Tag: celesteh

(Late Tuesday Edition)

The Spouter Inn

Most chapters of this book are quite short and seem kind of unworthy of the being rightfully called a chapter. Not 3. It goes on and on, in the manner of a proper chapter and even takes place across multiple scenes. We start inside the hotel with a discussion about a painting hanging in the entry. In the first sentence, the entrance’s wood work “remind[s] one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft.” Just to keep up the cheerful mood.
The discussion of the painting is funny and drags on at great length. Due to poor lighting and smoke stains, it’s difficult to make out and so Melville discusses several theories as to what it might depict. Finally deciding that, it “represents a Cape-Horner in a great hurricane; the half-floundered ship weltering there with its three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale, purposing to spring clean over the craft, is in the enormous act of impaling himself upon the three mast-heads.” A painting worthy of a Monty Python animation. Dark and full of doom but completely ludicrous.
The rest of the decoration at the inn is briefly discussed, all of it exceedingly non-cozy, most of it whale-killing weaponry. Then he describes how the main room resembled the inside of a troubled ship. And then, with an astonishing lack of subtlety, the barkeep is named Jonah – this also being the name of an Old Testament figure who was swallowed by a whale.
Having established this as the most alarming hotel ever, prior to the establishment of the Bates, a dramatic situation is introduced: there are no free beds. He will have to share with a harpooner. Although the introduction and the painting stuff is typically wordy, half of the reason for the exceptional length for this chapter is describing how much he doesn’t want to sleep with the harpooner. Ishmael won’t leap into bed with just anybody. Also, lest you think he’s too easy, he tells us, “I made up my mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together, he must undress and get into bed before I did.” Yes, indeed, very butch, I’m sure.
The harpooner is much speculated upon before he appears. And Ishmael comes up with some schemes to avoid sleeping with him. He planes down a bench in the frigid dining room, to sleep on it, but this turns out to be a bad idea. So he pushes the landlord for information and gets only surreal replies. “I don’t see what on airth keeps him so late, unless, may be he can’t sell his head.” I wonder to myself, what would I make of such news. Would I become frustrated and angry like Ishmael and decide the harpooner must be insane? Or would I, more likely, decide the landlord was nuts? Or would I make silly jokes about the subtext of the harpooner selling of himself? tee-hee. … Something about this exchange makes me think of Holland, for no good reason I can place. The only time I’ve had a hotel owner who seemed so insane was in Belgium and if I ever run into one like that again, I’m just going to leave.
So this mysterious harpooner is actually selling shrunken heads on the street. This news doesn’t fully mollify Ishmael. The landlord notes that it’s a very nice bed and that he and his wife slept in it on their wedding night. There’s a lot of fluff in this novel and not every phrase is necessarily going someplace. But we’ve talked about this harpooner so much as this point, he’s got to turn out to be important. And this news about the landlord having used the bed with his wife is probably intended to convey some sort of foreshadowing. Given that they used the bed on their wedding night, I think it’s fair to assume a sexual innuendo. Or maybe it’s just supposed to symbolize the beginning of a relationship.
Ishmael gets let into the room before the harpooner comes in and promptly begins snooping in all of the other guy’s stuff, going so far as to try on some of his clothes. Then he goes to bed alone, with some thought that the other guy might not be back that night. But he does. Ishmael silently watches the other guy undress and whatnot, in a scene lasting several pages. Most of these pages are talking about how weird the other guy looks and how frightened Ishamel is. The harpooner is a cannibal and this very alarming. Finally the guy gets into bed and is surprised and alarmed to find somebody else already in it and scuffle ensues. The landlord arrives and explains the situation. Both parties are happy and Ishamel sleeps well.
All of the above drags on and on across several pages. It’s amusing and sets a mood. Of waiting and expectation and finally of revealing. Ishamel is fascinated watching the other guy get ready for bed, as he lies in bed waiting. This fearfully witnessed uncovering all takes place in what’s been established as a bridal bed. Although Ishamel is constantly horrified by the strange appearance of the alien other, there’s some undertone constantly, of the very intimate nature of their situation. In another era, if one of them were a woman, this would be a scene from a love story. This implicitly has that kind of vibe.
“Cannibal” in this context, means a non-Christian from any tropical region, as far as I can tell. The guy is selling shrunken heads and he’s got tattoos and is of another race and religion, so therefore, he’s a cannibal. I don’t know if that means he must also eat people or not. Anyway, Ishamel is ready to accept him, “he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.” ‘Comely’ tends to mean attractive as in ‘hott,’ so again with the homoeroticness.
Recall further the ashes of Gemorrah, kicked aloft in the previous chapter. I think perhaps it was love that was in the air.

