Moby-Dick: The Novel That Teaches How to Read It

Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick is a unique novel in that summaries are ineffective to really understand what it is that the novel is saying—to read the novel is to fully experience it. It is certainly a dense novel, one overflowing with experimental and moving prose, prose that can be hard to decipher or make any sense of. However, this is no ordinary novel, no, this is the ‘Great American Novel’! A novel so great that within its pages is the enchiridion for whaling, for American Literature, and for itself.

The earliest example of the novel hinting at its enchiridion can be found in at the arrival of Ishmael at the Spouter-Inn; in the second sentence of the chapter, an oil-painting is seen at the entrance of the inn and catches the eye of Ishmael. The oil-painting is in complete disrepair, covered over by the smoke and years passing it by. Ishmael, however, sees something within the oil-painting, “…it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it… that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose” (Melville 13). Upon first glance, the painting is nothing more than a preview of the Spouter-Inn, and yet, there is something captivating within it, so much so that Ishmael continued to go back and look at the painting further. The novel has a similar draw to it, being incomprehensible at times only to make sense two-or-three-hundred pages later—some moments even call for a reread entirely! Of course, it is never obvious, but rather something that sneaks up upon the reader, surprising them with a sudden understanding and realisation that leaves them pondering it for days, weeks, months, perhaps even years! In this reading, one would be remiss to ignore the usage of the second person, you, used by Ishmael as he describes the painting’s strange allure, doubling as a reading of the novel itself: “Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist… had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings… you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.” (Melville 13). By using the second person ‘you’, Ishmael is putting directly in front of the audience the attention of his language, and yet it goes almost unnoticed on a cursory read. Not until one analyses the language closely does the audience figure this out, that they are being put into the shoes of Ishmael, that it had become a self-insert adventure novel for just a moment’s breath.

As one notices this use of language, one reads that much closer, finding every situation of which this can be found; the words lose all preconceived notions; the words no longer lay there to be read, but they become intentionally placed there by the author himself. This becomes the basis for the novel’s self-written enchiridion in that the closer the audience reads, the more they will experience, the further they will find themselves untangling the mess of ropes, whencever it is they come or hail from, that is Melville’s whale of a novel, Moby-Dick. John Bryant has stated in Moby-Dick: Reading, Rewriting, and Editing, “Melville was a writer’s writer for whom writing was itself the projection of his being” (Bryant 89). Bryant speaks on editing and the different versions of the beloved novel, bringing about the conversation on how the author’s words can create such vast meanings from such simple changes. By adding the word “doubloon” in Chapter 36 of the British version of the famed novel, not only is he hinting at what is to come and having the audience understand the importance of Chapter 99, The Doubloon from the name only, but it also “reveals the degree to which Melville’s intentions shifted and how an artist evolves”, just as the novel continues to do as it continues being read (Bryant 93). The edits made to the British version of Moby-Dick, those of Melville’s, show his evolution as an artist, even within that small amount of time between American and British publishing. If the author and artist of the work can evolve and change so much in so little, then what of the work itself? Imagine how quickly the novel might change to acclimate to the current day, to ensure all readers are able to glean what it is that Melville set forth in front of Americans in 1850.

Chapter 15, Chowder. The audience is introduced to a wonderful bowl of chowder; inside the chowder are not only a couple of clams or a chopped up cod, but a new understanding and acceptance of who Ishmael is: as the other. It is here that Ishmael is confronted with a perceived threat outside the Try Pots establishment. Despite knowing exactly what it is he is looking at, Ishmael can’t help but see the gallows within the trees and hanging rope. “…[T]wo of them,” he writes, “…one for Queequeg, and one for me. It’s ominous…” (Melville 73). Ishmael is now visibly queer as he and Queequeg walk through town. Two men, a Christian and a Pagan, walking together. Ishmael is being perceived and is fully aware of it, completely uncomfortable with the fact. For the first time, he is being othered and walking in Queequeg’s steps—both metaphorically and physically in this instance. Ishmael seeing the gallows among the trees illustrates his anxiety with being considered the other. As someone who has othered Queequeg not that long ago, Ishmael is now fully understanding what that feels like, what it is he did to Queequeg, how he made him feel.

