Showing posts with label the whale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the whale. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

"Aye, aye, Starbuck, 'tis sweet to lean sometimes"

I had a glass of wine with M on Friday. I told her I was reasonably certain I had decided upon a therapist to see.
"But k," she said, "you hate shrinks."

"Not true—I never knew any." 
She asked why I had decided to see a Shrink Lady, and I told her how difficult it is to be truly close to someone. It's not so much that I hate intimacy, I said, I just don't see the point. M laughed very hard at this.

Relying upon others is very difficult. Be that as it may, even Captain Ahab could not avoid it. At the end of Moby-Dick, the Pequod chases the white whale for three days before meeting its final doom. The whale has chewed through another ship and has destroyed Ahab's leg for a second time. Ahab, finding it difficult to stand on his splintered ivory leg, relies upon Starbuck, first mate, moral hero, and only member of the crew willing to question Ahab's judgment. 
But when he was helped to the deck, all eyes were fastened upon him; as instead of standing by himself he still half-hung upon the shoulder of Starbuck, who had thus far been the foremost to assist him. His ivory leg had been snapped off, leaving but one short sharp splinter.

"Aye, aye, Starbuck, 'tis sweet to lean sometimes, be the leaner who he will; and would old Ahab had leaned oftener than he has."
Had old Ahab learned to lean, he might have unwoven the curse that overhung his head.

It is, naturally, untrue to say that Ahab depended upon no one. He needed his crew, for example. Had they mutinied, he could not have carried out his monomaniacal plan. He needed the owners of the ship to recognize his ability and entrust the ship and crew to his leadership. Etc. etc. Needing others is not the same as leaning on them. When Ahab leans on Starbuck, he—without asking—shifts the burden of his weight onto Starbucks's shoulder so that, temporarily, Starbuck bears his own weight and that of Ahab.

As he rests upon Starbuck's shoulder, Ahab seems to recognize how very different he might have been—more like Starbuck, perhaps—had he leaned oftener on others. Had he shared his burdens with friends or with his wife; had he married sooner; had he chased after human company instead of a whale that cared nothing for him: had he been otherwise, perhaps all else would have been otherwise. Ahab seems to see this and forbids Starbuck from chasing Moby Dick. If only Starbuck can be kept safe, sent back to his loving family, then perhaps Ahab can be redeemed. In the end of course, Starbuck is forever separated from his beloved Mary, and it is indeed Ahab's fault. 

So this is why I am seeing the Shrink Lady. I want to learn to lean on others before it is too late. Who knows how many others I might hurt by refusing to depend upon anyone?

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Book I have finally read*

Moby-Dick

*one does not finish Moby-Dick; one may read every word and still find it unfinished. 

what is accomplishment?

The number one obstacle to my writing here is the fact that I have not yet finished reading Moby-Dick. I am at chapter 127, about fifty pages from the end of the book, and I have not yet finished reading it. 

I haven't read Moby-Dick for weeks. Reading this book has taken me the better part of a year, and not because the book is long. I read a bit and then spend weeks or months away from it, away from the catalogs and lists and asides and reflections; away from the doomed pursuit of that awful whale. 

For months I have been imagining the blog post I will write after having finished the book: Book I have finally finished will be the title. The content: Moby-Dick. That will be the entirety of the post. Nothing to it, but the thought of writing it gives me such satisfaction. 

I both long for and dread the completion of this book. I want to have read it, to be able to say "I have read Moby-Dick." A check next to the title and I can move on to some other beautiful piece of literature. Still, I know I have not yet finished this book for the same reason I can't bring myself to read Titus Andronicus, Timon of Athens, and the rest of the sonnets--I don't ever want Moby-Dick, or the corpus of Shakespeare's writings to be complete. I want to sail in the unmolested Pequod forever, always in search of that legendary whale, my days filled with hard work alternating with peace and unparalleled beauty. I don't want to have to think of the next stage of my life off of that ship, beyond the ship, in a world in which the ship no longer even exists.

Imagine an Ahab for whom possession and dominion were not paramount. Unimaginable, I suppose. I know that, having read Moby-Dick once, I will not have possessed the book, will not have cracked it open and forced its secrets from it, will not have unwoven the rainbow and pinned its every miracle to some eternal mounting board. In a world with so many books I have not yet read, how can I avoid behaving as though this were the case? Who has the time to absorb through unpossessive rereadings and many meditations the miracles of even one book? Of even one poem, ever? 

The Pequod in which I am sailing cannot be eternal. The best I can do is to follow Ishmael and continue to re-visit the tale of Moby-Dick. Future rereadings (which I already anticipate) will never have the quality of that first voyage. The memory of that first voyage will color every future visit, adding layers of experience and sentiment and meaning. I will do well to look forward to this; I must keep Ishmael in mind: if I do not leave the Pequod, I will die thereupon.