If, like most of us, you read Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe as a child, you may have missed the pipes and tobacco. I didn't notice them when I was a teenager, because pipes didn't interest me, but now they do, and I'm pleased to see them.

We all know something of the story of the shipwrecked castaway and his man Friday; it's been cultivated and transfigured in every media from cereal boxes and cartoons to novels, songs, and movies. Many of us who read the novel in our youth reveled in the plundering of shipwrecks, the discovery of gold doubloons, and the struggles of survival on the island.

It's an old book, first published in 1719, when novel writing was a young art. In fact, many literary scholars point to it as the first English novel. It was so popular that it saw four reprintings the first year, and so influential that it generated its own genre of fiction, called the Robinsonade, in which the protagonist becomes separated from society (this is a real genre; I'm not making this up). Zombie movies, when the protagonist is left alone with only zombie hordes, are Robinsonades. The Martian (2015) starring Matt Damon is a Robinsonade. So is the TV show Gilligan's Island (1964-'67). There was even a 1964 film called Robinson Crusoe on Mars. It was bad, but Robinsonades are everywhere.

The book follows the exploits of Robinson Crusoe, who spends 28 years stranded on a desert island, but not without adventure. We readers were all anxiously enthused by his ordeals and interactions with the cannibals, captives, and mutineers who happened upon the island. We all wished we could be shipwrecked on a desert island, too, and imagined ourselves swashbuckling and building a comfortable home from nothing but scavenged scraps of civilization.

It was so popular that it saw four reprintings the first year, and so influential that it generated its own genre of fiction, called the Robinsonade

But now, in later life, I'm more interested in how Robinson managed to maintain a reasonable supply of tobacco and pipes, because, of course, life on a deserted island would not be attractive without them. I have no interest in pursuing the life of a castaway unless I can smoke.

Defoe himself doesn't seem to have been a smoker; there's no indication in the biographies I've searched. But he lived during a time when the Plague was rampant, and smoking was recommended to deter infection, so he may have smoked for medicinal purposes now and then, depending on how many bodies were piling up. He also made a living importing goods like tobacco and pipes, so he was well aware.

It's far from a perfect book and is full of contradictions, like Robinson stripping off his clothes to swim to a shipwreck but filling his pockets with biscuits once there, or his complaining of having no salt, then describing how difficult it is to teach Friday to use salt on his meat. Robinson first has a pipe, then doesn't, without explanation. He runs out of ink, yet years later pens a letter. Defoe would have benefited from an editorial check, and I wish I could have been there to help correct his first draft, but 1719 was a busy year for me, what with the Plague and everything.

When Robinson first arrives on the island (he calls it the Island of Despair), he splashes out of the water with little in the way of supplies, but thankfully, he has the most important thing anyone could need in such a situation: a pipe.

We can all relate to his anxiety; I'd run around in panicked circles, too, if my smoking supplies were reduced to "a little tobacco in a box." He finds water some distance from shore, and to prevent hunger, he places a bit of tobacco in his mouth. It's a strategy I have not tried, but having on numerous occasions puffed a fleck of tobacco onto my tongue, I can easily imagine its capacity for appetite suppression. He spends his first night in a tree but does not smoke. He doesn't mention not smoking, but that would have been my primary concern — worse than the ravenous beasts — and it worried me when I revisited the book, adding significantly to the dramatic tension.

Robinson first has a pipe, then doesn't, without explanation

As the days passed and he worked to build reasonable shelter, he knew that he must return to his ship. It was a dangerous mission, but the ship would soon be destroyed in the waves. He recovers important tools and supplies, making his existence more tolerable. Part of the charm of the novel is seeing how civilized comforts might be duplicated with only primitive materials. Think, for example, of the image we've all seen of Robinson Crusoe strolling down the beach with a handmade umbrella.

He was pleased with his progress, except that he thought of two things he desperately needed. The first was a medium-sized cooking pot. "The second thing I fain would have had was a tobacco pipe, but it was impossible to me to make one; however, I found a contrivance for that, too, at last" (p. 125). He leaves the details of that pottery project for later, but he could have saved himself the trouble had he checked his pocket for the pipe he reported having 68 pages earlier. Certainly, the loss or destruction of such an important implement would have been reported, so it must still have been there unnoticed.

Part of the charm of the novel is seeing how civilized comforts might be duplicated

Later, we learn that Robinson made a ridiculous blunder when he was pulling essential items from his ship: there were pipes on board, but he failed to retrieve them. This revelation points to a grave error on Defoe's part: No pipe smoker would plunder that ship without checking for pipes.

Pre-shipwreck, Robinson had been a tobacco planter, and while he stupidly forgot to salvage pipes from his ship, he did have a chest that held both a Bible and tobacco. He found himself terribly sick one day and used both as a remedy. He soaked the tobacco in rum for several hours, said some prayers, then drank the concoction, after which he unsurprisingly lost consciousness — whether from the drink or from the illness, he does not say, but I have my own opinion about what a glass of rum-soaked tobacco would do to my own constitution. He was lucky it was only a day. But he woke feeling much better and refreshed, so maybe I should try it.

"I had been always used to smoke; and there were pipes in the ship, but I forgot them at first"

By his fourth year on the island, Robinson noted that he had everything he could want to sustain himself. He grew vegetables, and tobacco grew naturally; he had all the game he needed to feed himself and his animals, and he was comfortable, except for minor items. He had amassed 36 pounds of gold and silver from wrecks, as well, but it was useless to him. "Alas! There the sorry, useless stuff lay; I had no more manner of business for it; and often thought with myself that I would have given a handful of it for a gross of tobacco-pipes; or for a handmill to grind my corn; nay, I would have given it all for a sixpenny-worth of turnip and carrot seed out of England, or for a handful of peas and beans, and a bottle of ink" (p. 150).

A fierce storm one night wrecked a ship far out to sea, barely visible the next day. He wished fervently that some of the sailors made it to the island, but they did not. He found only the body of a boy washed onto the shore. "He had nothing in his pockets but two pieces of eight and a tobacco pipe — the last was to me of ten times more value than the first" (p. 217). Pipes, being difficult to make, were of the very highest value. If a good pipe maker had been shipwrecked with him, his life would have been near perfect.

When Robinson leaves the island, he finds himself an enormously wealthy man, which helps make up for his decades away from society, though in many ways, it sounds like he was a winner through most of his life.

Robinson Crusoe endured hardship and triumph on his island and had many death-defying adventures, but his most harrowing experiences were in terms of tobacco and pipe supply. He solved those problems, thankfully, but it was a constant source of stress, and he was always relieved when he happened upon another pipe.

"He had nothing in his pockets but two pieces of eight and a tobacco pipe — the last was to me of ten times more value than the first"

Those of us who read the book before becoming pipe smokers most likely focused on the swashbuckling adventure and treasure that the novel provides. However, when revisiting this classic literature from a pipe-smoking point of view, we discover that it isn't a Robinsonade after all, but a more horrifying genre; it's a Pipesonade, detailing the conflicts and terrors of being separated from our pipes and the achievements necessary to regain equilibrium and regular, civilized smoking routines. It's a terrifying segment of the literary world, but worth watching for if you have the courage to empathize with a character facing the utter horror of a potential life without pipes.

Bibliography

• Lee, C. (2004). Lord of Misrule: The Autobiography of Christopher Lee. Orion.
• Defoe, Daniel. Robinson Crusoe (1719)
• Dottin, Paul. The Life and Strange and Surprising Adventures of Daniel De Foe (1929)