In Chapters 4 through 6, Melville establishes his setting—no
small feat in a seafaring novel. Having set
out to identify the character of humanity, he finds no better metaphor for that
character’s place than the sea. Enter
the vagrant Ishmael with his thirst for open water. But Melville does not set his drifter adrift
until he has established a foundation for this slippery metaphor. These are the New Bedford/Nantucket chapters. Ishmael only sets sail to express the nature
of his terrestrial existence. Thus, Melville’s
conflation of town and tide establishes his vision of the American nation and
sets his novel afloat in the slow stream of canonical literature.
The vagrant is an ancient character. He is not, however, Ulysses. True, Ulysses fares on the sea, yet with one
fundamental distinction (the most fundamental): he leaves from foreign shores
heading home. Ishmael does the opposite. While both characters sail by the same breeze
of desire, Ishmael goes forth with a decidedly Christian interpretation of the world:
namely, that every earthly place corrupts, falls short, and fades away. All land erodes. He therefore never sails for, only from. This wild idea, though at first only terrifying,
illuminates much. It assumes that we ought to be somewhere, that what we are is not what we ought to be. This begins to define
the human being. We cannot help but
identify with Ishmael.
America was founded—it is no small feat—on this Christian
understanding, yet without abandoning the previous literary vision: Ulysses. The human being is an Ishmael who ought to be Ulysses. This is the
only true literary foundation. It is a
watery one, yet decidedly earthly. It
keeps us writing. By this, American
literature brings to bear all that has been said before upon the liquid
darkness of the wild. I do not argue
that it necessarily says more, only that it certainly cannot say less.
Were Ishmael not knowledgeable of this, he would not be
American. It is Ishmael’s perceptiveness
that makes him most appealing (his good humor follows closely). Ishmael is the literate, writing, and
observant man set to wander in the wild.
His has an eye for meaning and misses nothing—the mark of one well read.
Speaking of which, I have said very little about Melville’s
text. Queequeg appears in Chapter 4. One must be cautious of misinterpreting him—he
stands for much more than a bout with racism.
Ishmael sees him so:
“It’s only
his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin.”
I will say more about Queequeg later. For now, understand him simply as the
embodiment of the wild idea contained in Ishmael’s sentiment—an American idea,
though markedly Shakespearean. Queequeg
is an individual, measured only by the merit of his heart, divorced of outward
deception and flattery, existing only
when man faces the savage truth of his placeless habits. Queequeg illuminates the following reality
concerning nations:
“Whence came they? […] Go
and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and
your question will be answered. Yes; all
these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and
Indian oceans. One and all, they were
harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea.”
Establishing a new nation on this continent requires the
same. Establishing a place on this
sifting globe requires the same. Establishing
personal independence in the wilderness requires the same…or does it? Queequeg is a complex character, but most of
all he serves as a foil to Ahab. This
will come. Queequeg’s wild nature
reflects an American wilderness, not of deep forests and rolling prairies, not
of scudding mountain snows, but of the honest human heart. American authors foray into this wilderness, equipped
with the full benefit of Western understanding, stripped fully of the hindrance
of European accommodations.
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