Getting underway

A rather lengthy M-D post follows. Hope you're all ready.

From Chapter 16 - The Ship:

"..in many things, Queequeg placed great confidence in the excellence of Yojo's judgment and surprising forecast of things; and cherished Yojo with considerable esteem, as a rather good sort of god, who perhaps meant well enough upon the whole, but in all cases did not succeed in his benevolent designs."

I think we're getting one of our first bits of foreshadowing here. That's all I'm going to say until any first-timers are done with the book.

"Her ancient decks were worn and wrinkled, like the pilgrim-worshipped flag-stone in Canterbury Cathedral where Beckett bled."

Isn't it humbling to think about the amount of people who must have passed over the flag-stone, for it, a stone, to grow wrinkled and worn?

From Chapter 19 - The Prophet:

"Nothing about the silver calabash he spat into?"

Now I know what a calabash is. :)

From Chapter 21 - Going Aboard:

"It was nearly six o'clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh the wharf. "There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right," said I to Queequeg, "it can't be shadows.."

Another little bit of foreshadowing.. and then a few lines later, with that weirdo, Elijah..

"But he stole up to us again, and suddenly clapping his hand on my shoulder, said - "Did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago?"

Struck by this plain matter-of-fact question, I answered, saying, "Yes, I thought I did see four or five men; but it was too dim to be sure."

"Very dim, very dim," said Elijah. "Morning to ye."

Something's not quite right on that foggy, dim morning. Elijah knows something, but how much? And when will it be revealed to Ishmael and the crew? Also, I love Elijah's 'morning to ye'.

From Chapter 22 - Merry Christmas:

"Spring, thou chap with the red whiskers!"

That's totally me that Peleg's talking about. :D

"Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering, - away!"

Another vocab word, palavering.

From Chapter 25 - Postscript:

"In truth, a mature man who uses hair-oil, unless medicinally, that man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere. As a general rule, he can't amount to much in his totality."

I thought that this was a funny one. So did Degolar, it would seem. As an aside, Kelly and I caught a bit of "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" on tv the other night, and George Clooney's character used hair-oil quite a bit, much to the displeasure of his fellows. (Dapper Dan, if memory serves)

From Chapter 26 - Knights and Squires:

"But were the coming narrative to reveal, in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck's fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valor in the soul.. ..That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man."

It is sad, and heart-wrenching to see a noble man fall. Not noble, as in rich, but in quality of character. The same can be said when seeing someone you always knew as strong, and in control, suddenly being dependant on others..

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Time off from American ambition and unnecessary excitements

Warning: this is post is rather choppy..but to smooth it out would mean I would have to work, and I promised myself I wouldn't work at anything today...

One of the knocks against M-D (the book, not the character) is that it is about everything, and therefore nothing. Which, I guess, sorta makes it like Web Content....ah...surely this is not all without meaning. Larry (my husband) and I both choose disciplines that are really about everything. (He's Comms studies/rhetoric.) Choosing disciplines that are themselves undisciplined and unweildly seems yet another mark of personal indulgence. It's like a kid standing in front of a buffet of desserts...Everything is too good to pass up so you have to taste it all.

Anyway, this is prescisely what I love about this book. It's about everything. Everything can be seen through its lenses.

For example: American ambition and the unrelenting need for a constant stream of information or, as Melville calls it "unnecssary excitements."

There is a constant theme of the particularly American drive to work more, get more, and relentless pursue a singular goal without regard to cost. Take for example this quote from chapter 35:

"In most American whalemen the mast-heads are manned almost simultaneously with the vessel's leaving her port; even though she may have fifteen thousand miles, and more, to sail ere reaching her proper cruising ground. And if, after a three, four, or five years'voyage she is drawing nigh home with anything empty in her--say, an empty vial even--then, her mast-heads are kept manned to the last; and not till her skysail-poles sail in among the spires of the port, does she altogether relinquish the hope of capturing one whale more."

