Herm! Shut UP!!

In chapter two of Melville's Moby Dick, "The Carpet-Bag," we get our earliest contact with the special something in the book that makes so many Moby Dick readers Moby Dick haters. Melville has his first of an authorial condition of chronic tics—occasional, but definite and sometimes severe. It's a jarring change for modern readers, who probably have a tenuous relationship with old literature going in. I mean, the difference is totally obvious between:

He had to be lying. Their intelligence was too good. If the kid was a student, they’d know where, for how long, what field of study, how good were the grades, or how bad. They’d know. He was a clerk in a Computer Hut in a mall. Nothing more or less. Maybe he planned to enroll somewhere. Maybe he’d dropped out but still liked the notion of referring to himself as a part-time student. Maybe it made him feel better, gave him a sense of purpose, sounded good.

and:

TRUE!—NERVOUS—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am! but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

The first passage is from Grisham's Runaway Jury; the second from Poe's Tell Tale Heart. The first is not likely to be considered great literature, though gripping and very entertaining. The second is in the canon of great literature, but everyone except English teachers hates it. So it is with great works of art and church—they probably have all the answers, but I ain't goin' anywhere near 'em. But here I am with Moby Dick, as proxy for you, dear reader. Deeper meanings will be revealed through our effort, and we can gain at least for now a real affection for the awfulness of the experience. You never really know what will happen; plus, this is how Leading Opinion becomes.

So anyway, Ishmael gets to New Bedford, but has missed the ship he hoped for. Having time to kill until the next opportunity, he traipses about for a place to stay, looking for the cheapest possible accommodations. You'll recall Ishmael revealed he is loathe to spend money, and I wondered if this was an adroit poke at the Yankee sense of frugality as moral perfection, or demonstration of it. Whichever it may be, it returns and we see it as a continuing, unifying idea. One of probably 30, right?

Ishmael gets to the crummy side of town, and at a place called "The Trap," stumbles into an African American church service. It's clear to me that the association between church and "trap" is intentional. As we saw in the first chapter, religion is largely what the work is about. But what other associations can we make between "trap" and—

1. the condition of African Americans in New England in 1851?
2. the issue of emancipation in the United States at the time?
3. Melville's (or Ishmael's) attitude toward Blacks?
4. Christians in general and African Americans, vis á vis the above?

I'm not certain, but I can guess. And you need something to comment on.

Ishmael comes to "The Spouter Inn:—(sic) Peter Coffin." He decides this has to be the place; then he proceeds to go insane. Now, I chose the word carefully—Melville's narrative proceeds with a total rant. With numerous meanings, probably, but it's a total rant anyway. And what about that order? Ishmael says, "I'll take it," then starts hollering about it. Here's where I suggest an additional interpretation to this "Great American Novel": The main character is bananas, off his rocker, a Kook.

I'm asking you to consider this. A new, alternative reading of Moby Dick.

He bellows about Euroclydon, St. Paul, Orien, and some "Old Dives" (DEE-vess), the rich guy in the parable of Lazarus and the rich guy (Luke 16: 19-21). All of this just one big fart about being cold but self-sufficient but still cold, or being inside and warm but in a false luxury from exploiting the innocent.

Jeez, Herm, don't just say that or anything! No, please just go off instead, like some crazy emperor who has a whole generation of babies killed, or... Listen to me rant, will ya.

Alright, so Ishmael (Melville) goes off, yelling about everything he can think of, to what?—show Hawthorne who can roll out the most bellicose, multi-level christian sentence? (If I'm Hawthorne, I'm all, "You win, dude. Please go home now.") Whatever. Ishmael then just says, "Guess I'll go in and get a room."

Herman Melville, you are a dog. And I am hitting you on the snout with a rolled up newspaper from here on to stop your incessant baying.

Shut UP!!