Melvillophilia

So today in World Lit II, we did Billy Budd, Herman Melville’s final work of fiction.  It is the maritime (duh) tale of an angelic young sailor named Billy Budd (duh #2) whose untarnished innocence attracts the ire of seasoned ship’s mate, Claggart. Biblical allusions abound (duh #3).  But what sets Billy Budd - and so much of Melville’s work - apart from, well, everyone else’s is its idiosyncrasies. 

Not content to simply tell a tale of good v. evil, Melville inserts commentary, historical context, philosophy, random digressions about other sailors, and ties the whole thing up with a ballad full of lies (yes, lies).  In fact, by the end of the story, the whole notion of reality itself has come into question, and the story’s unnamed narrator has begun to doubt the veracity of the very tale he’s telling.  He confesses to not understanding the motivations of the characters and instead offers suppositions and hypotheses as to why Claggart so hates Billy.  Billy Budd explores the proto-modernist idea of the unreliable narrator, but Melville takes it even further: the narrator doesn’t even trust himself. 

And keep in mind that these characters – Billy, Claggart, the unnamed narrator - are all creations of Melville’s imagination. 

So brilliant.  So ahead of its time.  So plain weird.  

And I haven’t even begun to discuss the language.  Take a look at this sentence, setting the mood for the day of Billy’s execution:  “A meek shy light appeared in the East, where stretched a diaphanous fleece of white furrowed vapor.”  What human being writes like that?  And this isn’t even Melville on all cylinders. 

For that, come back tomorrow. 

CAIN (65,507-90,000 wds)