As I think about the week that just passed where I was completely exhausted, felt like I could work non-stop and still not have everything I needed to have done completed, and where I was constantly turning over work issues in my dreams--all because of my own vanity and my own pursuits, I was particularly interested in the topics of by the discussion of Flask, who never gets to really eat because of the protocol of the captain's table where he's required to be the last one seated and the first one to leave, "Therefore it was that Flask once admitted in private, that ever since he had arisen to the dignity of an officer, from that moment he had never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry, more or less. For what he ate did not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him. Peace and satisfaction, thought Flask, have for ever departed from my stomach. I am an officer; but, how I wish I could fish a bit of old-fashioned beef in the forecastle, as I used to when I was before the mast. There's the fruits of promotion now; there's the vanity of glory: there's the insanity of life!"

This is all contrasted with Ishmael's musings on his dreamy meditations high above in the mast-head, and his admission that he "kept but sorry guard" and openly preferred his musings and meditations to the actual business of looking out for whales.

I was particularly interested in the solace he took in being in a "news-free" zone--even pre-Internet." There you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves. The tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor. For the most part, in this tropic whaling life, a sublime uneventfulness invests you; you hear no news; read no gazettes; extras with startling accounts of common places never delude you into unnecessary excitements; you hear of no domestic afflictions; bankrupt securities; fall of stocks; are never troubled with the thought ofwhat you shall have for dinner--" Hmmm...what would Herman say about the Internet and our need to be online and swimming in the streams of information 24/7? I'm sure he would be thrilled and horrified; replused and hopelessly attracted.

So, to avoid suffering said fruits of promotion and insanity of life, I spent my Saturday in "vacant unconscious reveries," working out, reading, watching basketball, napping, painting toenails pink, and trying desparately to be "hopelessly lost to all honorable ambition." Now I'm just posting a quick blog entry before I get dressed to go to my friends' annual Burns night. (mmm...haggis and lots of toasts to the lads and lasses!)

P.S. Are you all at the The Quarter Deck (36) yet? It's one of the most vivid chapters of the book, and the one that all the movie versions seem to fixate on. Strangely enough, from one of my earlier readings I noticed I wrote "Henry V" in the margins by Ahab's rallying speech.

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Queequeg's Innocence

First I want to apologize for joining the party late and not having a lot of deep thoughts to contribute to this point. I'm finally making a bit of progress (just finished chapter 16, The Ship). But my primary style of reading is just to absorb something for what it is on a first encounter and only go back later, after having the perspective of the whole to consider, to really analyze and/or philosophize, so right now I'm just kind of taking it in. Plus the language is just different enough and the narrative dense enough that it takes all my focus just to keep up when I'm listening to it. It's been interesting having seen everyone else's reactions to parts of the story and then reading them after. I haven't been able to comment until after the fact.

One thing I'm wondering about is that a number of you have said you love Queequeg for his "innocence." Even though he has many other excellent qualities, I'm not sure innocence is a word I would use to describe him. Granted, Ishmael describes him with that word, but he is another character with a specific perspective to take into account. For all of his good qualities, it's important to consider his role as narrator, both in his immediate view that Queequeg is a dangerous savage and his 180 degree turn to the perspective that he's a wonderful fellow. He's still shaped by his Western, Christian, ethnocentrism, and he makes a lot of assumptions about Queequeg both ways. I see Queequeg as someone who must be/have been desperately lonely. He left behind everything he knew and loved--and not necessarily on the best of terms--and has since been a strange man in strange lands. He's probably been feared and ridiculed, sometimes respected, but rarely, if ever, befriended. If his immediate generosity toward and attachment to Ishmael seem extreme, it's probably because no one else has offered friendship in such a way. He's obviously a proud, brave, hard-working, and generous individual (but he does have a temper, as evidenced by his throwing the guy on the docks who was mocking him). But I still don't know about innocent, so I'm curious to know what in the book makes you think that about him (and remember, you can only reference the first 16 chapters :-).