Alas, I am in a state of shocking internetlessness, so I’m citing no sources here. Also, god knows when and how I’ll manage to get this online. Maybe I’ll wander the streets looking for an open wifi network.

The Carpet-Bag

Ishmael wants to go to Nantucket, but missed his boat and so needs to hang around in New Bedford for a couple of days and thus needs a hotel. So he looks for the cheapest one he can find. On the way, he blunders into a storefront black church which he somehow thought was an inn. Also, it’s very icy and cold.
And then, confusingly, he goes on at great lengths about Lazarus.
The amusing bits in this chapter are mostly where he rejects hotels for being too cheery. Happy voices? Bright lights? Clinking glasses? Can’t afford it! He’s seeking out ramshackle and depressing. This is not a guy to go touristing with, although I admire his strategy. Incidentally, this is why I tend to camp when I travel. The nicest campground is cheaper than the worst hotel and generally has better showers. But poor Ishmael is stuck in an icy winter with holes in his boots, so he needs a cheap room. He heads towards the docks: to the area folks in the East Bay would call the flatlands.
“Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness . . . on either hand . . ..” Unlit streets in the dark and cold and ice. Perfect! He comes to an open door and to some racism. On his way in, he trips over an “ashbox.” Is this like an ashtray? It holds ashes, whatever it is. “Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city Gomorrah?” The book is as thick with Biblical allusions as Ishmael’s air was with ashes.
Gomorrah was an Old Testament city destroyed by fire and brimstone. Lot lived there and was a good guy. Some angels described as travelers came to see him. The townsfolk were a xenophobic bunch and demanded that Lot bring out the strangers so they could know them. Lot offered his two virgin daughters instead, hoping his neighbors would be content to rape his kids. The mob refused this and got ugly. God and/or the angels intervened (no internet means no Bible, sorry) and God decided to rain down fire and brimstone on the city and destroy it after evacuating Lot.
Ishmael continues inside and . . .

It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of Doom was beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping and wailing and teeth-gnashing there.

I’m afraid the allusion of the first sentence escapes me, except that Tophet means hell (which is ruled by black people??). The rest of it is not in alignment with modern progressive sensibilities. The preacher is an Angel of Doom, first of all. This ties in again with the Gomorrah allusion, and hardly inspires confidence in the preacher. Divine but deadly. Presumably, the “blackness of darkness” in the text refers to the pits of hell. However, the hues chosen to represent it also unfortunately reference the skin color of the worshippers. Hell, doom and Gomorrah are thus all tied to race. Being black = bad, indeed, the worst. Can you get get lower than hell? To be black is to be damned.
Ok, so backing up to Gomorrah, you may have noted that the sequence of events in the story makes no sense whatsoever, aside from establishing Lot as one of the worst parents of all time. I’ve heard two interpretations of the meaning of that story. The most reasonable one is about hospitality. Travel was dangerous in the ancient world and there were no such things as inns. So if somebody strange came to town, rather than treating them as a thief and marauder (which they might actually be) you were supposed to give them a place to sleep without overly interrogating them. God was pissed off because the citizens of Gomorrah wanted to know something about these guys before letting them. Take note: God is against border patrols interrogating travelers.
The other, less reasonable, but, alas more common interpretation of that story is that when the townspeople want to “know” the Angels, it’s in the biblical sense. Then men of the town want to gang rape the Angels, but Lot, dad of the year, offers his daughters instead and God saves him for it. Take note: God is an illogical fucker in this version. The illogical, fucker God has long been the most popular, so this version of things was the most common for quite a while. Note that Gomorrah is rarely mentioned alone, but usually also with its neighboring town of Sodom. And from this story we get the word “sodomy.”
So when Ishmael stumbles over the ashbox, his “ha ha” exclamation could be about sexual assault or it could be about danger to travelers. Given that he is a traveller, this seems more likely than “ha ha I might get raped.” However, alas, sexual otherness and racial otherness have long been popularly tied together in America. In movies, a jazz theme in the soundtrack = easy woman, for example. This expands in concentric circles of sexual impropriety as all alien others stand in for each other. Insufficient whiteness, insufficient masculinity, insufficient heterosexuality are all equivalent, so black = womanly = promiscuous = queer = gay.
So when Melville invokes Gemorrah, he’s foreshadowing on several levels. It’s a Biblical reference, so it foreshadows a church scene in general. It’s queer, so it foreshadows blackness. It’s about death and destruction, so it ties in with the hellfire sermon in the next paragraph. It’s about threats to travelers, so it creates an air of danger for Ishmael. And it’s about doom in general, so it fits with the dreary, mood of the chapter. Bad omens are coming on rather quickly.
Adding to these is the hotel he actually finds: The Spouter Inn, owned by Peter Coffin. “Coffin? – Spouter? – Rather ominous” he thinks, in case you missed it. “It is a common name in Nantucket,” he reasons, and Peter must have come from there. Thus the doom is tied not only to his present but also to his next destination.
And what of the inn? “As the light looked so dim . . . and the dilapidated little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very spot for cheap lodgings . . .” The local tourist office refuses to even list it? Perfect! But, he surmises it’s the place for “the best of pea coffee.” Is this good or bad? I don’t know. The building is “queer” and “leaning over sadly.” It’s also beaten by wind, which Melville calls “Euroclydon,” clearly a reference to something, but I’m without internet. He quotes a third party about this wind, who talks of frost windows and death, in yet another bright omen.
Melville then goes on to equate houses with bodies, “Yes, these eyes are windows and this body of mine is the house.” And thus the sorry shape of the Spouter Inn bodes ill for Ishmael, as he ties it to himself and his death. As if this wasn’t enough, he goes on to talk about Lazarus, another Biblical story.
Lazarus was Jesus’ friend, who died. Jesus was unhappy to hear of this and so revived him several days later. Lazarus came out of his tomb, wrapped up in corpse-dressings. He’s an odd character in subsequent literature. Some folks imagine that having already died once, he can’t die again and he becomes some sort of curious immortal figure, doomed to wander the earth forever. And some folks go on about his experience of having been dead, as Meliville does here, imagining how cold he must have been.
So after a lot of ice and frozen and cold and dead going on for a few paragraphs, we rather get the point and then some. He’s starting to be ridiculous. It harkens back to the very first page of the book, in the first paragraph, “whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses . . . I account it high time to get to sea . . ..” For the love if god, get on a boat, man! Stop your pausing in front of coffin stores or coffin inns! And so, with some self awareness, the last paragraph of chapter two begins, “But no more of this blubbering now, we are going a whaling, and there is plenty of that yet to come.” I love this sentence.
“Blubber – [noun] the fat of sea mammals, esp. whales” and “Blubber [2] – [verb] (informal) sob noisily” (both from the Oxford American Dictionary). Yay puns. The “plenty yet to come” has play on the word “blubber.” A smart, ‘stop your whining and get on a boat and get to work.’ But also a foreshadowing of doom ahead.

