Monday, June 19, 2017

June Reads Part Two

Stone by Adam Roberts
Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Oh Adam. Recently, I read somebody describe him as an "overachiever" and nothing in his entire life will ever better describe him. Stone is one of his early novels, showcasing his fascination with individual criminals and their hapless journeys through time and space. Where his later novels feel to be a bit more focused, Stone, like Gradisil, jump all over the place and let Adam indulge in his ability to toss out as many science fictional/fantastic ideas as possible. Where Gradisil meandered, Stone has a more classical narrative hook: whodunit? Who has employed the protagonist to murder an entire planet? Unfortunately, the middle bits aren't quite as tight as I think the narrative would like you to believe. After escaping an inescapable jail (a classic Roberts overachieving trope), the protagonist wanders from planet to planet, being pushed over the edge of sanity by the existential question of who and why? She visits multiple one-dimensional planets, the kind of stuff Star Wars traffics in: a planet under constant drumming of rain; a planet composed mostly of mountains; an oceanic planet with "land" being stiff fossilized plant material. While the ideas are always fascinating (what would a planet be like if it never stopped raining?), they didn't feel integrated into the overarching narrative. The protagonist's emotional arc, if what transpires could even be dubbed such, purposefully waffles around, finally reaching resolution in the final stretch, but getting there is a bit of a chore. This and Gradisil might be my two least favourite novels by Adam, and even then, the two are enjoyable, readable, clever. Perhaps I just prefer Adam's more abstract novels of his present career.

And so, in the year of 2017, I struck another tome off the Bucket List of famous novels to tackle in my lifetime. I worried I would abandon Moby Dick quickly as its reputation had me believe the novel is difficult, digressive, impenetrable, with difficult archaic language. While these attributes are definitely true, they didn't hinder my enjoyment or even my usually speedy pace. From the very beginning, I was enthralled with Melville's absolutely genius manipulation of language. Reading the Wikipedia page, a place to start to harvest critical works to consume later, critics have observed Melville's internalizing of Shakespeare's use of language with great success. While my knowledge of poetics and linguistics is amateur at best, even I can appreciate the lexical magnanimity and poetic dexterity sublimated from Shakespeare: lots of addresses, rhythmic interjections, asides, and similes, of which there seem countless. At first, I attempted to mentally note when similes were grounded in metaphors of the earth, such as when Ishmael would compare whales to mountains or the sea to plains. But as the production of similes seemed cornucopic and endless, I lost track. Part of my inability to keep it all in my head was Ishmael's adoration of digressions. The novel feels almost rhizomatic in its efforts to understand the whale in its totality—leaping from subject to subject, handling the aspects within and switching to without immediately. This is intentional, no doubt, as Ishmael never really "conquers" understanding the whale, just as the crew of Pequod never conquer the whale. Whatever the whale symbolizes, and I'm not convinced it can be reduced to a one-to-one analogue as with similes, this purposefully escapes the grasp of its cast and crew. The barrage of similes never seem to amount to a full cognizance, as if Ishmael is quixotically tossing as many as he can in a strenuous attempt to capture the whale through words, mirroring Ahab's monomaniacal quest. The language, even in non-narrative chapters, when Ishmael is digressing, is always a treat to read, making the "boring" parts pleasing. In fact, much of the digressions are wholly fascinating, not only as a glimpse into whaling but through Ishmael's wondrously evocative language. I was never bored by Moby Dick!

Anybody who was "willing" to listen to me during the time it took me to read this novel was forced to hear my praise for Moby Dick as the best horror novel ever written by a non-horror writer. Melville imbues everything with this overwhelming sense of malice and malevolence, an almost mystical evil from the very beginning. There's two bits which will stay with me for all time: how Melville describes two glasses of booze in the beginning, as if the glasses themselves were warped by the very world; and the moment with a shark eating its own intestines only to have them spill out again. I'm finding a lot of how the dialogue works reminiscent of Joyce Carol Oates, frankly; how people stutter and exclaim reminds me so much of her characters struggling to articulate themselves. I shouldn't be surprised by how much of a shadow this casts over American horror, but I was taken aback by how horrifying the whole thing is. The novel is surprisingly gory for a 19th century one, though this shouldn't take readers aback as the practice of hunting whales is inherently violent. Melville describes so poetically the waves of blood rushing from whales, the innards spilling with a splash onto the deck of the Pequod. Another great moment features a man tumbling into a hole bored in a dead whale's decapitated head, only for the head to plummet into the sea. Ishmael describes how Queequeg leaps after the fallen head with sailor entombed, and deploys obstetrical language to convey the man's escape from the sinking jail of whaleflesh.

I kept exclaiming to my partner how surprised I was at myself for making it so far into the novel. They kept replying, "but aren't you enjoying it?" and of course. Even with my critical eye merely skimming against the surface of this abyssal novel, I was overjoyed. I'm excited to dive into the critical corpus built around the novel. I've got my eye on a couple anthologies of essays available at my university library. There's so much in the novel, it risks overwhelming the reader with sheer quantity of detail, but there's a pattern, a plan in place which is discernible, apprehendable.

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