London paid for the ship and voyage with his "prolific" writing, and it reads like that — churning stuff out for a dollar and writing about nothing when there isn't anything interesting to write about. This isn't an account of the trip, but various essays on different aspects of it, with little to link them. Characters appear and disappear. It jumps into the middle of account without explaining where they are or why. And over all, there is London, whom I'm sure I would not have liked, being at the same time self-deprecating and egocentric. His writing is often obscure, with frequent attempts to be clever that fall far short. That's not to say that I hated every bit of the book. His account of learning to surf was interesting, as was his visit to the Marquesas Islands describing the hospitality of the natives.