Kristóf, Bâ, and 62 stories (Thoughts on Books 1-3 of the #TBR20 Project)

I’m five weeks into my #TBR20 project to read 20 books I own before buying more. So far, on my own shelves, I have found a novel trilogy masterpiece, a remarkable feminist novel of late 70s Senegal, and a collection of essential literary short stories.

kristof 3 volume

1/20: The Notebook (tr. Alan Sheridan); The Proof (tr. David Watson); The Third Lie (tr. Marc Romano) by Ágota Kristóf (Grove Editions, 1997)

I bought this volume of three novels on 5th February this year, along with Seven Terrors by Selvedin Avdic. Guardian articles inspired both purchases: the Avdic thanks to Nicholas Lezard’s review, and the Kristóf thanks to a piece by Slavoj Žižek on the wonder of the ‘authentic ethical naivety’ of the twin boys in the novel.

In 1956, Kristóf left her native Hungary because of revolution and settled in Switzerland, where she wrote the three short novels of her trilogy in French in 1986, 1988 and 1991. They tell the story of twin brothers who adapt to survive in an occupied country. The first, The Notebook, was released in the UK this year by CB Editions and is a perfect standalone work of strange, sparse and fable-like beauty. But reading the second and third feels like watching the author coldly dismantle her creation layer by layer, until the lies at the heart of it are laid bare. Together, the three works form a remarkable and bleak enquiry into truth and story. By the end of The Third Lie, Žižek’s ethical naivety has been discarded, but the merciless authenticity remains.

ba so long a letter

2/20: So Long A Letter by Mariama Bâ (tr. Modupé Bodé-Thomas) (Heinemann African Writers Series, 1981)

I bought this slim little Sengalese book a few years ago. I have a dim memory of seeing it on a blogger’s list of feminist novels and being attracted to the title. Only 95 pages long, it takes the form of Ramatoulaye’s letters to her closest friend as she deals with the aftermath of her husband’s death. Her husband had taken a second wife shortly before he died, and she must navigate the complexity this has created in her grief. For such a short work it feels densely populated, teeming with the narrator’s family, friends and acquaintances (a particularly vivid character is her friend’s mother-in-law, who schemes for years to demolish her friend’s position in the family). The letters are eloquent and powerful expressions of grief, acceptance and the strong belief that women are owed a better place in society.

heath antho

3/20: The Heath Introduction to Fiction (5th ed), ed. John J. Clayton, (DC Heath & Company, 1996)

This book is an out-of-print edition of an American college anthology of 62 classic short stories from the 1800s to mid 1990s. Various editions of the anthology seem to sell for about £30 online, but I got my copy for £2.50 in a Glasgow charity shop several years ago.

It’s a great selection, ranging from anthology classics such as Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, Chekhov’s The Lady With The Dog and Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants, to contemporary writers new to me such as Toni Cade Bambara and Susan Minot. It also contains thoughtful essays on how to read and write about fiction, genuinely useful notes on each story and short biographies of each author from the editor John J. Clayton.

There are too many highlights to mention (it really is a superb selection) but I was particularly pleased to discover Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Sharer. I was also gripped by Stephen Crane’s The Open Boat. Sea stories are my catnip, apparently.

There are also now several collections I want to buy – particularly Pale Horse, Pale Rider by Katherine Anne Porter. Her story The Jilting of Granny Weatherall is just stunning. I’m also interested in reading more by Tillie Olsen, as I have a particular interest in fiction by working class writers, women especially.  I’ll also read more Flannery O’Connor as soon as I can (I love her novel Wise Blood and this anthology included A Good Man Is Hard To Find). My only gripe about the anthology was that I could find no mention of the translators of translated pieces. A baffling omission.

Reading Short Stories

The Heath anthology was an ambitious choice for my third book of the project, not least because I would never normally contemplate reading so many short stories close together – particularly stories held up as great examples of the form. A great short story detonates perfectly in the mind, clearing a blast site in which nothing else can grow for a time.

Incidentally, this is also why the notion that short stories are ideally suited to busy modern lives is nonsense. Stories require full concentration for a single sitting, the length of which is determined by the story itself; require the reader to tolerate a heightened level of ambiguity and allusion in a form that is not simply a short piece of prose; and require immersion again and again in singular visions afforded only by a glancing pass.

A great short story is not the convenient tidbit of literature. It shines, hard and glittering, and is left alone in favour of the soft, friendly cloth of a popular novel. I wouldn’t be without those novels (or my favourite TV boxsets), but short stories are a different form entirely.

I realised last weekend, despite the difficulties of reading a large quantity  of short stories, that I very much wanted to continue to spend time completely engaged with short fiction. This would have value both as a reader – many of my best reading experiences have been with short stories – and as a writer, since I am working on stories of my own.

I decided to commit to spending the rest of #TBR20 reading short story collections. You can see a photograph of the books I’ve chosen here. I’m a little anxious that a short-fiction fatigue will creep up on me. But mostly I’m excited to be dedicating almost three months to reading and studying the short story.

The Rules

The only unbendable rule of #TBR20 is that you will read 20 books you own before buying more. The rest is up to you. Check out this great post from @An1081 setting out her rules for the project and showing us the 40 – yes, 40! – books she has picked. She has committed to separate paper and ebook #TBR20 projects. I am in awe.

Join In

Take part via the hashtag on Twitter at #TBR20 or in the comments below. Check out my update post from Sunday 7th December for a photograph of my short-story TBR pile and links to other TBR pile pics from the lovely folk taking part on Twitter. Since that post, @maudie43 also tweeted a great pic of her 20 books and @AshleyJStokes posted a pic of the first book he completed.

If you’ve decided to join in, I’d love to hear about it. What have you chosen to read?

#TBR20 Project Update: The Books I’ll Be Reading

In early November 2014 I began a project to read 20 books from my To Be Read pile before buying any more. There is now a group of us taking part on the #TBR20 hashtag on Twitter. I’ve had great fun over the past few weeks getting a look at the stack of 20 books others have chosen. Check out these TBR book pictures from @AggieHH, @poppypeacockpen, @A9ri – and here’s an ebook selection from @An1081. There is something very satisfying about seeing these (and, as @AggieHH put it, oddly consoling).

I’d avoided committing to a particular 20 so that I had more flexibility about where my reading mood might take me, but this evening I’ve decided to take the leap. So far I’ve read two novels and my third book, which I should finish in the next few days, is a short story anthology of 62 classic short stories. I’m getting so much out of reading the anthology that I have decided to read short stories for the rest of the project.

