Virgil

During the summer, some may remember I mentioned I was going to be reading Herman Melville’s Moby Dick as part of my summer’s read. Well I finally finished, three months after I started, which shows you either how slow a reader I am or how busy I’ve been or, yet still, how distracted I can become. One of my favorite quotes is from TS Eliot: “Distracted from distraction by distraction” (from “Burnt Norton”). I guess the reality is that all three are somewhat true.

I want to entice people to read this great novel. Each time I have read the novel—and this is either my third or fourth time depending if you want to count partial readings—my estimation of the work grows more. Even before this current reading my estimation was high, but now I can confidently say that this work possibly rates within the top five greatest novels ever written. Why? The scope is epic, the themes profound, the characters grand, the detail exquisite—so exquisite that one truly feels that you are on a 19th century whaling ship killing whales and processing their oil—the aesthetic integration of narrative and theme superb, and the prose writing transcendent. I used consider Charles Dickens the finest prose writer of fiction in English in the 19th century. I have to revise that thought. It’s Herman Melville. So when you put theme, aesthetic, and transcendent execution together to this level, Moby Dick approximates the artistry of Dante’s The Divine Comedy. It’s in that class of work.

Some people criticize the obsessive detail devoted to whales and whaling. Ignore that nonsense. The whale is the central symbol of the novel, and each detail either of the whale anatomy or whaling resonates with significance. Some people criticize the simplicity of the story. Yes, so what? The story may be simple, but the themes are large. Macbeth is a simple story too, and so is The Odyssey and so is Don Quixote. It’s not complexity that makes greatness; it’s the scope and the originality and the execution. Another complaint is that it’s a poorly told tale, starting with one character, Ishmael, as the center of the novel and somewhere midway switching over to Ahab. And Melville violates the narrative rule of having the first person narrator know the inner, private thoughts of other characters. Yes those critiques are true, no one is going to confuse Melville’s story telling with the elegance of Flaubert, but I wouldn’t call it a poorly told tale. Moby Dick the novel is like a great gothic cathedral, raw and roughhewn, but so broad and large that those minor grotesqueries within a grand scale and scope are insignificant. Nay, not insignificant but actually adds to the grandeur of the work. The fact that Melville can violate a rule and make it work elevates the art. It’s somewhat akin to Beethoven pushing aside the minuet and trio rule of the third movement of a symphony for what he calls a scherzo. Greatness can do that.

Here’s a little kit to get you going.

First the novel. Obviously you can look on Amazon or your favorite bookstore (if bookstores even exist any longer) and get a cheap paperback for five or six dollars. You can even get a Kindle edition free or near free, depending how many typos you want to deal with. But if you don’t mind reading off your computer, you can get find it here at Literature Network: http://www.online-literature.com/melville/mobydick/

Second, I do recommend using Cliff Notes to help orient you through each chapter. Here’s a free on line version of the Moby Dick Cliff Notes. http://www.cliffsnotes.com/study_gui...k-summary.html However, looking through this I see they republished the Cliff Notes edition to Moby from the one I own. This online version and the one listed for purchase on Amazon is a 2000 publication written by a Stanly P. Baldwin. The edition I own is a 1966 publication written by James L. Roberts. The Roberts edition is outstanding. It’s possibly the best Cliff Notes I’ve ever used. I highly recommend that one if you can find it. The Baldwin edition glosses over too much and seems dumb-downed to a high school level. But it’s free on line.

Third, you can listen to the work on the internet put together at what is called the “Moby Dick Big Read.” http://www.mobydickbigread.com/. From the chapters I’ve sampled, this is a high quality read, each chapter read by a different person. Each day a new chapter is posted. As of today, they are up to chapter 64 of the 135 chapters, but every so often I’ll go in a try one.

