It does feel incomplete as a tale in itself, but that’s why god created sequels.