In no particular order, the remaining 17 books of my project will be:

2014-12-07 19.40.35


The only rule of #TBR20 is that you must read 20 books you own before buying more. The rest is up to you. I’m avoiding library loans, too. Some of us are picking out the books in advance, and others are choosing as they go. If someone gives you a book as a present, that doesn’t count as a breach of the rules (unless, of course, you have browbeaten a friend into buying it for you because you feel that desperate for a new hardback. If you’re doing this, you’re a hopeless case and #TBR20 probably can’t help you).

Join In

Follow the #TBR20 hashtag on Twitter or give me a shout in the comments – I’d love to hear your thoughts on the project. If you’re taking part, let me know what books you’ve picked.

The TBR20 Project: Taking A Break From Too Many Books

Some of the short story collections I own and haven't read.

Some of the short story collections I own and haven’t read.

I own too many books. I rent a one-bedroom flat in Glasgow and I have: a cupboard full of books; a separate bookshelf full of books; and a chest of drawers upon which are piled several piles of books. There is no more space. Volumes wash up like driftwood on all available surfaces of the house. Paperbacks, acquired on holiday and unpacked from my case. An impulse buy or three in Waterstones. A stack of bargains bought second hand.

Most of the books I own are unread. But most of what I’ve read in the past five years is still there too. I enjoy re-reading, both in full and in part. Perhaps a scene or sentence I read comes back to me months later and I return to relive the memory. Or perhaps I identify a problem in my own writing and I remember I’ve seen it solved somewhere, that I followed another writer as she breathed life into the very thing I’m trying to do.

I am also a slow reader. I am slow partly through disposition (the sentences! the world unfolding! my own pace, taken!) and partly through time constraints. I work full time. I write, I exercise. I attend political meetings. I’ve a modest but happy social life and an enthusiastic desire for sleep. And I really do like to see my boyfriend now and again.

Some of the unread novels lurking in my flat.

Some of the unread novels lurking in my flat.

In the first week of November this year I decided, not for the first time, that I needed to stop buying books for a while. I needed a project or a detailed resolution. A thing like this isn’t undertaken lightly, you understand. You can’t just think ‘Oh, I just won’t buy books’ and then it happens. It goes deeper than that. It needs some sort of apparatus to make it stick.
This time, though, I was stuck. I’d tried everything before. I thought about the time I’d promised myself I wouldn’t buy books for the entire year. That had failed in the first week of February. Later I’d resolved I wouldn’t buy any books for a month. That had failed, too. What about only buying a certain number of books a year? What about only buying one book a week? What about setting a budget? Failed, failed and failed.

I wasn’t looking to change because of money. I’m lucky enough to be able to spend what I like on books (I average £50 a month). It wasn’t even really about the dwindling space, although reminders of that were becoming hard to ignore. I like reading on an ereader – I could have switched completely to digital reading. I could have hidden it from myself.

What had crept up on me as the books gathered on all available surfaces of my house was that it all seemed to be driven by some kind of anxiety. I was serving some need that was nothing to do with finding new reading material. A nervous habit. A way for the mind to jitter without meaning. I was, I worried, using book buying the way I might tap a pen or bite my nails.

Like all anxieties it had mortality at its root. Aside from the instant gratification of buying something new, what I bought had a certain intent. I was buying what I wanted to have read. I was always looking for the next thing, the next great thing that would mean everything.

You couldn’t devise a surer way of disconnecting from literature and stories. When I took a moment away from hunting for books and sat down to read, sure, the connection eventually flooded back. But I was aware of the wrench of attention it required.

It’s easy to buy the books you want to have read. It’s less easy to read them.

It turned out that this was exactly the way I needed to think about it. When I mentioned on Twitter that I really needed to stop buying books, @An1081 tweeted to say she’d considered reading a certain number of books she already owned before she’d permit herself to buy more. A good, large number, she thought. It immediately made sense to me. I think I’ll make it twenty, I said.

This is what I hadn’t appreciated before: instead of focusing on what I wouldn’t do or how I would limit myself, I should be focusing on what I would do: reading the books I have.

I opened my books cupboard. My eyes roamed past the non-fiction on the shelves to the great stacks of novels and short stories I had accumulated. I knew I wanted to stick to reading fiction for this project. I picked up a volume containing Ágota Kristóf’s three twin trilogy novels: The Notebook, The Proof and The Third Lie, which I had bought in February.

I tweeted that I had committed to a project to read 20 books I own before buying more. Adopting the usual online books acroynm of TBR for the To Be Read pile, I decided to give the project a name on Twitter: #TBR20. Others began to join in. Too Many Books, it seems, is the common plight of the bibliophile.

This week Jonathan Gibbs (@Tiny_Camels on Twitter; his excellent blog here) picked up the idea and tweeted about it. He tweeted about it on Black Friday, that strange day of bargains and riot-shopping that has only recently gripped the UK. It seemed apposite.

Borges wrote that he imagined Paradise would be a ‘kind of library’. Thanks to #TBR20 I am sitting quietly at one of the broad, well-lit tables in the reading room, rather than dashing madly about the shelves.

Join in
Join in on Twitter with the hashtag #TBR20. At the moment the participants are: me (@evastalker), @AggieHH and @JacquiWine, with a few more hoping to join when they can. I’m on book 3/20 at the moment and reckon I’ll hit 20 by April 2015.

Strength in simplicity! One rule: I will read 20 books I own before buying more. I’ve decided to include avoiding library loans since I was as guilty of loaning more books than I could read as I was of buying them. I’ve made an exception for one library book a month, though, so I can take part in my book group. I’ve also decided to focus on paper books.

Next up on the blog
In about a fortnight’s time I’ll post some thoughts on my experience of #TBR20 so far and what I’ve been reading as part of the project.


I blogged here from May 2012 until early 2013, writing mostly about books and culture. My book reviews are here. From September 2012 to January 2013 I wrote a weekly series about reading the classic American novel Moby-Dick with the Moby-Dick Big Read project.

You can get in touch with me by email at eva.stalker (at) gmail (dot) com or on Twitter: @evastalker.

the third person

Finally I sit down and write in my notebook that when he calls me either he will then come to me, or he will not and I will be angry, and so I will have either him or my own anger, and this might be all right, since anger is always a great comfort, as I found with my husband. And then I go on to write, in the third person and the past tense, that clearly she always needed to have a love even if it was a complicated love.

From Story by Lydia Davis from her first collection Break It Down (1986).

The Moby-Dick Big Read: Chapter 135 and The Epilogue

The twentieth and final weekly post on reading Herman Melville’s classic American novel a chapter a day with the Moby-Dick Big Read daily podcast.


Storyboard sketch by Stephen Grimes, the Art Director for John Huston’s 1956 film adaptation of Moby-Dick.

