This is a blog, right? So, therefore, it’s a safe space to vent my frustrations with this novel, especially the consecutive non-narrative chapters (74-80). Simply put, I don’t care. The more I read, the more I want to skip these chapters and continue, hoping I find a small blurb of beauty or fascination in these parts. I’m reading over classmates’ posts about these specific chapters and seeing many stroking Melville’s “erect” ego (COCK) about him being a genius. “But how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, spoken a speech?” (Chapter 79, p.380) This is very tongue-in-cheek and goes back to Emerson’s “American Scholar,” where man isn’t just a farmer. I’m pretty sure Melville realizes he’s viewed as a genius, especially in the scholarly field and among his critics, but the same genius of a sperm whale, “he thus thinks not” (my attempt at Shakespeare language). Again, I don’t care.

Let’s look up the definition of the word genius, shall we? (I’ll get back to my bitching later) Of course, genius can have different meanings, but according to the Oxford Dictionary, number one means “exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability.” It turns out, the bizarre “face” of a sperm whale fits all the proper criteria for a genius, thanks in part to physiognomy or “race science.” Yeah, this doesn’t age well. For me, I can’t quite tell if in these non-narrative chapters, if it’s actually Ishmael speaking or Melville, using a pseudonym for his own personal beliefs, or can I discern if Melville believes in this “race science” or is mocking it for its ancient and unchristian ways when comparing to a superior/insuperior race. (according to the late 1800s) Or if a genius like that of the anatomy of the whale is the example of a God? “They deified the crocodile of the Nile, because the crocodile is tongueless; and the Sperm Whale has no tongue, or at least it is so exceedingly small as to be incapable of protrusion. If hereafter any highly cultured, poetical nation shall lure back to their birth-right, the merry May-day gods of old; and livingly enthrone them again in the now egotistical sky; in the now unhaunted hill; then be sure, exalted to Jove’s high seat, the great Sperm Whale shall lord it.” Move over, Zeus, there’s a new God/genius in town, and it has Sperm! (p.380) Sounds like this argument can make for an outstanding thesis! (wink wink)

Back to my bitching. “The greatest American novel” interweaves depth perceptions and contrasting views of the whale. This isn’t the first time these rambling and dull ideas have been ill-placed into the narrative, but I reach my limit. It can suck my Moby Dick. Sure, it may add a lot to Ishmael’s character — or lack thereof — because, within the narrative, he is simply dead weight on the Pequod and needs to be thrown overboard as shark bait, allowing the sperm whale a chance to rest for once. Just because I’m bitching doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying the book. This novel has already taught me a lot about reading, writing, and life that I never thought about, so yes, there are some amazing takeaways, but F&#K!!!! (Just like Ishmael, even I’m rambling)