The Whale

I'm reading Moby Dick. This is one of those books that I said I'd never read, and now that I'm older I have to say--that list was a really stupid idea. I'm reading Moby Dick for a couple reasons: a) I've never done it before, b) it's one of Josh's favorite books, and he agreed to read American Pastoral if I read Moby Dick, c) I'm working a temp job that allows for a lot of reading time and, d) I went to visit Herman Melville's house in Pittsfield, Massachusetts over Thanksgiving, and while we were driving there I learned that everyone else in the car (Dad, Aunt E, Josh) had read the book. I really hate to be the only person who hasn't read something; it makes me think that my life's work (reading books) hasn't produced adequate results.

So, Moby Dick. It's good. My 22-year-old self who vowed never to read it was misled by Bartleby the Scrivener, because the plot of Moby Dick is decidedly catchy--at base it's really an adventure story, albeit one that contains a lot of Biblical references and allegories. I'm glad that I waited until now to read Moby Dick, though, because a few years ago I knew next to nothing about the Bible. While I'm still no expert, I can at least recognize the references now.

There is a lot of political theory in this book, including an idea of equality as something God-given and natural; the noble savages in Moby Dick are regarded as equal, if not better, than the "civilized" Christians in the book. This view reminds me a great deal of Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass; in both works equality seems to be a natural fact rather than a political determination. It seems amazing now that Melville encountered a lot of criticism for his positive view of Queequeg and the other "savages" in his book; the portraits he draws of them are not even close to politically correct now.

Anyway, here is one of my favorite passages so far:

"Round the world! There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, were all the time before us.

"Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of the demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed."*

As I've been reading the book I often find myself wishing that there was a modern equivalent to the 19th century whaling voyage. Ishmael takes off and never looks back--he leaves whatever life he had behind and sets off on an adventure without any ties or expectations. The modern equivalent seems to be a backpacking trip, which strikes me as a pale imitation of an adventure like this. No matter where we go, we are always within reach of communication, always tethered to the identity we left behind.

I like the quote above, though, because it shows that I'm wrong about the whaling adventure being a truer escape. Melville points out that even on a 19th century whaling ship there was no way to fully leave yourself behind. There are only two options: either you eventually return to the place you left, or you are lost at sea. In either case, you will find yourself back where you started.

*Anyone who grew up in the 90s and loved the movie 10 Things I Hate About You will no doubt be interested to learn that one can indeed be whelmed.

i'd rather be a hammer than a nail

It's rainy and cold in DC today: perfect movie-going weather. So I went to see Wild, which I've been looking forward to seeing since learned it was being adapted into a film. I devoured the book, and when I found out that Nick Hornby was writing the screenplay I knew it would be a good adaptation. I was right; the movie is an excellent adaptation, perhaps as good as the adaptation of High Fidelity. If I didn't like Hornby's novels so much, I might suggest that he go into the book adaptation business full-time.

The book, like the movie, is the story of Cheryl Strayed's journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from California to Oregon. She goes on the hike a few years after the death of her mother, and a little while after the disintegration of her family, her marriage, and herself. I had a couple thoughts about movie (and book):

First, men are portrayed as being alternately creepy and wonderful, a combination which strikes me as largely true. There's a lot of the "hey, baby, let's have a drink," and "darlin', gimme a smile" vibe coming from some of the men that Strayed encounters, a vibe that is counterbalanced by the earnest brotherly camaraderie of the other half of the men she meets. I have never traveled alone for longer than a few days, but every interaction she has with the men she meets along the trail, both good and bad, struck me as accurate to life. This shouldn't be so remarkable, except I can't remember ever having this reaction to a movie before. There's usually a good vs. evil view of men in movies; they're either sinners or heroes. This was a much more ambivalent view.

Second, I left the movie with the same lingering thought as I did when I finished the book, which is: it is difficult to write a Goes Through Hard Times genre of memoir without seeming like a big whiner. Strayed loses a great deal in the movie, but some of the worst losses are of her own doing. The only thing that saves the book (and perhaps to a lesser extent the movie) is that Strayed is self-aware enough to know when she's acting like a giant asshole. (By contrast, Eat Pray Love sucked because the author had no idea what a tool she was.) I have sympathy for Strayed, but it's hard not to see a lot of Wild as a exercise in stupidity and self-destruction rather than self-discovery and perseverance. Overall, Wild encourages a dangerous amount of feeling, and suggests that it's ok for us to act on our feelings no matter the consequences. I don't think that's a good message. But then again, a movie about a reasonable and grounded woman wouldn't be half as interesting.

The soundtrack to the movie is top-notch, though. It had been a long time since I heard El Condor Pasa (If I Could) by Simon and Garfunkel. An excellent choice.

Is it too late for a comeback?

I'm considering a return to blogging. There's no time-limit for this sort of thing, is there? If so, please advise.

I mean, I only took 2.5 years off, which turns out to have been just enough time to give birth to my first child: the dissertation. Intellectual maternity leave is over; blogging shall resume.