Fourth, let me list a few of the great themes that come to mind.
1. Man’s knowledge is limited. His eyes can only see in one direction at a time. In contrast a whale with eyes on the sides of his head can see in two directions at the same time. God can see in a multiplicity of directions at the same time.
2. For man to survive, he must form human bonds. Isolation leads to destruction.
3. From chapter 8, Father Maple’s sermon: “If we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.”
4. The material world is limited, and therefore transcendence (as formulated by the 19th century Transcendentalists) within the material world is impossible.

Five, here are a couple of passages to whet your appetite for the work. The first is Ishmael’s interview with one of the owners of the ship, The Pequod, a Captain Peleg, in chapter 16. Peleg is an old Quaker ship captain who drives a hard bargain on the pay rates for the crew. His motivation here is to prove Ishmael’s inexperience so he can pay him a low wage.

There was nothing so very particular, perhaps, about the appearance of the elderly man I saw; he was brown and brawny, like most old seamen, and heavily rolled up in blue pilot-cloth, cut in the Quaker style; only there was a fine and almost microscopic net-work of the minutest wrinkles interlacing round eyes, which must have arisen from his continual sailings in many hard gales, and always looking to windward;- for this causes the muscles about the eyes to become pursed together. Such eye-wrinkles are very effectual in a scowl.

"Is this the Captain of the Pequod?" said I, advancing to the door of the tent.

"Supposing it be the captain of the Pequod, what dost thou want of him?" he demanded.

"I was thinking of shipping."

"Thou wast, wast thou? I see thou art no Nantucketer- ever been in a stove boat?"

"No, Sir, I never have."

"Dost know nothing at all about whaling, I dare say- eh?

"Nothing, Sir; but I have no doubt I shall soon learn. I've been several voyages in the merchant service, and I think that-"

"Merchant service be damned. Talk not that lingo to me. Dost see that leg?- I'll take that leg away from thy stern, if ever thou talkest of the merchant service to me again. Marchant service indeed! I suppose now ye feel considerable proud of having served in those marchant ships. But flukes! man, what makes thee want to go a whaling, eh?- it looks a little suspicious, don't it, eh?- Hast not been a pirate, hast thou?- Didst not rob thy last Captain, didst thou?- Dost not think of murdering the officers when thou gettest to sea?"

I protested my innocence of these things. I saw that under the mask of these half humorous innuendoes, this old seaman, as an insulated Quakerish Nantucketer, was full of his insular prejudices, and rather distrustful of all aliens, unless they hailed from Cape Cod or the Vineyard.

"But what takes thee a-whaling? I want to know that before I think of shipping ye."

"Well, sir, I want to see what whaling is. I want to see the world."

"Want to see what whaling is, eh? Have ye clapped eye on Captain Ahab?"

"Who is Captain Ahab, sir?"

"Aye, aye, I thought so. Captain Ahab is the Captain of this ship."

"I am mistaken then. I thought I was speaking to the Captain himself."

"Thou art speaking to Captain Peleg- that's who ye are speaking to, young man. It belongs to me and Captain Bildad to see the Pequod fitted out for the voyage, and supplied with all her needs, including crew. We are part owners and agents. But as I was going to say, if thou wantest to know what whaling is, as thou tellest ye do, I can put ye in a way of finding it out before ye bind yourself to it, past backing out. Clap eye on Captain Ahab, young man, and thou wilt find that he has only one leg."

"What do you mean, sir? Was the other one lost by a whale?"

"Lost by a whale! Young man, come nearer to me: it was devoured, chewed up, crunched by the monstrousest parmacetty that ever chipped a boat!- ah, ah!"

I was a little alarmed by his energy, perhaps also a little touched at the hearty grief in his concluding exclamation, but said as calmly as I could, "What you say is no doubt true enough, sir; but how could I know there was any peculiar ferocity in that particular whale, though indeed I might have inferred as much from the simple fact of the accident."

"Look ye now, young man, thy lungs are a sort of soft, d'ye see; thou dost not talk shark a bit. Sure, ye've been to sea before now; sure of that?"