Yesterday, the Moby-Dick Big Read uploaded the final chapter of the book. This morning we were given the Epilogue, and all of a sudden we had finished reading Melville’s wonderful, perplexing, thrilling, and beautiful book.

The Big Read has been a fantastic success, clocking up over a million downloads so far and receiving media coverage across the globe.  Since news of the project caught my imagination back in September 2012, I have been posting weekly about my experience of reading the novel with the Big Read’s recordings.

Over the past five months my posts have grown into something like a personal travelogue of my adventure through my first reading of Moby-Dick. I was also pleased that it turned out to be a handy guide for other Big Read listeners, especially those who were curious to know more about the identity of each reader.

I wrote my posts in the ready, untidy spirit of a keen reader encountering the book for the first time, determined not to worry too much about how I might come across, or what mistakes I might make.  I wrote in the hope that this approach would at least chime with the irreverent, democratic nature of Melville’s book and the Big Read itself. It has been a wonderful experience.

The Readings

Note: Spoilers! If you have not yet read the ending of Moby-Dick, be aware that I discuss parts of it below.

Chapter 135: The Chase – Third Day, Read by James Naughtie. Artist: Stephen Grimes

BBC broadcaster Naughtie lends his Scottish accent to the final chapter of the book. The reading clocks in at nearly 33 minutes. What a remarkable piece of writing.

As with my posts about the first two days of the three-day chase that closes the novel, I don’t want to spend too much time analysing everything that went on here, because my own experience this time round wasn’t like that. I was aware on a basic level that there were a lot of statements and actions that tied into the key themes of the novel, and in awe of Melville’s mastery of action and suspense in this final stretch, such that even though he effectively set out the fate of the Pequod’s crew long ago in Chapter 41 (quoted below), I was still swept along by the narrative, still urging the men to deflect Ahab from his purpose.

Here, then, was this grey-headed, ungodly old man, chasing with curses a Job’s whale round the world, at the head of a crew, too, chiefly made up of mongrel renegades, and castaways, and cannibals—morally enfeebled also, by the incompetence of mere unaided virtue or right-mindedness in Starbuck, the invulnerable jollity of indifference and recklessness in Stubb, and the pervading mediocrity in Flask. Such a crew, so officered, seemed specially picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac revenge.

I was also waiting to see what would happen with Fedallah, and how his strange prophecy would come true (that after death he would appear before Ahab again before the captain could die). I had thought to myself ‘oh, so we’ll see him dead at one point’ but boy, did we see him dead!

The moment when the Pequod sinks and the sea-bird is dragged down with it was almost hallucinogenic. It has burnt itself into my imagination like some key iconography I had known and forgotten, rather than a scene I have just read for the first time. Incredible.

Chapter 130: The Epilogue, Read by Mary Oliver. Artist: Gary Hill

The recordings began with Tilda Swinton asserting Call me Ishmael and end with another woman’s voice, this time esteemed American poet Mary Oliver, delivering us our narrator’s final segment. It is a short piece, not a page long. We learn where Ishmael has been in the scenes he has just narrated at such a distance, and how he was the lone survivor of the Pequod. The final line seemed beautifully judged, resonating with the great isolation of the men aboard the ship throughout the book, and of American individualism, and the solitary soul that each of us has. I won’t quote it here – to read it again, click here.

I’d urge you to check out the artist contribution to this chapter, a video titled Isolation Tank by Gary Hill. It is superb, perhaps especially good when you have the ending of the book in mind. Once you have watched it, learn more about it here (I recommend you watch it before you read about it).

The Epilogue is headed with the following quote which did not appear in the recording:

‘And I only am escaped alone to tell thee’ – Job

Job is referenced throughout the novel (including in the excerpt from Chapter 41 I quoted above) and is clearly a key text for Moby-Dick. I haven’t fully explored this yet, but what it did speak to for me is the curious (and much-discussed) nature of ‘Ishmael’ as a narrator. The narration of Moby-Dick is rather odd and slippery. Often the entity that told us Call me Ishmael seems to see things ‘Ishmael’ could not have seen and know things he could not have known.

Interestingly, in the Biblical story of Job, four different messengers say the line at the top of the Epilogue. They each say it to Job, who is being tormented by illness and misfortune as a test from God. That number agrees with the four broad categories of point of view in Moby-Dick: first person where we are certain it is Ishmael, a more distant first person that seems to be Ishmael, third person, and the chapters written as though they were a play. What’s also interesting is, as Prof. Patell points out, if Ishmael is the messenger, we must ask ourselves: who is Job?

The Delbanco introduction in my copy of the book also describes how Ishmael starts off as a rather fixed character, full of opinions and views borrowed from others, until the experience of loving Queequeg broadens his mind and seems to dissipate him into the world, such that as the figure of Ahab assumes primacy towards the end of the novel Ishmael is barely there. The Epilogue brings him back in full, first-person voice –  and it is set in italics in a good print version, which sets it visually apart from all other parargraphs of prose in the book. My impression of this is that it seems to set apart a new Ishmael, united as one mind again but as a markedly different person than he was in the Loomings of Chapter 1.

The Voice Of Doom (a.k.a. Peter Donaldson, the lovely man who introduces each chapter of the Big Read)

It occurred to me that I hadn’t yet written about a key voice we have been hearing all through the Big Read: Peter Donaldson, that pleasant voice you hear intoning Moby-Dick or The Whale, by Herman Melville plus the chapter number and title at the beginning of each recording.

When I Googled him, I found out that he is a retired Chief Announcer of the BBC. The ‘Voice of Doom’ bit comes from the fact that in the 1970s the UK Government decided to record a message that would play over the radio in the event of nuclear war. They chose Donaldson to make the recording. When the press found out, he was dubbed the ‘Voice of Doom’. Rather fitting for a novel as dark as Moby-Dick, don’t you think?

The BBC has made an excellent little short segment about some of the people behind voice announcements, which you can see on YouTube. This is where I found out about Peter Donaldson. Zeb Soanes, who read Chapter 101 of the Big Read, is also featured. And you get to hear a wee bit of that nuclear war announcement (known as the Four Minute Warning).

The First Pursuit: On Reading Moby-Dick

I have a personal to-do list connected to the novel now that I have finished reading it for the first time. I want to see films of it, the John Huston one to begin with. I’d like to read a graphic novel version. I want this Melville Mug. I want to read Bartleby, the Scrivener. I want to go whalewatching. I’d love to visit Nantucket. I want this t-shirt. And I want to read Melville’s masterpiece again and to experience it at my own reading pace. And then I want to read it again and again, picking out different parts each time, deepening my reading of it.

