There is an island in the Caribbean so small that it doesn’t appear on many world maps. Its name is Redonda; one of its kings, the Spanish writer Javier Marías, died two months ago. It’s an unforgiving place, uninhabited and windswept, basically a large rock a mile long and about a third of a mile wide. But birds like it, particularly a species called the booby, whose calls sound like a person crying out: ‘Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!’
The fantasy kingdom even had a national anthem – and a flag designed by the Duke of Guano
The island is the subject of the Canadian writer Michael Hingston’s often excellent Try Not to Be Strange. I can see booksellers scratching their heads over where to shelve it. Part memoir, part travelogue, it’s also a beer-soaked history of pub-going in mid-20th-century Soho, and an exhaustive record of a made up and deeply eccentric monarchy.
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