Tag Archives: Dianna

The Mast Head – How Romantic

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It’d probably be easy to imagine yourself on a ship, and maybe you have been on a ship at some point in your life, but I think Ishmael really makes the idle yet active task on being atop the mast-head a bit romantic. Romanticism encapsulates the idea of emotion over rationality, of being in the moment. There needs to be a sense of calm. Now, there probably won’t be any idea of calm when encountering a whale, or being so high up on the mast-head if you’re afraid of heights, but Ishmael describes the job as such:

“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 wings blow; everything resolves you into languor.” (169)

Languor. Tiredness. The ship itself is tranced by the sea, hypnotized by the pattern that often causes sea-sickness for sailors present atop of the ship. Even so, Ishmael addresses the reader with many “yous” after this chunk of text I present, and it makes me wonder as to how we’re supposed to think about the idea of how tediousness this seems. He’s directly talking about a job that often causes sailors to be tired, but I think there’s this idea of a good and bad tired. On another note, there’s also something about standing up from a high place and looking down at the world as something to be conquered. Even though the vast majority of the sea is unknowable, there’s this idea of high and mightiness based on the position of the mast-head on the Pequod. Personifying and Romanticizing the ship is also something that helps ground these sailors, something terrestrial despite their job at sea. They have to be attached to the very thing that keeps them afloat.

Chapter 17-18 (Thoughts on “The Other”)

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For the past seventeen chapters, Ishmael has reflected on religion a multitude of times. Each conversation tends to revolve around Queequeg’s “Pagan” actions, and I can’t help but feel like Melville really emphasizes the idea of “the other.” First, Ishmael recounts in chapter 17 of Queequeg silently fasting. “But when a man’s religion becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then I think it high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him.” (94) Religion is brought it when it becomes a bother to Ishmael, when it starts to become a lot more foreign and unfamiliar. We had Mapple be highly emotional during the sermon, and Ishmael didn’t necessarily comment on that. It’s not different to him, it isn’t “other.” I could argue that in this day and age, many people use religion as an excuse to do highly extreme things. Part of me wonders if Queequeg did this in the name of the right “God,” would Ishmael still feel the same way despite claiming that there needs to be a means to argue?

And right after this chapter, we have Captain Bildad demands to see Queequeg’s papers. There’s this need for acclimation towards the majority, right as Bildad says “He must show that he’s converted. Son of darkness,’ he added, turning to Queequeg, “art thou at present in communion with any christian church?” (96), it becomes clear that the unfamiliarity towards a pagan cannibal’s presence and ways are unwelcome. They haven’t taken the time to be as open as Ishmael had been despite his initial confusion. I can only imagine the future development from here on out, but in all honesty, there’s this whole spiel about these whaling outcasts that just don’t fit in, even on a ship with each other.

Chapter 7 – The Chapel (And Death.)

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Ishmael finds himself entering a Whaleman’s chapel within this chapter, talking about his observations and feelings towards the idea of death. Part of me feels similarly towards his feelings about plaques, and while it is easy to imagine the countenance on the people he sees in the middle of mourning, I think this chapter puts into perspective on how people are supposed to understand and tackle the idea of a loved one dying. (Or anyone dying in general for that matter.) Ishmael himself doesn’t seem entirely bothered by the idea of death as we’ve seen, but he reflects this specific idea. “…yet lies antique Adam who died sixty round centuries ago; how it is that we still refuse to be comforted for those who we nevertheless maintain are dwelling in unspeakable bliss; why all the living so strive to hush all the dead…” (42) Ishmael seems baffled by the idea of people grieving loss at the idea of (Christian) heaven being a better place.

Additionally, he also makes a point about how those who embark for specific work or journeys are paid while others are not. There’s merit in how a man’s life is held. Going back to the plaques, I believe Melville’s intention of putting them in this chapter preface’s the idea that we are not necessarily supposed to feel anything at all. From Ishmael’s standpoint, there isn’t any sense of grief or personal connection. Why should these plaques take up a whole/half a page? Is there any true significance other than the idea that the whaling journey he is about to embark on might have him turn into nothing but a plaque as well? Is someone going to grieve him? Melville makes the chapter foreboding, and it changes the tone from the previous chapters before.

Poetics of Planetary Water

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Reading Mentz’s essay on The Blue Humanities, while more extensive than the Gillis article from the week before, really helped but into perspective how vast the train of thought towards the topic can be. The gears only turned in my head after reading this specific chunk, “The reason to study the water today, as I would phrase the point now, is that we are going to be seeing more of it, closer up, in the future. Rising sea levels and high-intensity rainstorms are making our environment wetter.” Water is an ever-changing substance, and even thanks to the long lasting impacts of global warming, water is what fuels life, yet is something that can also destroy it. Water is everywhere, and just as Mentz put it, is close to us in many ways, shapes, and forms. Whether or not we choose to acknowledge what water can do for us is up to the individual, but blue humanities, as it turns out, is starting to shape the way I think about tackling Moby Dick. Sure, I can simply think about water as a simple substance that I drink or as a recreational thing to swim in or exist by, but why is the human relationship towards it so important? What drives human nature to want to “bond” with a liquid of life? Honestly, it’s human nature to want to discover the unknown. People fear what they do not understand, and even though we’ve discovered many things about the land, the sea, and the sky, I do believe the sea is still the scariest there is. It is lots of uncharted territory, but needing to strive towards the knowledge of how to approach it safely, I’m certain humans aren’t ever going to stop. It’s ego, it’s hubris, it’s passion, all in all, tackling the vast blue of the ocean through the lens of humanities rather than science seems a little more humbling. Our environments change because of water, and while science gives us the numbers, arts and words allow for a sort of empathy that’s required to even spare the blink of an eye.

Extra Credit:Steve Mentz Questions

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1.) What importance does Blue Humanities hold for you? How would you say this topic works along existing fields of marine science?
2.) Despite a primary focus on the ocean, are there any other bodies of water that you think humans can explore just as in depth?
3.) Why does poetry offer such a lens into planetary waters in comparison to essays or other academic leaning books?
4.) Are there any other notable authors you look towards when speaking about or studying Blue Humanities besides Melville or Gillis?
5.) If you could chose one word to describe human relationship with the ocean, what would you pick and why?