Book 113: The First Chapter.

I finished reading the first chapter and scribbled notes furiously until I could come and write a post. I don't think I have ever stopped myself after just one chapter to jot down my thoughts, but the words in the beginning of Moby-Dick were just so...powerful I felt the need to share my thoughts from the beginning.

I need to share the opening paragraph. From the first sentence, it is perfection:

"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. 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."

I love the passion Melville manages to portray from the beginning. He doesn't lead the reader on with pointless exposition, but instead shows us the power of the sea from the beginning. After all, we know the story is about the great oceans from just the title. But to capture the call and the beckoning of the sea to a character in such a beautiful way...I just love it. When he says, "I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can," I can feel that passion, not that I love the sea. But I see it similar to the way I view words, books, and reading. There are times when I crave comfort, so I run and grab my copy of Leaves of Grass and fall into it. I can understand that passion, and Melville evokes it right from the beginning.

I also love the mystery and aura Melville strikes into the heart of his readers with that first line, "Call me Ishmael." I have always heard that line and thought it an odd choice to open, but I can see how it fits, just pages into the novel. We are seeing the very soul of a man from the first page. It is honest and open in a way that many novels are not.

This beginning chapter also shows the reader that at times, there are many things greater than ourselves. We have desires, passions, that call to us and don't let go until we give way. As a reader, I saw that in Ishmael from the beginning. He feels a call to go to the sea, to look into its great depths and be comforted by whatever he may find there. The important thing, however, is that he has the desire and urge to go. And I know that Melville is talking about more than just the sea, but also about American destiny at this time period.

In the 1800s, Americans were pushing westward, exploring the dark places of the map and moving. If you really think about it, those early Americans and those who were born here, have the trait of exploration. It took guts to leave the known world behind and travel somewhere new to explore vast wildernesses. And the sea is still a wilderness to many. So not only is Melville commenting on the urge for Americans to continually discover, but also on the mysteries of the sea.

I find this whole beginning inspiring. I just want to sink further into the depth of Melville's words and see everything as he, and Ishmael, describe it to me. I, too, want to go to the sea and breathe in the salty air. It has sparked that adventurous spirit within me, and I cannot wait to see where Melville takes me.

Book 113: Moby-Dick and Book Stats.

Title: Moby-Dick, or The Whale
Author: Herman Melville (1819-1891)

First Published: 1851

My Edition: Penguin Classic (at right-and I want to just say that I really do adore that cover. It seems so powerful, doesn't it?)

Pages: 654

Other Works Include: Typee (1846), Redburn (1849), Piazza Tales (1856), Timoleon (1891), Billy Budd (1924-discovered by his biographer in 1919)

I have been craving a book I can sink my teeth into. Most of my reading over the summer months has been limited to short books that I have been finishing in 1 or 2 short sittings. But now that fall is here, I really want a book I can dive into and absorb over a week or two.

I have been curious about Moby-Dick since I was in college. For one of my favorite college English classes, we had to read Typee. My professor was very adamant about why he chose that novel over Moby-Dick. He didn't want people to drop the class when they saw the reading list. Even so, there were many of us wary of reading Melville. We all knew him as "that guy" who wrote about "that whale." And the first line of this novel, "Call me Ishmael," is legendary. Melville is just one of those intimidating writers we all hear about somewhere and form preconceptions about without actually knowing anything about them!

But, I ended up loving Typee. I remember thinking that Melville really had a gift with stringing words together effortlessly. His writing was just beautiful. Even with that positive experience, however, I haven't given Melville a second chance.

I suppose he is getting that now. And while I am a little worried about reading a book about a whale, I know that the story is more than that. Melville was writing during a fascinating time in American history, and I know that part of that American spirit is captured in this. I also tend to love books dealing with the sea and voyages. Some of my recent reads (Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Treasure Island) have spurred that bit of adventurous spirit within me, so I certainly hope Melville and ol' Ishmael up there are up for the challenge. :)

Who has read this one? thoughts?

Book 8: My 5 Fish to His 2 Fish.

My paternal grandparents had a cottage in the northern part of the lower peninsula of Michigan, which has been passed on to my dad and his siblings. When we were younger, my grandparents would take my two older brothers and me up there with them all the time. Going up for a weekend trip with grandma and grandpa was always a treat, especially when we stopped at West Branch for McDonald’s.

There was one weekend in particular where I went up alone with Grandma and Grandpa during the summer (or everyone else was on their way and I just can’t recall at the time). I was young, maybe 6 or 7, but it is one of the most vivid memories from those years up there with them.

The cottage is on Otsego Lake, which is rather shallow, and as we jokingly say now, devoid of fish. Way back then we had better luck fishing and often caught big keepers off the end of the dock. On this particular trip, Grandpa and I decided to go fishing off the end of the dock.

Somehow I had managed to catch three fish to his two, when I snagged another fish and reeled him in. In the dim twilight I remember watching my grandpa trying to get the hook out of the fish, but the fish had swallowed it. Grandpa decided to go around to the garage to get a pair of pliers and left me in charge of watching the fish and his line.

While Grandpa was gone, I lowered my fish back in the water and watched him swimming a few inches from the surface of the lake. As I was watching my fish and neglecting my grandfather’s line, I saw a dark shadow approach my fish and linger. Squinting even closer, I realized it was another fish that had come to visit my victim. Instead of swimming away, the fish stayed right by my own fish, keeping him company.

Realizing that I could catch yet another fish, I lowered my grandfather’s line into the water slowly and wriggled the worm in front of the new fish. He grabbed on and by the time my grandpa came back from the garage with the pliers, I had two fish on the line.

After that night, I always teased Grandpa about being a better fisherman because I had caught 5 fish compared to his 2.

Now, you are lucky to catch one fish in that lake and usually it’s too small to keep.

I say all this knowing that I am diving into Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. It is a famous fishing story, perhaps not as epically huge as Moby Dick, but still about a man chasing a dream to catch the monster of all fish.

And as I read about the old fisherman and his battle with the marlin, I’m also going to think about my own grandfather, the fisherman and all those lessons her taught me before he passed away. I have many memories of him, and each memory is as strong as the one I have from that night, but not as touching.

He got down on the dock right beside me to look at the two fish I had caught—the one with a hook in its stomach, and the one who came to keep him company—and said,

“You cheated. You stole my line when my back was turned!”

The next time I went fishing with him, he made sure not to leave his pole untended and told me that even though I out-fished him that night, I would never have the chance to do it again.

And I never did.