[Note: This is a lengthy post. I hope that by sticking with it you’ll be
rewarded. If you don’t have time right
now, it will still be here when you do.]
When I read the final paragraph of Michael Powell’s “The
American Wanderer, in All His Stripes” (NYTimes, “Week in Review,” 8.24.08,
p10) a shudder ran across my shoulders. First,
I must acknowledge Mr. Powell’s courage in attempting the onerous task of
compressing the archetype of America’s picaro
or isolato into a very brief
article. This archetype includes some of
America’s fondest and most curious characters, such as Natty Bumpo, Huck Finn,
Jay Gatsby, Jack Kerouac (of the many whom Powell mentions in his review), and,
of course, Ishmael.
Powel is not so much interested in literary character
analysis as he is in tracing the legacy of wanderlust in the American cultural
personality. He cites familiar census
data to illustrate this, but I think most American families can feel it in
their bones. We are, in fact, wanderers
by virtue of our being here. With the
exception of what’s left of Native Americans and the descendants of slaves, we
all got here willfully to move away from somewhere else. For most, this became
a cultural modus vivendi— it’s what
we do and who we are. And for a few it
was and is the result of desperation. To
put it succinctly: This is a highly complex part of American human character,
which first came under scrutiny in the wake of Frederick Jackson Turner’s
proclamation that American freedom, as illustrated in this urge to roam, had
finally come to an end—the frontier was closed.
[Please bear with me.
I will be dealing with Ishmael and my shudders very soon. This is all very important background. It’s the stuff most of your literature
instructors neglected to tell you.]
American authors have tried, often successfully, to capture
the voice of this persona. Many scholars
cite Fenimore Cooper as the first to create this in his character of Natty
Bumpo, the white European who felt more comfortable among the Native Americans
than he did among his fellow encroaching Europeans—when he heard the sound of
the axe felling trees, the first sounds of settlement, he knew it was time to
move on. This sets the tone for the
American who at least seriously doubts the virtues of civilization, who openly
opposes it and willingly “plays” its true believers (cf. Melville’s “Confidence
Man” and Twain’s “Mysterious Stranger).
As Powell indicates, Jay Gatsby, literally a “self-made man”, was just
such a character, his wandering being part of the cover he needed to gain
respect from the higher social orders as well as criminals. Powell also cites this anti-tolerance for the
ways of civilization in Huck Finn’s coda to his funny, painful and ultimately dismaying
narrative: “But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the
rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me and I can’t
stand it.” What Huck, Natty, Nick
Caraway, the voices of the Beats, Ralph Ellison, Richard Wright, etc.—and
Melville—felt was that civilization American style was not an especially
humanizing experience.
So what about Ishmael and why is this relevant to the
current presidential gavotte? Last part
first, Mr. Powell demonstrates that the biographies of our current presidential
candidates fit the literary and cultural archetypes that he discusses. He
strongly implies that this neat fit will comfortably resonate across the media,
so that each candidate will have (I suppose) sub-textual identity with the
American voter. That’s my inference, be
that as it may, but the really serious issue is a deep understanding of the
Ishmael personality.
First, he is subtly duplicitous. Powel cites this, quoting the famous opening
sentence, “Call me Ishmael.” This
provides the narrator with two essentials for his purpose: a cover for his
anonymity (see Melville above) and a direct biblical connection to the
wandering son looking for his mother (Freudian scholars loved that part). Powell also cites the first part of Ishmael’s
self-characterization, “Some years ago, having little or no money in my purse
and nothing to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and
see the watery part of the world.”
Remember: This is after the fact
of the cataclysmic fate of the whaler Pequod, its monomaniacal captain and its
inter-ethnic crew. Directly after that
introduction (this part Mr. Powell does not cite) Ishmael gets us a little
closer to the truth of his life and personality, saying “Whenever I find myself
growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzily 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
[melancholia, blues] 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.” A little more severe than “nothing to
interest me on shore.”
OK. So here’s a person that most people would give a wide
berth (sorry, couldn’t avoid that). Let’s keep this picaro, this isolato
where he belongs—isolated. And now for the source of my shudder. Powell links both Obama and McCain with this
character type. And he closes the
article by quoting from Arnold Ramparsad: “The next U.S. president is going to
be Ishmael, whether we like it or not, and whether he knows it or not…Fortunately,
both Obama and McCain know that they are Ishmael.” And unfortunately, Donald Trump doesn’t know
and doesn’t care. I’ll jump the shark
here and cite Bannon as Trump’s Ahab.
Personality analysis from
literary character to living humans is a stretch, no doubt. But what if it’s
not? Ishmael learned a lot from the
trauma of his “sail about…the watery part of the world.” First, don’t trust people; don’t expose who
you actually are. Second, knowing the
dangers inherent in the “drizzily November of [your] soul,” get away from
people, at least get away from normal society’s “sivilizing” behaviors. And finally, tell your story to evoke the
greatest sympathy among your listeners.
This, then, is our choice in our
November? Hence, my shudder, which has been resurrected. If only Trump had moved on.
Addenda
Conventional wisdom among literary scholars is that the
Pequod symbolizes the world, and its crew symbolizes representative humanity
(albeit exclusively male, but that’s another long post. Meanwhile, you could read Melville’s Redburn to get an idea of his
exclusively male universe. ).
Ishmael is saved by the buoyancy of Queequeg’s empty coffin,
his memory of his soul mate, an echo of the “coffin warehouses “ of the opening
paragraph. So what we have learned is
nothing except, of course, that the threat of death is the ultimate but
unavoidable motivator.
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