For me, my first experience of Moby-Dick was: bones and sharks, fatal flaws and tragedy, breathtaking images and beautiful prose, roaring dialogue. A haunting awareness of the unknowable. And, of course, it was the White Whale, all other whales, philosophy and fate, elusive narrators and handsome cannibals. It was also technology, the whaling industry, its prows and lines, a fascinating novel of the workplace. This last, despite the fact I often failed as a reader to fully submit to what Melville is thought to be doing with Ahab, casting the working American man as tragic hero. Often, I was too bewitched by Melville’s acute eye for human nature, and rather oddly found myself using another, more contemporary American outlook – modern psychology and therapy – to describe the Pequod’s captain (he’s a narcissist! his crew are enablers!).

I do have some appreciation of where the novel stands in American culture, from reading about and absorbing the novel over so many months and having read, as soon as I finished the Epilogue today, the excellent Andrew Delbanco introduction in my UK Penguin edition of the book. I also loved an essay by Greil Marcus that I found online (especially what he says about Ishmael meeting Ahab for the first time).

Like any great book, Moby-Dick opens up its time and culture when you study. Melville was deeply engaged in writing about his America in the book, a land still thrilled by the possibilities of new identities and riven by industrialisation and racial tension. I’m also aware that events in the book were partly inspired by the real-life sinking of a whale ship called the Essex, which I would like to learn more about. A great book often opens up other literature, too. Investigating the intertexts for Melville’s great work soon leads you to Shakespeare and the Bible, a healthy smattering of classic myth and no doubt many other sources I have not yet detected.

But I must also remember to sometimes set aside study, theory, and the countless other ways in which time can be spent thinking about Moby-Dick, in favour of sailing through the great territories of its heart by reading it. I agree with Delbanco:

For anyone who has experienced Moby-Dick, it is a privilege to introduce it to another reader – but a privilege that is abused if extended much beyond the invitation. As Melville says of the sperm whale’s brow, ‘I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can’.

Visit to listen to the readings. Warm thanks to Angela Cockayne, Philip Hoare, the readers, the artists, and the entire Big Read team. Congratulations to all listeners who made it this far and thank you to those who took the time to comment here on my blog. It means a lot.

If you have enjoyed the recordings as much as I have, please consider making a donation to the project’s chosen charity, Whale & Dolphin Conservation.

The Moby-Dick Big Read: Chapters 128 to 134

The nineteenth of my weekly posts on reading Herman Melville’s classic American novel a chapter a day with the Moby-Dick Big Read daily podcast.


Here we are in the final full week of the Moby-Dick Big Read! Tomorrow the last chapter, Chapter 135, will be uploaded. Then, on Tuesday, 29th January 2013, a reading of the Epilogue will complete the project.

This week’s readings have brought us to the penultimate day of the three-day chase of the White Whale, two long chapters of action, rage, terror in Melville’s vivid prose. We’ve also been up close to the emotions of the men on board, from the grief of Pip and despair of Starbuck to further insight into the violent throb of Ahab’s obsession.

My favourite image this week is the above photograph 80deg north by Alex Hartley which accompanied Chapter 131. I love its intimate glimpse into the off-kilter world of being at sea.

The Story This Week

The Pequod meets the tragedy-stricken ship the Rachel (128). Later, we see more of the relationship between Ahab and Pip (129). The captain surveys his ship, inscrutable under the brow of his hat, until a sea-bird swoops and flies off with it (130). The Pequod then meets another beleagured ship: this time, the Delight, who has had a terrible encounter with the White Whale (131). Peaceful weather leads Ahab into a lament about his life (132). At long last, the crew of the Pequod give chase to Moby Dick (133 & 134).

The Readings

Chapter 128: The Pequod Meets the Rachel, Read by Alice Herrick. Artist: Gavin Turk

English artist Alice Herrick, who also contributed art for Chapter 104, reads this chapter where the Pequod meets Nantucket ship the Rachel. The Rachel has recently lost men in a whale hunt, including the captain’s son. The captain, whom Ahab knows, beseeches him to join the search for the missing crew. Ahab refuses.

Like its Biblical namesake, the Rachel has lost its children. The last line of this chapter (‘She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not’) closely follows a line in the King James version about the Biblical woman Rachel in Matthew 2:18.

Chapter 129: The Cabin, Read by Rev. Nick McKinnel. Artist: Darren Lago

Read by Plymouth church rector and Anglican Bishop of Crediton, this chapter is a sad account of Ahab and Pip. The first line describes a a moving moment when Ahab walks off and the little boy ‘catches him by the hand to follow’. But Ahab asks the boy to stay safely below deck as the hunt of Moby Dick draws near. The short chapter closes with a somehow creepy image of the sea seeming to crowd into Pip alone in the dark cabin.

Perhaps Ahab really does have the boy’s safety in mind, but mostly he appears to be carefully tending to the flame of his obsession. He tells the boy:

The hour is coming when Ahab would not scare thee from him, yet would not have thee by him. There is that in thee, poor lad, which I feel too curing to my malady.

Over at, Prof. Patell draws out the way Melville has modelled Ahab and Pip on King Lear and his fool in Shakespeare.

Chapter 130: The Hat, Read by Diana Speed. Artist: Graham Day

BBC radio announcer Diana Speed lends her professional voice to this account of Ahab and his hat. The mood on board the Pequod takes a very solemn turn in this chapter: ‘all humor, forced or natural, vanished’. Ahab watches his crew unstintingly now, inscrutable beneath the brow of his hat. There is also a change in Fedallah, who has an ‘added, gliding strangeness’ and, for all he seems to influence and guide Ahab, the power balance is made clear in this chapter: ‘Ahab seemed an independent lord; the Parsee but his slave… For be this Parsee what he may, all rib and keel was solid Ahab.’

Ahab takes it upon himself to keep watch, impatient to see the White Whale. He instructs Starbuck to hold his safety rope, which seems a curious choice given the horrible tension between the two men. Looks like Ahab sees clearly that he will get his way aboard this ship.

Ishmael takes a moment, sounding more like Ishmael of old, to step in and tell us about the use of ropes to secure sailors in their perch. Basically, the rope securing the sailor has to be especially watched ‘Because in such wilderness of running rigging, whose various different relations aloft cannot always be infallibly discerned by what is seen of them at the deck’. A treacherous situation known to anyone who has ventured into the tangle of cables at the back of their telly and managed to unplug the wrong thing.

When Ahab is ‘perched aloft’ he is attacked by a bird that wants his hat. It succeeds in plucking it from his head and flying off with it, leading to one of my favourite images in the book:

Ahab’s hat was never restored; the wild hawk flew on and on with it; far in advance of the prow: and at last disappeared; while from the point of that disappearance, a minute black spot was dimly discerned, falling from that vast height into the sea.

