"I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb." - Herman Melville, letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne, 17 Nov. 1851. Correspondence, vol 14, The Writings of Herman Melville, ed. Lynn Horth (1993).I was asked by a friend what I thought about Moby-Dick: did I find it hard to read? Well, I said, it is somehow very nineteenth-century, but that's nothing - it's an amazing book. Why ask? I was curious. Then my friend told me about a debate surrounding two competing German translations of the work; one is very difficult but "close" to the original, the other a freer rendering but more readable. Which one was better? Fellow translators in Germany seem to favor the latter more. Why?
The discussion seemed to pool around the mixing of styles, my friend explained, especially in the voice of Captain Ahab. The joining of high diction and low, using Biblical rhetoric and Shakespearian talk along with the language of sailors, and -
- Wait a minute, I said, what Shakespearian talk? Well, all the Thou arts and Thees, my friend replied.
Oh no. Problem. That was not Shakespeare's talk, it was Nantucket's. Nantucket dialect in the 19th century was peculiar in this respect, retaining that archaic style. Ahab wasn't the only one to use Thees and Thous; the whole damn town did that. Several characters in the book, and in real life as well. This is no secret; Melville comments on this trait, mentioning the source of that peculiarity in the process:
"The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation." -Moby-Dick, ch. XIV "Nantucket"
Hardly Shakespearian, and hardly restricted to the voice of Ahab.
What does this mean? What does it mean, that translators never picked up on the speech pattern, so clearly marked, of a community? Were all these translators stupid? I don't think so. Did every one of them skip this chapter? I hope not. What I suspect is that Ahab's voice drowned them out. He is a singular character, so striking and overwhelming that they listened to him and forgot entirely about all the others who had used similar words before him.
You may be wondering why I'm so worked up about this issue. For one thing, I love Moby-Dick; there's good reason why it's still around. A pet peeve of mine is when people - especially critics, who should know better - knock the book for being a stylistic failure. How can they say that? Ahab talks one way in one scene, another way in another scene. So it's artistically wrong to portray a complex character?? My friend related this from the online discussion about it, and I couldn't believe my ears. A work of art exists for its own logic, not the expectations of critics. I hate that presumptuous attitude.
Another thing I hate is seeing widespread misunderstanding when it simply needn't exist. As seen above, there is proof positive that one claim of the debaters is unfounded. If that passage weren't enough, all they need to do is read the other characters who speak in the same way.
Before you think I'm being arrogant here, you're only half-right. I'm chiding myself and them equally. I make the same errors, which is probably why I get so irritated when I come across this sort of thing.
That mixing of styles, my friend continued, doesn't that seem post-modern to you? Then, responding to that very question, added: The same thing happens in the Persian Letters by Montesquieu. And in Robinson Crusoe there are those interminable descriptions of the guy growing corn, or building a hut! Isn't that post-modern too? So the technique isn't so new after all.
Right. And I'm not sure what counts as post-modern, nor do I think we can clearly tell what would really distinguish the period as such. We're too close to it. We may think we know it, and we should certainly try to articulate that perspective, but I don't really believe we have the clearest eye on ourselves - precisely because we are caught up in it. A hundred years from now, historians may carve up the 20th century into three periods, or five, or whatever. Or post-modernism might be replaced by some other term that captures the essence. But our opinions will still be valuable to them; for they will be able to know how we saw ourselves, and can see just wildly wrong we were.
Moby-Dick was not a literary success when it was published, my friend said, or in Melville's lifetime. I would chalk this up as evidence that we do not know our own time. None of us. What works will last as masterpieces? If Melville's own generation did not recognize the genius of that wicked book, and if they were as human as us, can we truly say we have a clearer self-estimate?
In my opinion we are as deluded as any generation has ever been, maybe even more so. For an age when we profess to be more pluralistic and inclusive, we sure do act arrogantly. In honor of being so humble in our self-estimate, we honor ourselves still more. We know better, we judge more fairly: that's quite an honor. Progress goes forward, we learn from our mistakes. It doesn't take long to poke and prod the semblance before the usual suspects come reeling outbetraying our unstated belief that we are the bearers of truth, over and above our predecessors.
Is this new? Hardly. I dare say it's the human condition. My take on this soon to come.
(Image ably nicked from www.whalecraft.net/
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