"Sir," said I, "I thought I told you that I had been four voyages in the merchant-"

"Hard down out of that! Mind what I said about the marchant service- don't aggravate me- I won't have it. But let us understand each other. I have given thee a hint about what whaling is! do ye yet feel inclined for it?"

"I do, sir."

"Very good. Now, art thou the man to pitch a harpoon down a live whale's throat, and then jump after it? Answer, quick!"

"I am, sir, if it should be positively indispensable to do so; not to be got rid of, that is; which I don't take to be the fact."

"Good again. Now then, thou not only wantest to go a-whaling, to find out by experience what whaling is, but ye also want to go in order to see the world? Was not that what ye said? I thought so. Well then, just step forward there, and take a peep over the weather bow, and then back to me and tell me what ye see there."

For a moment I stood a little puzzled by this curious request, not knowing exactly how to take it, whether humorously or in earnest. But concentrating all his crow's feet into one scowl, Captain Peleg started me on the errand.

Going forward and glancing over the weather bow, I perceived that the ship swinging to her anchor with the flood-tide, was now obliquely pointing towards the open ocean. The prospect was unlimited, but exceedingly monotonous and forbidding; not the slightest variety that I could see.

"Well, what's the report?" said Peleg when I came back; "what did ye see?"

"Not much," I replied- "nothing but water; considerable horizon though, and there's a squall coming up, I think."

"Well, what does thou think then of seeing the world? Do ye wish to go round Cape Horn to see any more of it, eh? Can't ye see the world where you stand?"

I was a little staggered, but go a-whaling I must, and I would; and the Pequod was as good a ship as any- I thought the best- and all this I now repeated to Peleg. Seeing me so determined, he expressed his willingness to ship me.

Notice how Melville works the themes in. Ishmael is facing the ocean with his unidirectional eyesight and looking out to what appears to be the infinite sea.

Here’s a passage from chapter 61, the killing of their first whale on the voyage. This is just magnificent writing. Stubb, the second mate of the ship, makes the first killing.

"There go flukes!" was the cry, an announcement immediately followed by Stubb's producing his match and igniting his pipe, for now a respite was granted. After the full interval of his sounding had elapsed, the whale rose again, and being now in advance of the smoker's boat, and much nearer to it than to any of the others, Stubb counted upon the honor of the capture. It was obvious, now, that the whale had at length become aware of his pursuers. All silence of cautiousness was therefore no longer of use. Paddles were dropped, and oars came loudly into play. And still puffing at his pipe, Stubb cheered on his crew to the assault.

Yes, a mighty change had come over the fish. All alive to his jeopardy, he was going "head out"; that part obliquely projecting from the mad yeast which he brewed.

"Start her, start her, my men! Don't hurry yourselves; take plenty of time- but start her; start her like thunder-claps, that's all," cried Stubb, spluttering out the smoke as he spoke. "Start her, now; give 'em the long and strong stroke, Tashtego. Start her, Tash, my boy- start her, all; but keep cool, keep cool- cucumbers is the word- easy, easy- only start her like grim death and grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpendicular out of their graves, boys- that's all. Start her!"
"Woo-hoo! Wa-hee!" screamed the Gay-Header in reply, raising some old war-whoop to the skies; as every oarsman in the strained boat involuntarily bounced forward with the one tremendous leading stroke which the eager Indian gave.

But his wild screams were answered by others quite as wild. "Kee-hee! Kee-hee!" yelled Daggoo, straining forwards and backwards on his seat, like a pacing tiger in his cage.