Ishmael details the symbolic significance of this, referring to an incident in Roman history where a man became king after an eagle stole then replaced his hat. No such luck for Ahab.

Chapter 131: The Pequod Meets the Delight, Read by Daniel Allen. Artist: Alex Hartley

I can’t track down this reader – as always, get in touch if you can help out!

The Pequod meets the Delight, a Nantucket ship that has recently hunted the White Whale and was nearly destroyed by it. For me, the skeletal imagery used about its splintered boats like the ‘half-unhinged, and bleaching skeleton of a horse’ has echoes of Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner again (a more explicit reference has already been made to this in Chapter 52: The Albatross).

While still in the gam with the Pequod, the Delight begins disposing of the bodies of its men killed by Moby Dick by throwing them overboard. Ahab suddenly sees that his own ship will be polluted by this action and urges the Pequod to sail on. However, ‘some of the flying bubbles might have sprinkled her hull with their ghostly baptism’.

Chapter 132: The Symphony, Read by Cerys Matthews. Artist: Martin Thomas

Welsh singer/songwriter Cerys Matthews, of Catatonia fame, gives a heartfelt, moving reading of this remarkable chapter where Ahab is nearly overwhelmed by his existence and his past.

A spell of good weather sends him into bleak contemplation. I loved the imagery here, of Ahab against the clear blue sky and the idea only man can become old, compared to the ‘immortal infancy’ of the world. Ahab weeps, and Starbuck goes to him. He tells the first mate he is weary and desolate, and ‘intolerably old’. He thinks of his wife and son at home. Starbuck is deeply moved: perhaps Ahab has a ‘noble soul’ after all! Once more, he urges the captain to turn back. But the glimmer of hope is dashed. Ahab closes up and will speak only now of fate, and how he must hunt the whale. Starbuck is ‘blanched to a corpse’s hue with despair’.

Although the twisted and broken captain is sad, this whole sequence exacerbated my own lack of sympathy for the Pequod’s captain. All of the moments in the novel where he shows compassion or feeling, as here, only makes his narcissistic, relentlessly damaging behaviour more grotesque.

He seems all ego, brittle and propped up on this demented quest that he has given himself. It is especially telling that, thinking back over the privation of 40 years at sea, he exclaims: ‘for forty years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep!’

Except: the war is in his mind. Although his job is a difficult one (and often profound, if we listen to Ishmael) framing it as war, – that theatre of grand epic and noble heroes – says more about Ahab than his profession. He seems caught in an ego trap, a ‘throwing good money after bad’ situation. It seems that if Ahab were to abandon his quest now, his ego could not sustain it. Perhaps because then, he’d only be a sad, old captain who should have returned home long ago.

I wish Starbuck would act against the captain, but his passivity seems as fated as Ahab’s deadly monomania.

On a lighter note, I don’t understand what’s happening with Ahab’s hat. Specifically: he has one again, despite losing it to an angry sea-hawk in Chapter 130. I guess he came prepared with more than one hat, but that makes the fact he lost one a bit less dramatic, don’t you think?

Chapter 133: The Chase – First Day, Read by Kerry Shale. Artist: John Chilver

A consumate reading from Kerry Shale, who lends his professional talents as an actor and voice artist to the thrilling first day of the hunt. These are three chapters I have been most tempted to rush through in one sitting, at my own reading pace. However, they are, of course, also the three most suited to the once-a-day schedule, each being set on one of three consecutive days!

There is so much in this chapter: frenetic action, meaningful interactions between the men, remarkable imagery and description, aphoristic wisdom. However, I want to keep my thoughts on it brief today, since this is an account of my own first reading, and my first reading of this chapter was very much focused on the sheer thrill and suspense of the hunt.

It is Ahab who spies the whale. The doubloon, which he nailed to the mast (Chapter 36) for a reward to the man who first spotted his nemesis, is now Ahab’s own. The ship gives chase. Soon the captain is engaged in close battle with Moby Dick, who tears one of their boats in two with his jaws before powering away from them. The chapter ends with the men keeping watch for his spout and biding their time till the next morning. Ahab promises gold once again to the man who next raises Moby-Dick.

The descriptions of the white whale here, especially when it curls up out of the water from below Ahab’s boat like a nightmare, are breathtaking.

There is a footnote in this chapter that isn’t in the recording. It comes after ‘vindictively tossing their shivered spray still higher into the air’ and you can read it here (scroll to the bottom for the text starting ‘Note: This motion…’).

Chapter 134: The Chase – Second Day, Read by Roger Allam. Artist: Sean Landers

Another excellent professional reading, this time by English actor Roger Allam doing a superb American accent. I recognise him as Peter Mannion MP from UK comedy The Thick Of It, but he has had a long and successful career on stage too. The art that accompanies this reading is Around The World Alone (The Gloucesterman) by Sean Landers, which was used in a lot of the promotional material for the project.

Another thrilling day of the three-day hunt of Moby-Dick. Again, they battle the whale and Ahab is injured – his false leg is shattered. Starbuck, whom Ishmael notes ‘thus far had been the foremost to assist him’ helps steady his captain. Ahab makes an angry comment about having such a ‘craven mate’ … but claims to have been referring to his body in relation to his spirit.

After the whale has escaped again and the men have recovered from the chaos (‘the wild simultaneousness of a thousand concreted perils’), the men see that Fedallah is missing. He cannot be found. Ahab is distressed, but carries on. He also reminds Starbuck that he will not be deflected from his fate, and says the ugliest thing about himself:

Ye see an old man cut down to the stump; leaning on a shivered lance; propped up on a lonely foot. ‘Tis Ahab—his body’s part; but Ahab’s soul’s a centipede, that moves upon a hundred legs.

Ugh. An image more suited to an 80s body horror movie than Ahab’s supposedly noble quest. The chapter ends with dusk falling and Ahab keeping watch for the morning. Ominously, he recalls that the Parsee prophesied he’d be seen again before Ahab could die. The captain is baffled by this and vows to get to the bottom of the strange, conflicting information.

There’s an extra sentence in my paper copy of the book compared to this recording. In my edition, when Ahab is back on board after the encounter with Moby-Dick, after he says ‘… I account no living bone of mind one jot more than me, than this dead one that’s lost’ he says this:

Nor white whale, nor man, nor fiend, can so much as graze old Ahab in his own proper and inaccessible being.

