One can hardly undertake a program of American literature without confronting Moby Dick, the quintessential Great American Novel. Perhaps due to its daunting size, or to a dimly remembered aversion to Billy Budd in high school, I have always put off this novel until another day, shamefully admitting with Laurie Anderson, “Moby Dick? Never read it.”
Whether we’ve read it or not, we all know that Moby Dick is about Captain Ahab’s obsessive quest to kill the eponymous white whale that took his leg. Knowing this, I was a bit surprised by the lack of “stage time” devoted to either Ahab or the whale. The sea adventure is only one aspect of the novel, albeit an important and powerful one. Melville is not just telling a story. Like Mahler, he is creating a world.
There are many stories in the book, and I’m not sure that the one about Ahab and the Whale is the most interesting. The story of Ishmael and Queequeg is a gem that grabbed my attention at the beginning of the book. Looking for lodging in the whaling town of New Bedford, Massachusetts, Ishmael finds a room, but is informed that he will have to share with a harpooneer. This turns out to be Queequeg, a cannibal from the South Seas. After his initial shock, Ishmael not only gets used to Queequeg, but the two become fast friends. This relationship foreshadows a general theme: the culture of whaling trumps the culture of birth. The multi-national, multi-religious crew of the Pequod seems untroubled by differences amongst themselves, focusing instead on the duty of whaling. Ishmael’s friendship with Queequeg seems to have some physical component, at least during their stay at the inn. Trendy literary theorists looking to “queer” Moby Dick shouldn’t find much of a challenge.
Stylistically, the book is masterful, although one sometimes wishes for greater consistency in style. There are times when the characters seem more or less “real,” and talk as such. At other times, they take on a more mythic character and the style takes on a Shakespearean quality, sometimes even including stage directions. Melville seems to have a particular talent for the dramatic monologue, such as the famous sermon at the New Bedford church and Ahab’s various speeches to the crew. He also enjoys creating unique voices for his characters, especially the bizarre language employed by Stubb (the second mate) in directing his boat.
I have heard from others that they found Moby Dick difficult reading because of the amount of space devoted to whales and whaling that does not seem immediately germane to the story. I did not find this problematic, perhaps due to my affection for natural history. The reader will learn much about the habits of whales, the ways in which the right whale differs from the sperm, and the technologies employed to hunt these leviathans. Melville neglects no aspect of his subject. He has not written a book about a whale, but a book about The Whale and about all things connected therewith. Natural history, political and religious philosophy, anthropology, and linguistics are all brought to bear on the subject.
I find Moby Dick a difficult work to write about, perhaps because there is simply so much of it, and because it works on so many different levels. It is less a novel than a set of stories and observations on a subject loosely woven together by a story. I hope that I will have a chance to read it again and to read more of Melville’s works.