Moby Dick - Smash or Trash?

I enjoy reading classic literature and have finally gotten around to Moby Dick. It’s taking awhile to read, partly because I have to concentrate harder to comprehend the style of English used at the time of its writing, and partly just because it’s a very long book in its own right.

Moby Dick is, without a doubt, a classic piece of literature. But, 159 years after its original publication, I have to wonder how well Herman Melville’s story would be received had he written it today.

My honest guess? He would not even be able to get it published. Certainly, at least, not without massive amounts of editing.

As a case in point, consider the below passage taken from Chapter 42. It’s just one piece of a much longer explanation that Ishmael is giving about the color white; how, while it is usually associated with cleanliness, good, purity, etc., it can also have a much more sinister and ominuos connotation (such as the pale white of death):

From Moby Dick, Chapter 42 – “The Whiteness of the Whale”:
“Though in many natural objects, whiteness refiningly enhances beauty, as if imparting some special virtue of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, and pearls; and though various nations have in some way recognised a certain royal preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric, grand old kings of Pegu placing the title "Lord of the White Elephants" above all their other magniloquent ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of Siam unfurling the same snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; and the Hanoverian flag bearing the one figure of a snow-white charger; and the great Austrian Empire, Caesarian, heir to overlording Rome, having for the imperial color the same imperial hue; and though this pre-eminence in it applies to the human race itself, giving the white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe; and though, besides, all this, whiteness has been even made significant of gladness, for among the Romans a white stone marked a joyful day; and though in other mortal sympathies and symbolizings, this same hue is made the emblem of many touching, noble things- the innocence of brides, the benignity of age; though among the Red Men of America the giving of the white belt of wampum was the deepest pledge of honor; though in many climes, whiteness typifies the majesty of Justice in the ermine of the Judge, and contributes to the daily state of kings and queens drawn by milk-white steeds; though even in the higher mysteries of the most august religions it has been made the symbol of the divine spotlessness and power; by the Persian fire worshippers, the white forked flame being held the holiest on the altar; and in the Greek mythologies, Great Jove himself being made incarnate in a snow-white bull; and though to the noble Iroquois, the midwinter sacrifice of the sacred White Dog was by far the holiest festival of their theology, that spotless, faithful creature being held the purest envoy they could send to the Great Spirit with the annual tidings of their own fidelity; and though directly from the Latin word for white, all Christian priests derive the name of one part of their sacred vesture, the alb or tunic, worn beneath the cassock; and though among the holy pomps of the Romish faith, white is specially employed in the celebration of the Passion of our Lord; though in the Vision of St. John, white robes are given to the redeemed, and the four-and-twenty elders stand clothed in white before the great-white throne, and the Holy One that sitteth there white like wool; yet for all these accumulated associations, with whatever is sweet, and honorable, and sublime, there yet lurks an elusive something in the innermost idea of this hue, which strikes more of panic to the soul than that redness which affrights in blood.”


Wow.

Other than the obvious changes in grammar & language that make it almost incomprehensible to today’s reading public, two things drew my attention to this particular passage.

For one, it is a single sentence, 467 words long. Do you think you could have gotten away with that had you turned it in to your English teacher in high school? That single sentence is 1/3 the length of my entire senior term paper!

Secondly, did you notice the whopper of a politically incorrect statement buried inside the text: “and though this pre-eminence in it applies to the human race itself, giving the white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe”.

Whoa, Nellie! That dog ain’t gonna be hunting in 2010, now is it? In fact, “classic” though Moby Dick may be, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that particular statement didn’t one day make a quiet exit from the text entirely. (And maybe more telling is that I doubt anyone today would even notice if it did.)

Anyone who has ever attempted to put pen to paper with the intention of forming a novel can truly appreciate - and stand in awe - of the sheer craftsmanship that was required to carve out the 500 pages of Moby Dick. In today's world unfortunately, that, plus $1.50, will get you a cup of coffee at McDonald's.


Dear Mr. Melville,

I regret to inform you that your manuscript “Moby Dick” does not fit our needs at this time. The book is so endlessly complicated by details and reference information that the very action of the story becomes hopelessly bogged down, making the book, eventually, unreadable. It is so dry, airless, and lacking in pace, that whatever drama and excitement the novel might have contained is entirely dissipated by what seems to be nothing more than an immense amount of extraneous material.

Yours sincerely,

21st Century Editor

The Emperor Has No Clothes

I’ve always loved reading. I don’t know why; I’m just boring that way, I guess. Even as a kid I read a lot, sometimes even preferring to read (if it was a really good book) rather than play outside with my friends.

I have no idea how many books I’ve read over the course of my life. 2,000 maybe? I’m guessing, obviously, but that’s probably somewhere in the neighborhood.

While that doesn’t make me an authority on literature by any means, I do think it allows me to make the claim that - when it comes to books - I have accumulated a fairly decent body of comparison by which to judge good from bad.

And when it comes to bad, there are two novels that have made the Top 10 of my all time “hackers” that I wanted to warn you about. Why these two? Because they have somehow gained the status as being “classics”, and are both also considered to be part of a group known as the “Best 100 Novels of All Time”, which I think is a travesty and an insult.

I was recently reading William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. The key word here being “was”.

What an unbelievable piece of junk. If you’ve never had to read The Sound and the Fury, consider yourself lucky. I’ll share a brief insight into what reading it is like with the below example, which, while not taken from the book (I made it up), certainly could have been:

I walked to the edge of the cliff Sweet corn and looked faraway at the don’t go there don’t go there I must you can’t and mama turned to look at me “Got to get yo feet out’d mud boy” before she faded into a door that was black and then it wasn’t black and then I made the noise again
what
are you going to the dance
maybe
well you should ‘cause you dance nice
says you
says me
but the lights came back and I went away the watch the watch why isn’t it ticking she smells like grass because you broke the hands off of it and cut your finger smells like grass and bled like grass on the new white tablecloth.