Visit to listen to the readings. On Tuesday 29th January 2013 I will post about my experience of listening to the final two readings. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

The project organisers ask that any donations for the Big Read go to the Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society. Visit the WDC  webpage here.

like a piece of knitting

I think I write with the blood that goes to the ends of my fingers, and it is a very sensuous act. For that reason I could never learn to write what I think of as real writing with the cut-and-paste on the computer because I have to have a whole page in front of me that I wrote, like a piece of knitting.

A. S. Byatt, The Art of Fiction No. 168 at the Paris Review.

The Moby-Dick Big Read: Chapters 121 to 127

The eighteenth of my weekly posts on reading Herman Melville’s classic American novel a chapter a day with the Moby-Dick Big Read daily podcast.


This week I’d like to point you to The Final Pursuit, the closing ceremony of the Moby-Dick Big Read. It’s taking place in Plymouth, UK on Tuesday, 29th January. I’m gutted I won’t be able to make it – it looks like it’s going to be a great night! Find out more about the event here.

I’d also like to point you towards a recent BBC radio interview with Big Read co-creator Philip Hoare. At the time of writing it’s still available to stream online (skip to 12 mins 50 secs). When asked his thoughts on the book, he had this to say:

The sheer folly of human hubris that we invest an animal with a sense of evil when animals act according to instinct. It’s only man that acts according to evil. That’s the key point.

I was also thrilled by an article that has been doing the rounds on Twitter. Scientists have discovered living bowhead whales who they suspect are up to 200 years old. That is: they were around before Melville wrote Moby-Dick. Incredible.

One more piece of Moby-Dick trivia from Twitter: check out this random German boardgame from 1962, complete with a box depicting a creature that looks nothing like a sperm whale!

The image above is Three Made Places, 2005 by Antony Gormley and Peter Clegg. Gormley is best known as the creator of the Angel in the North. Six life-sized sculptures also mark out the Leith Walk in Edinburgh. Read more about his collaboration with architect Peter Clegg here. In the context of Moby-Dick, I like how Three Made Places involves man shaping meaning out of a blank whiteness.

The Story This Week

Stubb and Flask chat as they lash the anchors at midnight in bad weather (121). Tashtego lashes a sail and wishes the thunder would stop (122). The weather takes a turn for the better and Starbuck goes below deck to inform Ahab. The captain is asleep and Starbuck thinks long and hard about the loaded musket hanging outside the door (123). The next morning, the Pequod crew discover that the storm has affected the needle of the compass. Ahab fixes it (124), then decides to measure the ships progress with the log and line. He also befriends Pip (125). A sailor falls overboard and is lost. The life-buoy sinks when it is thrown to him, so they make a new one out of Queequeg’s coffin (126). Ahab speaks to the carpenter about it (127).

The Readings

Chapter 121: Midnight – The Forecastle Bulwarks, Read by Robert Fearns. Artist: Marcus Coates

UK artist Robert Fearns gives a slow-paced reading of Chapter 121. After Ahab commands Starbuck to lash everything on the ship, we see Stubb and Flask lashing the anchors and speculating about their captain and lightning rods. Their talk is as irreverent as always:

“Why don’t ye be sensible, Flask? it’s easy to be sensible; why don’t ye, then? any man with half an eye can be sensible.”

“I dont know that, Stubb. You sometimes find it rather hard.”

“Yes, when a fellow’s soaked through, it’s hard to be sensible, that’s a fact.”

Chapter 122: Midnight Aloft – Thunder and Lightning, Read by Max Goonetillake. Artist: Colter Jacobsen

A young boy’s voice for a great reading of the shortest chapter in the book, complete with thunder sound effects. I supect Max is related to Sam Goonetillake, Big Read co-creator Philip Hoare’s brother-in-law. Tashtego is grumpy about having to lash sails in the middle of the storm. He’d much rather have some rum.

This chapter seemed to me quite cinematic, a brief flash to activity elsewhere on the ship.

Chapter 123: The Musket, Read by Nick Ryan. Artist: Philip Hoare

Composer Nick Ryan reads this amazing, tense chapter. Also: today’s image is by project co-creator Philip Hoare!

Starbuck goes below to inform Ahab that the weather has taken a turn for the better, and the scene takes on a psychological thriller hue, when he realises that the harmful old man is asleep and the musket hanging outside his cabin door is fully loaded. An anguished monologue follows, as Starbuck wrestles with the idea of ending the problem of Ahab.

A basic, eternal dilemma: kill one to save many? I felt there was a commentary about Christianity here too, especially where the narration mentions that the crew ‘tamely suffers’ their evil captain. I wanted Starbuck to do it.

Chapter 124: The Needle, Read by Stephanie Boxall. Artist: Tessa Farmer

Not sure who this reader is, but it’s a nice reading of a dramatic scene involving Ahab. The bad electrical weather has turned the ship’s compass to the opposite reading. The sun lies astern and it is early morning – and although the sun must be in the east, the ship is sailing the opposite way. Weirdly, only Ahab notices.

… every soul was confounded; for the phenomenon just then observed by Ahab had unaccountably escaped every one else; but its very blinding palpableness must have been the cause.

Instead of sailing east toward the White Whale, the Pequod was in fact fleeing homewards. Ahab, however, can fix the compass, impressing the men (this is narrated in a rather critical way):

One after another they peered in, for nothing but their own eyes could persuade such ignorance as theirs, and one after another they slunk away.

In another moment that seems to chime with thoughts on Christianity from the last chapter, we then see Ahab lit up with fatal pride.

Chapter 125: The Log and Line, Read by Sheila Snelgrove. Artist: Theo Jansen

Sheila Snelgrove is Director of the Barbican Theatre, Plymouth, and reads this chapter for us. Despite the fact it is rotted from disuse, Ahab decides to use the ‘log and line’ to measure the Pequod’s progress. See for lots of information and imagery on this nautical tool.

The most interesting thing for me in this chapter is that Ahab takes poor little Pip under his wing, lamenting the cruelty of the gods and wishing the boy had had a better life. A different aspect to Ahab, one that I had forgotten when urging Starbuck to kill him in Chapter 123. I wonder what Ahab sees himself as. But, although his compassion for Pip is moving, it is almost grotesque on the background of the larger risks he is taking with his entire crew.

Chapter 126: The Life-Buoy, Read by Paul Minot. Artist: John Wood & Paul Harrison

I’m not sure who this reader is. As always, if you know please do get in touch! It’s an excellent, well-paced reading.

After the crew is troubled by strange, human-sounding cries – Ahab explains that the men have heard the seals on the nearby rocks – a sailor falls overboard and is lost to the sea. It turns out the ship’s life-buoy is as rotten and useless as its ‘log and line’ in the last chapter. The men determine that a new one should be made, but the only suitable item on board is Queequeg’s coffin (the one he had made back in Chapter 110). The symbolism is obvious and troubles the men. It also makes the carpenter, charged with refitting the coffin for its new purpose, really grumpy. He’s sure that the job is beneath him, ‘a cobbling sort of business’. His entire reaction is really humourous (and also irritates the troubled Starbuck, who ‘goes off in a huff’.