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the next book

I know that this is reaching far, far into the future, but I'm going to suggest it anyway. Every summer, at Southmoreland Park, the Heart of America Shakespeare Festival puts on a play. This year, I'm told, it's Henry V. Wouldn't it be a novel idea for us to all read the book, and then go see the play together? Food for thought. Sorry about the non-Moby content.

New Bedford

I think I remember Erica posting something about going to New Bedford soon for a marathon reading on the docks. While I'm sure I won't go, I would be interested in light of the following:

But in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. It makes a stranger stare.

and

But think not that this famous town has only harpooners, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors.

From “The Street” (chapter 6)

I think I've run across a few bumpkins in my day, but I can't remember any harpooners or cannibals.

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Cetology

As you're enjoying the Cetology chapters (because, you know, who wouldn't?), I thought you might want to check out the American Cetacean Society's sheet on Sperm Whales.

You can even listen to a recording of a sperm whale's clicks (this totally gave me goosebumps).

Any theories on the purpose(s) of these cetology chapters?

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A wayward whale dies and the idea of a boggy, soggy, squitchy picture

Today, as I was working out at JCCC, I was watching the news coverage of the first whale to be spotted in the Thames since 19something...Now, I log back on to find out that the whale died during the rescue attempt. Sad.

But somehow this reminded me of a thought I had after reading Scott's post.

I love the description of the boggy, soggy, squitchy painting in the entry to the Spouter-Inn. It evokes that feeling you have before creation when you have this incredible sense of what you hope to create, and you still have the hope that indeed you'll be able to create it. Of course, in the end, you don't...it's only half-attained if you're lucky, and you realize that once again the glorious, bone-shaking vision you had continues to elude you.... (hmm...somewhat like hunting for a single white whale through the 7 seas...)

No story was ever finished...only abandoned.

The only hope we have really, is that someone else will be interested enough in the boggy, soggy, squitchy pictures we create to take an oath to find out what our creations mean in the end...

"But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze youto it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant. "

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MD-related current events.

If Ahab and his compatriots wouldn't have over-hunted..

Right-whales spotted off Texas.

Prairies and Oceans

Momarita joining the ship reminds me of one of the things I love about M-D: the analogy of ocean and prairie. We're all Kansans in my family...which for us means the prairie is a big thing. (Oh..you all can call her Momarita if you want, but you can also call her Carol...she's a groovy girl....don't worry, you don't need to censor yourself in your posts. She's dealt with me for 34 years--she isn't easily shocked.)

Although I don't remember a specific mention in M-D to the fact that indeed the prairie is an ocean floor (a truth that seems to have much meaning in itself...more on that in a sec), there are a lot of references to the similarities between the rolling ocean and the rolling prairie.

One of my favorites is further up in the book but for those who aren't finished, yet, I'll give you a taste of loomings to come (from the Pacific chapter):

"I could have greeted my dear Pacific with uncounted thanks, for now the long supplication of my youth was answered; that serene ocean rolled eastwards from me a thousand leagues of blue.

There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St. John. And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-rolling watery prairies and Potters' Fields of all four continents, the waves should rise and fall, and ebb and flow unceasingly; for here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness."

I think it would be lovely if the next time someone flippantly dissmisses KS as flat, I would whip out that last paragraph...this is what I feel when I'm driving across I-70...it's the dust of the hidden soul of the ocean, now in memorial. It's the millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls...the waters have receded but the ocean floor and blankets of sediments of shadows, dreams, lives, and souls are below our feet every day.

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A man cut away from the stake: Enter Ahab....

It takes 27 chapters peppered with ominous warnings of our ship’s captain before we and Ishmael get to see Ahab in the flesh in his self-titled chapter. I’ve been reading this book off and on, over and over again since 1995, and I always have a different take. And now, I have to admit that I feel a great deal of empathy for him.

