I'll Keep My Eyes, Thank You Very Much

Last year, when I completely lost my mind and elected to take a poetry workshop, I read a really lovely book by Thomas Lux, called The God Particles. Lux is a smarty-pants, and kind of a rock-n-roll type poet, judging from his handsome cover photo. I had a crush on him--a literary crush--which means that my mind plays a weird trick on me where I want the author to like me, so I make sure I really understand and respond well to his work in case we ever meet (and in my mind, we do meet, and I am unbelievably charming and well-versed). It's twisted, but it's true.

So you can imagine my dismay to read his poem titled, "Eyes Scooped Out and Replaced by Hot Coals," where he writes:

"that the eyes shall be gouged out
and replaced by hot coals
in the head, the blockhead,
of each countryman or woman who,
upon reaching his or her majority
has yet to read
Moby Dick, by Herman Melville (1819 - 1891), American
novelist and poet.

Um. (ashamed whisper): I haven't read Moby Dick. That's bad, and I know it. It makes me a blockhead. Thomas Lux claims it merits the forfeit of both my eyeballs. MD is pretty much widely recognized as one of the most important things that ever happened to human words and human brains. I get it.

I just never had a clear sense of what the book was about. I knew that there was a whale; I knew that there was a guy named Ishmael ("Call me Ishmael," I say, whenever someone mentions the novel, because I was told once that that is the first line, and I hope saying it will keep the person from asking me straight up, "Have you read Moby Dick?") and there is a Captain Ahab (I think?); and I knew that I should never, in any of my graduate classes, or in life, on pain of death (or getting my eyeballs scooped out) admit that I hadn't read it.

But a New Year is on the horizon, and I don't need to carry all this baggage and guilt into 2010. (By the way, are we going with "twenty-ten" or "two thousand and ten"? I like the poetry of the latter.) So, I'm reading Moby Dick. I'm on page 21. Do you hear that Thomas Lux? Leave me my eyes!

You know what? I already get why the book is kind of a big deal. It's funny. I just finished the scene where Ishmael, stuck in an over-crowded inn, has to share a bed with a stranger, who just happens to be a harpooner named Queequeg, a cannibal and seller of embalmed heads. So, there you are, with poor Ishmael, hiding beneath the sheets when Queequeg comes in from a busy night of selling his shrunken heads and climbs into bed, weilding a tomahawk between his teeth. And Ishmael, of course, freaks out. Funny, right? Can't you just see Owen Wilson as Ishmael, and Vince Vaughn as Queequeg?

If someone had told me MD was a funny book, I would have read it years ago. Plus, Ishmael, the protagonist, feels super modern and human and flawed. So, here is my big revelation for you, and you're going to be so pleased that you stuck with me until now (did anyone stick with me until now?) : Moby Dick is good.

You can send your gratitude for this insightful review in the form of cash money, or a comment on the blog either about a) your own confessions about Moby Dick; b) your suggestion for another book adults must read, or else have their eyes scooped out and replaced with hot coals.