Now let me ask you: Was that enjoyable to read? Does it make any sense? Would you read 350 pages of that clap-trap without someone holding a gun to your head? Would you believe that I actually read 140 pages of it before coming to my senses?

Now, I don’t profess to be the sharpest tack on the bulletin board, but I had to go to Wikipedia and read the synopsis just so I could discover what the story I had been reading was actually about. It blew my mind. It also didn’t resemble anything that I read in the book.

Faulkner was credited with writing this novel using the “stream of consciousness technique”. Ooooooo, that’s so Avant-garde! I’m sorry, but I’m not impressed. I’ll give William credit for trying something new, but at best it was a bad idea and at worst it was just plain annoying and stupid.

The “stream of consciousness technique” reminds me of that period of years back in the 90’s when every commercial and TV show suddenly was filmed with “shaky-cam”. Do you remember that? The camera is bouncing up and down, zooming in and out - even going in and out of focus – as if the cameraman was either drunk or a 12 year old child.

Have you realized that the Avant-garde “shaky-cam” era has passed? Do you know why? Because it was a BAD IDEA. Just like The Sound and the Fury. Don’t waste your time.

The second book of jaw-dropping dumbness that I want to point out is The Catcher in the Rye. This book starts nowhere, ends nowhere, and doesn’t do anything of any importance in between.

If you enjoy reading about a teenage boy with nothing to be upset about that is dead set and determined to be upset about everything anyway, then you might enjoy this waste of paper and the innocent trees who gave their lives to see it in print.

My guess is that The Catcher in the Rye probably got its undeserved attention & acclaim because it deals with teen angst punctuated with a continuous barrage of foul language, both of which would have been considered “shocking”, “ground-breaking”, and – dare I say (yes! dare! dare!) – “Avant-garde” at the time of its publication.

It's notable to me that J.D. Salinger only published this one book. My guess is that his daddy used up the only favor his friend at the publishing company owed him.

I know that some of you may cry foul that I would pan both of these books, but reading should be a pleasure, not a chore. It should not require in-depth “study” to figure out what is going on or what it means. I didn’t have to ponder the concepts & themes that Dickens relayed in David Copperfield; they were transferred inherently. I didn’t even notice.

And before someone says that I just don’t understand or appreciate “classic” literature, let me set the record straight: I do. Very much so. Just not these two. I’m sorry, but with The Sound and the Fury and The Catcher in the Rye, the emperor has no clothes, and I’m not going to say otherwise, no matter how many other people insist that he’s dressed in grand fashion.

As an antidote to the above, here’s a few “classics” I’ve read this past year that are worth reading:

Silas Marner by George Elliot – I can understand why high schoolers would not like this book - the sentences are much more complex than what we see today and the vocabulary that Elliot uses shows how much our language has degraded over the years – but she penned a great story.

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins – A nice little mystery delivered in a clever manner. The passages of the story told by the self-righteous church lady are, by themselves, worth the price of the book.

The Last of the Mohicans by James Fennimore Cooper – Requires a little bit of concentration, but a wonderful story that leaves you feeling as if you lost a good friend.

"Roots" - Alex Haley

Although I had seen most of the TV mini-series back in the 70’s, I’d never actually read the book that started it all, and memories being hazy things, I couldn’t really remember the story. Reading Roots was a reminder of why this book was such a phenomenon when it came out.

Other than being a well-written, interesting, and moving story, there were several things about the book that made a notable impression on me.

First, was the amount of time at the beginning of the story that Haley devoted to Kunta Kinte’s life growing up in Africa. You know what’s eventually going to happen to him, but it took a lot longer to get to than I thought it would. Haley purposely makes you spend a lot of time with Kunta as he grows from a boy into a man, and I noticed that I became very interested in this boy and his life just as it was. Knowing the inevitable was coming, each page got harder and harder to turn, and I started wishing that Kunta would just be able to continue living out his life in his village with the people & the customs that he knew. Of course, that wasn’t his fate, and just when you get to the point where you begin to think that everything will be okay, you reach the page that changes everything for him.

Secondly, I was impressed with the tone of the book. There was no malice, anger, or agenda in Haley’s writing. He wasn’t trying to make a statement or pass judgment; he was simply telling a story about his ancestors, and that is exactly how the story is presented. I thought he was very fair and impartial in his depictions of everyone in the story, white and black. I don’t know how accurate his descriptions & depictions were, but they certainly seemed real; not contrived or sensationalized.

Third, were the abrupt changes that occurred in the story. As an example, for 600 pages or so the story focuses almost exclusively on Kunta, and then suddenly – without warning – you leave him behind while the story takes another path. You never hear another word about him. You never find out his ultimate fate. You are left instead to simply wonder, just as his daughter did. I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of loss.

Finally, as Haley brings the generations of the story up to his own life, he relates how, during his research on the book, he was able to track down the actual village in Africa where his ancestor Kunta had lived before his abduction. Kunta was still very much a part of the village’s oral ancestral history, and there was a very moving moment when Haley relates what happened when the people of the village came to realize that he was one of the descendants of Kunta Kinte, this young 17-year old boy who vanished without a trace one day hundreds of years before.

In the end, Roots isn’t really a story about slavery; it’s a story about human beings, the things that we do to each other, and how those things shape every generation to come. I highly recommend it.