"Ka-la! Koo-loo!" howled Queequeg, as if smacking his lips over a mouthful of Grenadier's steak. And thus with oars and yells the keels cut the sea. Meanwhile, Stubb, retaining his place in the van, still encouraged his men to the onset, all the while puffing the smoke from his mouth. Like desperadoes they tugged and they strained, till the welcome cry was heard- "Stand up, Tashtego!- give it to him!" The harpoon was hurled. "Stern all!" The oarsmen backed water; the same moment something went hot and hissing along every one of their wrists. It was the magical line. An instant before, Stubb had swiftly caught two additional turns with it round the loggerhead, whence, by reason of its increased rapid circlings, a hempen blue smoke now jetted up and mingled with the steady fumes from his pipe. As the line passed round and round the loggerhead; so also, just before reaching that point, it blisteringly passed through and through both of Stubb's hands, from which the hand-cloths, or squares of quilted canvas sometimes worn at these times, had accidentally dropped. It was like holding an enemy's sharp two-edged sword by the blade, and that enemy all the time striving to wrest it out of your clutch.

"Wet the line! wet the line!" cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him seated by the tub) who, snatching off his hat, dashed sea-water into it. More turns were taken, so that the line began holding its place. The boat now flew through the boiling water like a shark all fins. Stubb and Tashtego here changed places- stem for stern- a staggering business truly in that rocking commotion.

From the vibrating line extending the entire length of the upper part of the boat, and from its now being more tight than a harpstring, you would have thought the craft had two keels- one cleaving the water, the other the air- as the boat churned on through both opposing elements at once. A continual cascade played at the bows; a ceaseless whirling eddy in her wake; and, at the slightest motion from within, even but of a little finger, the vibrating, cracking craft canted over her spasmodic gunwale into the sea. Thus they rushed; each man with might and main clinging to his seat, to prevent being tossed to the foam; and the tall form of Tashtego at the steering oar crouching almost double, in order to bring down his centre of gravity. Whole Atlantics and Pacifics seemed passed as they shot on their way, till at length the whale somewhat slackened his flight.
"Haul in- haul in!" cried Stubb to the bowsman! and, facing round towards the whale, all hands began pulling the boat up to him, while yet the boat was being towed on. Soon ranging up by his flank, Stubb, firmly planting his knee in the clumsy cleat, darted dart after dart into the flying fish; at the word of command, the boat alternately sterning out of the way of the whale's horrible wallow, and then ranging up for another fling.

The red tide now poured from all sides of the monster like brooks down a hill. His tormented body rolled not in brine but in blood, which bubbled and seethed for furlongs behind in their wake. The slanting sun playing upon their crimson pond in the sea, sent back its reflection into every face, so that they all glowed to each other like red men. And all the while, jet after jet of white smoke was agonizingly shot from the spiracle of the whale, and vehement puff after puff from the mouth of the excited headsman; as at every dart, hauling in upon his crooked lance (by the line attached to it), Stubb straightened it again and again, by a few rapid blows against the gunwale, then again and again sent it into the whale.

"Pull up- pull up!" he now cried to the bowsman, as the waning whale relaxed in his wrath. "Pull up!- close to!" and the boat ranged along the fish's flank. When reaching far over the bow, Stubb slowly churned his long sharp lance into the fish, and kept it there, carefully churning and churning, as if cautiously seeking to feel after some gold watch that the whale might have swallowed, and which he was fearful of breaking ere he could hook it out. But that gold watch he sought was the innermost life of the fish. And now it is struck; for, starting from his trance into that unspeakable thing called his "flurry," the monster horribly wallowed in his blood, overwrapped himself in impenetrable, mad, boiling spray, so that the imperilled craft, instantly dropping astern, had much ado blindly to struggle out from that phrensied twilight into the clear air of the day.

And now abating in his flurry, the whale once more rolled out into view! surging from side to side; spasmodically dilating and contracting his spout-hole, with sharp, cracking, agonized respirations. At last, gush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine, shot into the frightened air; and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. His heart had burst!

"He's dead, Mr. Stubb," said Daggoo.

"Yes; both pipes smoked out!" and withdrawing his own from his mouth, Stubb scattered the dead ashes over the water; and, for a moment, stood thoughtfully eyeing the vast corpse he had made.

What an amazing parallel between the puffing pipe and spurting blood. And then the searching for the gold watch inside the whale’s heart. This is Melville’s incredible artistry, generating excitement, pity, and satisfaction, all so palpable to the reader.