When they arrive at the Try Pots, they are asked what they’d like to eat: clam or cod chowder? Ishmael answers with a question completely rattled by the ‘gallows’ outside. Upon eating the clam chowder—and asking and eating cod seconds—Ishmael regains his confidence. When asked which he’d like for breakfast tomorrow, he boldly replies, “Both…” (Melville 75). At this moment, Ishmael is fully accepting his queerness, even going so far as to argue on behalf of Queequeg, arguing that Queequeg should keep his harpoon—a concern Ishmael had that first night they met. Ishmael realises that the harpoon is a part of his partner, and as such, does all he can to fight for Queequeg’s right to have his harpoon overnight. Through his saying “Both…”, Ishmael’s mind is open for new experiences; no longer is he the closed-minded man who was fearful of Queequeg, but now a man who sees his partner for who he is, not what he is (Melville 75). When othered, Ishmael is fearful initially, but with his partner by his side, he realises that being the other, while initially devastating, allows one to live freely, to love openly—whether it be a Pagan harpooner or a damn good cod chowder.

The word choice given to Ishmael and Queequeg upon their arrival is extremely interesting, something is certainly being insinuated as they walk in together; “Clam or Cod?” (Melville 73). Both being a euphemism for body parts upon one’s body, clam for women and cod for men, feels as though the novel is telling the audience something about preferences. As they arrive, Ishmael is forced into clam chowder as he understands nothing of her initial question. Ishmael eats with Queequeg and after having the clam, Ishmael sheepishly asks for cod. As they go to sleep, Ishmael now proudly says both, leaving behind his perceived preference for either, now fully embracing his want for both clam and cod.

It is here Benjamin Doty claims, in Digesting Moby-Dick, that through digestion is the key to existence and that both he and Melville are “…[grounding] philosophical speculation in the body” (Doty 92). Through Chowder, the audience better understands Ishmael and even Queequeg as they eat and how it is they react afterwards. Doty argues that “…food’s vibrancy in “Chowder,” which figures food’s power to transform whatever ingests it” and it is through Ishmael eating the chowder day in and day out, he “…[literalizes] the mantra that “you are what you eat.”” (Doty 93). He continues by writing, “because food’s psychological effects begin with its effects on the eater’s body, Ishmael’s question of whether the chowder has affected his head is bound to the question of whether it has changed his body” (Doty 93). Through the act of simply eating clam and cod chowder, Ishmael is beginning to wonder if the chowder will be affecting his body as much as it has already been affecting his mind. Ishmael is ground in the constant state of being, much like the novel itself, it is a liquid and living work. Applying this lens to Ishmael, the audience is shown a new person, one that is able to change and adapt through living, almost the ultimate chameleon. Through eating and digesting, Ishmael is able to grow into his queerness, changing his life philosophy with just a seemingly simple bowl of clam chowder, as Doty posits. If the splitting of tobacco, melding into one another’s skin, and sleeping with one another has not bonded Queequeg and Ishmael, then it is here and now that the two truly become each other’s through the act of digesting new experiences and food together. Bryant, too, speaks on the living state of the novel as a whole, stating “we think there is one and only one print version of Moby-Dick” (Bryant 90). There is a constantly evolving novel within the pages, not only from every publisher who releases their own version of Moby-Dick, but from the written words to the audience, with every new set of eyes is a new adaptation of the novel, a new evolution, as it were.

This novel, like Ishmael, is one of complete change and evolution on every new read through, with each new reader, with every moment that passes. It is a novel that, within its very pages, has the key, the enchiridion to follow along and understand the novel; through close observation and readings, the novel opens itself up to readers, allowing them to use the novel itself as a road map of sorts to dig deeper into the novel. With time, meanings change, but so do people. The brilliant prose upon the pages of Melville’s Moby-Dick allows the novel to change with the reader. As people change, so does the text, and though the meaning of the novel will not change, the novel and its enchiridion will to accommodate the changing times, the change in its viewer, all to lead to the Whale that is Moby-Dick.

Works Cited

Bryant, John. “Moby-Dick: Reading, Rewriting, and Editing.” Leviathan, vol. 9 no. 2, 2007, p. 87-100. Project MUSE, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/492804.

Doty, Benjamin. “Digesting Moby-Dick.” Leviathan, vol. 19 no. 1, 2017, p. 85-101. Project MUSE,https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/lvn.2017.0006.

Melville, Herman, et al. “Moby-Dick; Or, The Whale.” Penguin Classics, 2003.