I was 23 when I first read Moby-Dick, and in general, I had issues with so-called authority—at the time I was kick first, and ask questions later. At one point, when I was considering an additional tattoo, I specifically remember thinking that I would never accept a job in an organization in which it would be a problem for me to have a visible tattoo. (Of course, at the time, I didn’t have something like Queequeg’s harpooner skills—in the end, I think that most organizations are willing to overlook a few pagan markings, if you have enough talent and expertise ; )

Anyway, when I was in my twenties, I thought of Ahab as this complete tyrant. Someone so obsessed with his own desires and compulsions and unfathomable monomania that he completely disregarded the lives of his crew and company. He was a cruel, heartless monster.

I was right. But now, I also see a more sympathetic side.

I’m not going to make excuses for him, and I don’t even have great explanations, but the descriptions of his physical and mental scars and losses, his obsessive watch on the deck, and his disregard for anything that might bring him the slightest moment of calm almost break my heart.

“And not only that, but moody stricken Ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe.”

“Ahab was inaccessible. Though nominally included in the census of Christendom, he was still an alien to it. He lived in the world, as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri. And as when Spring and Summer had departed that wild Logan of the woods, burying himself in the hollow of a tree, lived out the winter there, sucking his own paws; so, in his inclement, howling old age, Ahab’s soul, shut up in the caved trunk of his body, there fed upon the sullen paws of its gloom!”

What horrors did Ahab experience that brought him here? Yes, he’s obsessively chasing after the whale that scarred and maimed him, but how does he get to this point? What exactly took hold of him? What seeped into his soul and now bears down with an intolerable, unbearable weight? How is someone able to so completely lose track of everything that roots him to this world and instead turn violently toward a completely futile and ultimately fatal pursuit?

and why does that seem so sympathetic to me now?

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I'm Coming Aboard

I finished listening to Anansi Boys last night. I'm planning to pull Moby Dick off the holds shelf this afternoon and start listening to it on the way home from work tonight.

Scott's post and the sub-sub

Scott "Book of Nature" Vieira has a post on the sub-sub librarian and the technorati tag. He inquires, "back to that sub-sub librarian. I tried Googling this--is there a history to this reference before Melville?"

I don't know if Melville didn't just make up the term. I sorta think so, but it makes sense anyway. It's the whole librarian I, II, III, IV thing that might have even existed back in his time, and a sub-sub is below all of them. I always thought of the sub-sub as a hard-working librarian who stays with the books rather than move into admin...(for better or worse)...Obviously, Melville identifies with these hardworking, passionate, and completely unappreciated folks. Ishmael makes a special point of going to sea as a sailor. The consumptive usher who supplies our Etymology "loved to dust his old grammars." And we have the "poor devil of a Sub-Sub." At least the Sub-Sub is a good librarian and supplies all references without bias...be them "sacred or profane."

Actually, when Beth Schultz (my advisor at KU and my mentor in all things Melville) suggested I should go to library school, we used to joke about the sub-sub thing. It seemed like a nobel life, even it requires talents and virtues I lack (like, you know, patience).

I've linked to Scott V's blog on the side. If anyone else is reading M-D and posting on his/her own blog, be sure to tell me so I can link to it from here, too. And don't forget your technorati tags...sometimes it will take a while for them to be included in the tag stream.....

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You can not hide the soul...

How can you not love Queequeg? And although this is a 19th century novel written before the civil war, Queequeg is no stereotypical nobel savage...he's a real guy--a really amazing one--but a real guy nonetheless...he's also Ishmael's friend and hero and mentor...

"a spirit that would dare a thousand devils...a man who never cringed and never had a creditor...Entirely at ease, preserving the utmost serenity; content with his own companionship; always equal to himself."

Oh, and I loved Sarah's post on the importance of friendship and the yummy, intriguing openness that shared darkness prior to sleep provides.

Should we all be so lucky to go to bed "at peace with our own consciences and all the world."

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Sarah's post on the sermon...(don't forget the Technorati tags for more posts...)

Sarah is well on her way, and has a really interesting post about the sermon. I think it was Hawthorne who once called Melville the most deeply religious man he had ever known, and Moby-Dick is packed with religious symbolism, metaphors, and questions.