I enjoyed Ishmael’s account of how sailors feel about seals:

… most mariners cherish a very superstitious feeling about seals, arising not only from their peculiar tones when in distress, but also from the human look of their round heads and semi-intelligent faces, seen peeringly uprising from the water alongside. In the sea, under certain circumstances, seals have more than once been mistaken for men.

In Scotland (in common with Faroese, Irish and Icelandic traditions), there is folklore about seals. They are known as selkies and are thought to shed their skins to assume human form on land. The stories told about them are dark and dreamlike: of lovers who disappear back into the sea, or who are trapped on land by men who steal their skins.

Chapter 127: The Deck, Read by Tom Thoroughgood & Cyrus Larcombe-Moore. Artist: Antony Gormley & Peter Clegg

According to this New York Times article, 12-year-old Cyrus is the youngest reader in the project and Tom Thoroughgood is his teacher. I wonder if Cyrus also contributed the image for Chapter 107?

We learn that Ahab is troubled by the idea of a life-buoy being made of a coffin, and also by the fact the same man who made his new leg will be the one carrying out this strange work. Ahab muses oddly about a dead body sounding of nothing in a coffin, and the chapter ends with a soliloquy from him. He muses on the carpenter, and how the man’s hammer ticks like the clock of time. before turning to Pip to seek wisdom. He declares: ‘I do suck most wondrous philosophies from thee!’

Back in Chapter 117, Ahab sought prophecy from his man Fedallah. This behaviour of Ahab, the leader and tyrant seeking wisdom from a select few he brings close to him, reminds me of historical figures who kept confidants, and of contemporary successful figures who swear by self-help gurus or keep astrologers on their staff. Ways, it seems to me, of finding assurance when you’re isolated at the top. It is troubling that Ahab has chosen a man whom none of the crew trust, and a boy made mad by the sea.

Visit to listen to the readings. I’ll post my thoughts on chapters 128 to 134 here on Sunday, 27th January 2013. I’ll then post my experience of the final two readings on Tuesday, 29th January 2013.

The project organisers ask that any donations for the Big Read go to the Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society. Visit the WDC  webpage here.

The Moby-Dick Big Read: Chapters 114 to 120

The seventeenth of my weekly posts on reading Herman Melville’s classic American novel a chapter a day with the Moby-Dick Big Read daily podcast.


This week, we have seen a lot of Ahab and his man Fedallah, and there have been several vivid, fierce passages that key into this novel’s obsessions with religion, fire, fate and prophecy, culminating in the the thrilling events of Chapter 119: The Candles. As we enter the last few weeks, I’ve found myself enjoying the engagement with the themes and symbols that have emerged. And, since we’re into the seventeenth week of readings, I took the time to go back over passages of the novel to contemplate what I know of Ahab, our multi-voiced narrator Ishmael and all the main characters of the ship. There is just so much going on in this book that the more I read of it, and the more I think about it, the more it opens up new avenues of thought and detail, even on a first reading.

The haunting image above is Horizon Line by Sarah Chapman, which accompanied the reading for Chapter 120 (I think this is the same Sarah Chapman who is Arts Director for Plymouth Arts).

The Whale and Dolphin Conservation charity also tweeted a gorgeous photograph of a group of sperm whales at sea taken by Eric Cheng. There is a whole series of these photos – you can see 20 of them at X-ray Mag here. Several of them are of groups of whales, which reminds me of the ‘caravan’ of mothers and calves in Chapter 87.

The Story This Week

The Pequod sails into good weather (114). They meet successful Nantucket ship the Bachelor, but Ahab refuses to socialise with the happy crew (115). The Pequod makes four whale kills shortly afterwards. (116). Ahab’s sleep is then disturbed by unpleasant dreams (117). Ahab measures the ship’s latitude and thinks about fate and the limits of science (118). The crew have a tormented time during a thunderstorm, coming close to mutiny (119). Later, Ahab refuses to listen to Starbuck about the day-to-day running of the Pequod (120).

The Readings

Chapter 114: The Gilder, Read by Tom Maryniak. Artist: Rosie Snell

UK artist Tom Maryniak reads this short chapter where the Pequod is sailing in good weather in Japanese waters. Ishmael makes the ‘dreamy quietude’ of the sea into a domestic scene, seeing the relaxed seamen ‘like hearth-stone cats they purr against the gunwale’. Even Ahab is affected by the peaceful mood, but it also spurs him to a tormented monologue about his quest. He talks about the ‘warp and woof’ of the threads of life, an image that has been used in Ishmael in previous chapters and by Melville to describe the nature of his large, digressive novel.

Also, every time sharks are mentioned in this book I find the imagery beautiful. Here, Starbuck mentions ‘the teeth-tiered sharks’.

I’m not sure what the title of this chapter means. I see online that a gilder was a craftsman who applied an overlay of gold or gilt to materials. Perhaps Ishmael is simply playing on the way the seamen overlay their happy, pleasant ‘land-like’ feelings onto the ‘remorseless fang’ of the ocean in this chapter.

Chapter 115: The Pequod Meets the Bachelor, Read by Stormy, Josiah and Nathaniel Mayo. Artist: Tanya Kovats

This chapter is read by a father and two sons from Provincetown in the US. The Pequod meets Nantucket whaling ship the Bachelor, which has been phenomenally successful at sea and is practically overflowing with sperm oil. Its crew form a ‘rejoicing drama’ that displeases Ahab, bound as he is in the bleak tragedy of his own ship. The two ships part ways, the Bachelor sailing merrily before the breeze, the Pequod in the opposite direction against it.

Why does Ahab have a vial of ‘Nantucket soundings’ (i.e. the sand collected when measuring the depth of the water) in his pocket? My assumption is that it a ritual or superstition for him, but I’d like to know more.

Chapter 116: The Dying Whale, Read by Jenny Cuffe. Artist: Tony Oursler

Chapter 116 is read nicely for us by BBC presenter Jenny Cuffe. This late stretch of the novel increasingly shows Ahab on stage and we’re seeing much more of him than we did in the first part of the novel. Its well known that Melville is heavily influenced by Shakespeare – that elaborate dialogue, the bawdy jokes – and we’ve seen the conventions of drama lifted directly into Moby-Dick several times now, complete with stage directions, the monologues and so on.