It’s the, um, late edition! My plan is to look at a chapter a week. Maybe two in some weeks as there are 135 chapters. None of them are especially long. This book is in the public domain, by the way and can be read at google or downloaded from many websites or purchased from a bookstore, etc.

Chapter 1 – Loomings

“Call me Ishmael.” It starts with what it probably the shortest sentence in the entire book. It’s an introduction, in every sense of the word. The book is really conversational. Bloggy almost, with it’s wild digressions and occasional bizarrely misinformed informational treatises.
As for the first chapter, Wikipedia summarizes, “In Chapter 1, ‘Loomings’, Ishmael introduces himself. With a mixture of chattiness, seriousness, and humor, he speaks of his temperament, the call of the sea, and contends that every man wants at least once in his life to leave the land behind for the ocean.” This summary touches on something of a theme in the book. The book is supposed to be allegorical, and employ symbolism and whatnot, which would seem to imply a universally applicable message of some kind. There’s a continual striving for universality that becomes apparent from the start. It’s not enough that Ishmael wants to set sail. This desire must be universal. Every man must want to set sail. That is ‘man’ as in masculine, not ‘man’ as in some sort of generic term for human. He’s only willing to extend his universality so far.
He starts by saying he wants to sail and then goes on, “If they
but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or
other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the
ocean with me.” He comes up with more and more spectacular and dubious examples of a desire for ocean voyages: people go to the beach, therefore, they yearn for the sea. Until the presence of water in landscape paintings must also mean that men want to head out on a boat.

But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest,
shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic
landscape in all the valley of the Saco. What is the chief
element he employs? There stand his trees, each with a
hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within ; and
here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle ; and up
from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant
woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping
spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But
though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-
tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd’s
head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed
upon the magic stream before him.

In other words, landscape paintings are crap without water scenes. Therefore, I want to take a boat. Melville needed a blog.
This highly suspect reasoning starts to seem like a straining for justification. It’s not just a flight of fancy for me to want to do this. Everybody wants to do it. Therefore, it’s reasonable that I should do it.
He carries on in his chatty tone to overly explain why he wants to go as a crew member and not a passenger – want of cash, largely. And finally just ascribes his desire to go whaling in particular as fate, “Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage
managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of
a whaling voyage,” I can say why whales are cool. Which he does, and then the plot-part starts in chapter two.
So chapter one mostly functions to introduce the narrator as a highly literate schoolmaster/sailor who likes to go on at length. And it sets up the tone of the novel. Funny, poetic, sometimes silly, but seeking of universal truths. Looking, almost, a bit too hard for them.