Or The Whale.

There’s much to be done before the final, researching and planning for the massive essay, one that honours the novel and perhaps even makes a reader rethink and recontextualise the novel’s events! Or so I hope. The bit that has me in its grips, that just continues to swim about my mind fluid, is how the titular Whale is not this evil creature filled with hate—no, of course not, that would be Ahab—but rather this being filled with kindness. Could it be that this creature is one of kindness, as seen with the warnings that are given before they engage with the Whale at the end of the novel? Might this creature be biblical in that from the first sin came hate and violence (Ahab)? I am completely unable to get the idea out of my head that perhaps, just maybe, the Whale can be seen as a messenger from God, much like an archangel or have a similar use in the novel as Adam does in the bible? How much of the Whale do we see reflected in the sermon whale? And the other way about? I find this Whale endlessly fascinating and I am beyond excited to work this into an actual idea worth presenting!

The Plain View of the Prairie (Chapter 79)

It took me a second to realize that Ishmael was referring to the whale’s forehead in this chapter. Part of me wondered as to why the chapter itself is named “The Prairie” mostly in the idea that a Prairie itself is an environment just full of grasses and wildflowers, much unlike the sea we’ve been on for the past however many chapters. I also had to search up what exactly “Physiognomist” and “Phrenologist” meant, and when I found that these were essentially terms for people who judged character based off of facial characteristics, then it started making a little more sense when I finished the chapter.

Ishmael is essentially trying his best to “read” the whale, rather, read the forehead of the whale despite the challenges. Most notably, he mentions “For you see no one point precisely; not one distinct feature is revealed; no nose, eyes, ears or mouth; no face; he has none, proper; nothing but that one broad firmament of a forehead, pleated with riddles; dumbly lowering with the doom of boats, and ships, and men. Nor, in profile, does this wondrous brow diminish; though that way viewed, its grandeur does not domineer upon you so.” (379)

I didn’t think this important at all at first, I found myself wondering why it is that a science like this even existed back in the 19th century, but it adds into the previous chapters explaining the sides of the head of the whale, that we have to understand, or at least try to understand the whale itself. The whales throughout a lot of the chapters have had a mythic quality to them, but I feel as if the chapters describing all of the anatomy and the process of “reading” this anatomy puts into perspective the idea that they’re also just creatures at the end of the day. Understanding, or trying to understand them, is a fruitless attempt. No features are offered on the “brow” or forehead of the beast, and it kind of makes this chunk feel pointless other than the line of “…thought that way viewed, its grandeur does not domineer upon you so.” Readers have to imagine what its like to be a whale to even fathom it, and Ishmael himself invites us to do so with the ending lines of “I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can.” (380)

It’s obvious in this day and age that we really can’t read it, a forehead is just a forehead, but the fruitless endeavor of trying to read the forehead of the whale just seems so symbolic of unknowingness despite Ishmael’s semi-knowledgeable self on cetology. It’s like a really frustrating paradox trying to figure it all out.

Chapter 55: An Interlude

In this chapter we pause the narrative once again, to return to Ishmael’s wide berth of knowledge concerning the worldly and historical preconceptions of what whales look like, based on depictions of artists and scientists that have never seen a living whale. As can be expected, they’ve got it all wrong : “Consider! Most of the scientific drawings have been taken from the stranded fish; and these are about as correct as a drawing of a wrecked ship, with broken back, would correctly represent the noble animal itself in all its undashed pride of hull and spars (288).” 

This pause, for suspense, serves as a narrative reminder that we are about to embark into the unknown, and never seen before. The great leviathan is about to be viewed in its natural environment, thrashing in the roiling sea. This chapter is a reminder, that in the grand scope of historical documentation, from the ancient Egyptians to Melville’s present, there has been very little understanding of the size, or scope of such a marvelous creature. And then, there is the reminder, that the only way to be intimated with the sight of the whale, is to embark on the dangerous and often ill-fated task of whaling.

What is interesting is that Ishmael seems to be most focused on the one thing these images, skeletons, and even carcasses can not capture, it soul: “even in the case of one of those young sucking whales hoisted to a ship’s deck, such is then the outlandish, eel-like, limbered, varying shape of him, that his precise expression the devil himself could not catch (289).” To stare into the eye of the living creature, one must meet it in it’s living state, submerged and alive within the water.