If it was written purely in a prose narrative, I’d feel somehow that Ahab is far too talkative for the sullen, impenetrable monomaniac he is meant to be. However, his speech is best recognised as dramatic monologue and soliloquy within the novel.

In Chapter 116, despite Ahab’s negative attitude, some of the good fortune of the Bachelor seems to have rubbed off on the Pequod: the crew kill four whales. One of these is slain by Ahab, and he watches its death throes. Ishmael tells us that when a sperm whale is dying, it is observed turning its head sunwards. The Pequod’s captain finds an intense, new wonder in this and speculates on his own relationship with the sea and death.

Chapter 117: The Whale Watch, Read by Dr Routledge. Artist: i-DAT

Reader Dr Chris Routledge is a writer and academic based in Liverpool who is collaborating with Margaret Guroff of the Power Moby-Dick website to create a new print edition of Melville’s novel. See their Kickstarter funding page here.

This is an excellent, creepy section where Ahab’s sleep is disturbed by dreams of death. He seeks counsel with Fedallah (‘the Parsee’), who prophesies for him. Ahab concludes that he is ‘Immortal on land and on sea!’ since Fedallah says ‘Hemp only can kill thee’. Surely, thinks Ahab, he can only mean the gallows? The reader is not so sure.

Ishmael describes Ahab’s groans in sleep as ‘like the moaning in squadrons over Asphaltites of unforgiven ghosts of Gomorrah’. My Penguin edition of the novel informs me Asphaltites is another name for the Dead Sea. And, of course, Gomorrah is a Biblical reference, one of the cities of vice consumed by God in fire.

I loved the spooky descriptions in this chapter: the back of the dead whale in the water at night; Ahab and Fedallah like ‘the last men in a flooded world’ and more beautiful shark imagery: ‘the sharks, that spectrally played round the whale, and tapped the light cedar planks with their tails’.

Chapter 118: The Quadrant, Read by Horatio Morpurgo. Artist: Volker Eichelmann

English writer Horatio Morpurgo reads this chapter. A quadrant is a device used to measure latitude – see for a concise history and image of it. We get more insight into the Pequod’s captain as he takes his measurement. In a pathological, narcissistic way, he turns everything back to himself and his quest: even the sun is wanting because it cannot tell him everything about his own situation. As Ahab rages against the world, Fedallah, who had been kneeling passively at his captain’s feet, reacts:

As the frantic old man thus spoke and thus trampled with his live and dead feet, a sneering triumph that seemed meant for Ahab, and a fatalistic despair that seemed meant for himself – these passed over the mute, motionless Parsee’s face.

What exactly has brought Fedallah aboard the Pequod? A fascinating, cryptic moment.

Chapter 119: The Candles, Read by Mary Martin. Artist: Colin Crumplin

Another Provincetown resident reading here: this time musician Mary Martin. Regular blog readers will know I’m especially fond of chapters where readers add their own sound and music – here, the recording opens with notes from a ukelele and Martin sings Stubb’s determinedly jolly song. It’s a confident, nicely paced reading, too.

Events aboard the Pequod in The Candles seem to echo the cultish events back in Chapter 36, The Quarter-Deck, where Ahab swears in his crew to the hunt for Moby-Dick by having them drink from the upturned socket of a harpoon. It feels like an important set piece in the book, as all the crew are brought together to witness Ahab’s behaviour during the storm.

A hair-raising thing happens to the ship: corpusants, or St Elmo’s Fire. This is an electrical weather phenomenon that lights up the tips of metal objects with a blue, flaming glow or ‘coronal discharge’. It is sometimes seen on the wing tips of aeroplanes as well as ships at sea.

I was a teenager in the 90s, raised on a diet of The X-Files, the UFO craze and countless shabby books of conspiracy theories, ghosts and strange phenomena, so I quickly realised I read about this before (for similar reasons, the whale burning in Chapter 96 brought to mind spontaneous combustion). There’s really thorough information on How Stuff Works about it – interestingly, neon lighting works on the same principle of electric charge. And Wikipedia mentions that it features in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, where it is meant as a negative sign.

The Pequod crew certainly don’t react positively to it. This is a remarkable scene, where the men are lit up in the enchanted glow of the ‘corpusants’. Tashtego’s teeth appear ‘shark-white’ and Queequeg’s tattoos burn ‘like Satanic blue flames’.

And we find out the cause of Ahab’s significant, disfiguring scar which Ishmael described so thoroughly in Chapter 28: he was injured during a religious ritual. Not a Christian one, but Zoroastrian. Prof. Patell has an excellent post on what’s going on in this chapter here.

Ahab is sure that the flames of St Elmo’s Fire light the way to Moby Dick. His harpoon is suddenly set alight by the flames and, terrifying the men on board, Ahab sets a foot on the back of Fedallah and roars a monologue to his worship of fire. The crew are appalled. In a desperate, futile moment, Starbuck is moved to grasp his captain by the arm and urge him to abandon his voyage. Ahab refuses, saying that his men are bound to the hunt of the White Whale, then raises the harpoon and blows out the flame.

As in the hurricane that sweeps the plain, men fly the neighborhood of some lone, gigantic elm, whose very height and strength but render it so much the more unsafe, because so much the more a mark for thunderbolts; so at those last words of Ahab’s many of the mariners did run from him in a terror of dismay.

Chapter 120: Toward the End of the First Night Watch – The Deck, Read by Novar Cane. Artist: Sarah Chapman

I couldn’t track down the details of the reader of this snippet of a chapter, where Starbuck has another exchange with his captain about the upkeep of the Pequod. Unlike Chapter 109, where the first mate managed to convince Ahab to attend to the ship, here the old man refuses to grant his request. He orders instead that everything aboard be lashed tight.

My copy of the novel informs me that Ahab’s use of ‘gluepots’ here refers to parsons, i.e. people who marry or ‘glue’ people together, and I think he means it as a derogatory term aimed at his crew. Also, where he talks about his ‘brain-truck': when I hear the word ‘truck’ I automatically pictured a British lorry, then realised that didn’t make sense (although I quite enjoyed the deranged image it evoked). Ahab is referring to the wooden discs fixed high to the rigging of the ship.

I quite liked Ahab saying ‘hooroosh’. It sounds almost Scottish, like some hybrid of stooshie and stramash. Interestingly, the definitions offered for ‘hooroosh’ are close to the meaning of those words. My Penguin edition of the novel reckons it means cries of triumph and excitement; powermobydick lists it as a confusion or agitation.

Visit to listen to the readings. I’ll post my thoughts on chapters 121 to 127 here on Sunday, 20th January 2013. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

The project organisers ask that any donations for the Big Read go to the Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society. Visit the WDC  webpage here.


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