In a letter to Hawthorne, Melville wrote about M-D, "I have just written an evil book, and feel spotless as the lamb." This is particularly intriguing because we could argue for a lifetime what exactly Melville meant by that--as we could about the book itself. Surely all this is not without meaning, but it's the pursuit of meaning even while knowing that it will forever elude me, and the beauty of the everythingness and nothingness that the text elicits from the whale, the whiteness, the pursuit, the concept of meaning itself, and the sea, that thrill me. I never get tired of reading this book...

Ok, back to the sermon...I'll admit to being a bit of a hedonist, so I can't stand the idea that I'm supposed to deny any of my impulses and urges if they're only about what feels good, and they don't hurt anyone. But of course the measurement of what hurts me or others in the end is the tougher call. Oh, yeah, and I have major issues so-called obedience. I can't type the word without getting icky shivers up my spine, and a bitter taste in my mouth.

That said, would it be better to give up the control, say that you'll follow the rules if someone else makes the decisions for you? It seems tempting sometimes, and so much of M-D is about power, control, and acquiescence. How much control do you really have? How much do you give willingly to others? At what cost do you give control? At what cost do you keep it?

Ms. Handgraaf is posting to Veggienerd, but if you follow the technorati tag link Moby-Dick06, you'll pull all the related posts together (from this blog, other blogs, etc...).

Oh, and in response to Sarah's question about the edition: I'm reading a fairly heavily annotated but old edition of M-D--that was published in '64. The ISBN is 0-672-60971-1. But really, there are a lot of good new editions, too.

(P.S. I don't want to insult anyone's knowledge, but I don't want to leave anyone in the dark, either: if you have any questions about how tags work, or how you add them, just ask Sarah or me. )

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Enter Queequeg

When Scott "Shoreline" Sime said he had read M-D, I asked him what his favorite parts were, and he had mentioned the part where Ishmael wakes up with Queequeg's arm draped over him--and I totally agree--I love the thought of two snuggled in like newlyweds.

Many of my favorite lines are in these first chapters--particularly as we experience Ishmael's rollercoaster ride of fear, ignorance, superiority, confusion, and vulnerability. Whenever I go to any kind of so-called diversity training, I think of this chapter, and wish we could read it instead of whatever the presenters have planned—or, really, better yet…we should turn everyone out alone on the streets with ragged boots and a threadbare coat, on a frigid December night in 19th century Massachusetts, point them in the direction of a seedy waterfront hotel, and let them discover they’ll have to share a bed with a harpooner (they’ll find out about the cannibal thing soon enough…)

I like that Melville doesn’t pull punches with his characters. Ishmael’s a great guy and all—and he has a good heart—but he thinks some awfully stupid things, as we all do when we are scared and feel the need to cling to social stereotypes or ideas that might provide comfort when we’re most vulnerable.

And yet, Ishmael figures it out in a few minutes. Whether this is testament to Queequeg’s nobility, kindness, and charisma, or to Ishmael’s openness, loneliness, or quest for knowledge, or all of the above, it’s hard to say. I love that even though prior to Queequeg’s arrival Ishmael couldn’t sleep and complained the mattress must be stuffed with corn cobs or broken crockery, after he gets over his fears and prejudices, and snuggles in with Queequege, he slept oh-so-soundly “ I never slept better in my life.”

“Ignorance is the parent of fear.”
“Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.”

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As we go to sea...

The first chapters of the book are, in fact, on the shore...and we're headed to New Bedford where we'll really launch...Melville himself sailed out of New Bedford on the whaling ship Acushnet (the anniversary of which is commemorated by the annual marathon readings on the dock).

Here are some options for how we can share our thoughts as we chart our course and chase the big MD:

1. If you have a blog, post away. So that we can find all of our posts, just tag them with Moby-Dick06 (technorati tag).

2. For those who don't have your own blog or would prefer to post in one place, I started this blog. Post away my dears!

3. If you know of anyone else who wants to play, let me know, and I'll send them invites to the blog so everyone can post directly...

"By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most ofthem all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air."

Ready to set sail?