Redburn: His First Voyage, Herman Melville
Redburn: His First Voyage Herman Melville
The following entry presents criticism of Melville's novel Redburn: His First Voyage (1849). See also, "Benito Cereno" Criticism and Pierre, or, The Ambiguities Criticism.
Melville's fourth novel and most overtly autobiographical work, Redburn was disparaged by its author as a hastily written “nursery tale” produced for profit. A fictionalized account of Melville's voyage to Liverpool in 1839, the novel parallels Melville's own life in its replication of not only incidents aboard ship and in port, but also of emotional experiences involving the financial ruin and early death of the fathers of the author and his title character.
The third child of eight, Melville was born on August 1, 1819, in New York City, to Allan and Maria Gansevoort Melvill. Mellville's father was an importer whose ineptitude at business, disguised by years of borrowing from family members, eventually plunged his wife and children into financial ruin. In 1830, pursued by creditors, Melvill and young Herman fled the city in the middle of the night to join the rest of the family in Albany. Until that time, Melville had enjoyed a comfortable childhood and a good education, attending New York Male High School from 1825 to 1829, and then the Grammar School of Columbia College for a year. In Albany he and his older brother attended school sporadically, based on the fluctuating family income. His father's death in 1832 at the age of forty-nine ended Melville's formal education, and Melville began working to help support his family. He worked in the family fur business, as a bank clerk, and then taught at various schools until 1839 when he sailed for Liverpool as a cabin boy aboard the merchant ship St. Lawrence—the voyage that inspired Redburn. Melville's later experiences on a whaling vessel, his captivity in the South Seas, and his participation in a mutiny provided material for his first two novels: Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life (1846) and Omoo: A Narrative of Adventures in the South Seas (1847), as well as his later, highly acclaimed work, Moby-Dick; or, The Whale (1851). The failure of his third novel, Mardi (1849), a more complicated metaphysical work, prompted the financially strapped author to return to writing travel adventures, and he quickly produced Redburn (1849) and White-Jacket (1850). Melville referred to the novels disparagingly in his correspondence, calling them “two jobs, which I have done for money,” and more specifically claiming that Redburn was a “nursery tale.” Nonetheless, the novel was more successful than its author's assessment suggests. His forays into metaphysical and psychological fiction were less popular with the reading public: both Moby-Dick and Pierre (1852) were failures by critical and popular standards. Although Melville continued to write novels, short stories, and poetry, he was, at the time of his death in 1891, relatively unknown and unappreciated. In the twentieth century, however, a renewed interest in his work has led to the current assessment of Melville as one of America's most favored authors.
Plot and Major Characters
Redburn is narrated in the first person by the mature Wellingborough Redburn, recalling his first ocean voyage to Liverpool when he was a young, inexperienced boy. Raised as a gentleman's son, Redburn—like Melville—experienced the financial failure and death of his businessman father, and went to sea determined to make something of himself. Redburn is aided by his brother's friend, Mr. Jones, whose unfortunate representation of the boy to Captain Riga as a person of means results in his being denied a much-needed advance on his wages. Thus he boards ship without the necessities, wearing torn and inappropriate clothes that make him the object of the crew's ridicule. His behavior is likewise inappropriate, as he attempts to make a social call upon the captain in his cabin—as one gentleman to another. Redburn's first days on board ship consist of a series of unfortunate incidents designed to show the boy as a friendless outcast, ill-suited to the hard labor of a sailor, but at the same time lacking the means to be a gentleman. While the crew of the Highlander treats Redburn cruelly, it is only their leader, Jackson, who is truly depraved and evil, apparently brutalized by his own victimization over the years. He is the most skilled sailor on board and deliberately takes on the most dangerous tasks, ruling the men through a combination of awe and fear.
Once in Liverpool, Redburn attempts to retrace the footsteps of his father, who had traveled to the city on business thirty years earlier. His father's guidebook is outdated, however, and the hotel where the senior Redburn had stayed no longer exists. Disillusioned, the boy becomes despondent as a result of his encounters with poverty, debauchery, and crime throughout Liverpool. Redburn eventually meets Harry Bolton, a gentlemanly type who invites him to London where the pair spend the night in a gambling house. They return to Liverpool in time to find the Highlander about to embark on the return trip to America, with a cargo of impoverished Irish immigrants in steerage, exposing Redburn once again to inhumanity and squalor. Bolton, having gambled away his money, signs on for the return trip as a common seaman, although he is as poorly prepared for the dangerous tasks of a sailor as Redburn had been on the initial voyage. He, too, wears completely inappropriate clothing on deck—a brocade dressing gown and embroidered slippers—which makes him the laughingstock of the ship, just as Redburn had been earlier in the novel. When they return to New York, Redburn abandons Bolton to the care of a friend while he dashes off to tend to a family matter upstate. The inexperienced Bolton, unable to fend for himself in his new surroundings, takes a job on a whaling ship and is crushed to death.
The most prominent theme of Redburn is the confrontation between innocence and corruption, as the inexperienced Redburn faces first the depraved evil embodied by Jackson and then the institutionalized evil responsible for the poverty and destitution the boy encounters in Liverpool and on the return voyage. Redburn must come to terms with both, according to Michael Davitt Bell, who summarizes one of the novel's central problems: “If Redburn's naive moral and religious scruples are challenged by the depravity of Jackson, so his naive reverence for authority, his identification with the ruling class, finally succumbs to his discovery of the evil perpetrated upon the masses in the name of authority.”
Another important theme in Redburn involves the loss of the father. Charles Haberstroh insists that “the prevailing psychological patterns in Melville's fiction” reveal the author's “almost bottomless sadness over being cut adrift from his father.” Redburn's futile efforts to retrace his father's steps in Liverpool appear to be part of that longing for the comfort and safety he felt when his father was still alive.
Christian brotherhood is also a thematic concern in the novel. Elmer R. Pry has explored this feature of Redburn, claiming that the novel's meaning inheres in the main character's failure to honor his brotherly obligations to Harry Bolton. By linking the two characters through the many parallels in their lives, Pry states, “Melville creates them as counterparts, as ‘brothers’ in a figurative and a Christian sense, then shows us Redburn's rejection of his brother.”
There are a number of important symbols in the novel, including the miniature glass ship in the family sitting room that apparently inspired Redburn as a child to seek a life at sea. Significantly, several of the little glass ropes and spars have broken and the tiny glass sailor that serves as a figurehead has fallen off the ship. Redburn's sisters reveal that this last mishap occurred on the day their brother began his first voyage. Another symbol is Redburn's clothing, particularly his elegant moleskin shooting jacket, initially a mark of his status as a gentleman's son. As it becomes smaller and smaller each time it gets wet, the jacket becomes more and more inappropriate as protection from the elements aboard ship. It then serves as an emblem not only of Redburn's lost status as a member of the privileged class but also as a symbol of his poor preparation for a life of manual labor at sea. A third significant symbol is his father's guidebook to Liverpool, which is hopelessly outdated and leads Redburn to buildings that have been demolished, suggesting the inability of the absent father to provide guidance and direction.
Critics have generally been less harsh in their assessments of Redburn than its author. Until the mid-twentieth century, critical interpretation centered on the novel's autobiographical elements. William Gilman, for example, compares the early experiences of Melville with those of his title character: “Both enjoyed happiness, comfort, and great expectations as the sons of well-to-do gentlemen. Both suffered spiritually and physically as a result of the bankruptcies and early deaths of their fathers.” Other critics suggest Redburn is a bildungsroman, portraying a young man's initiation into the world of work and/or an innocent's introduction to worldly evil. But while many scholars, concentrating on the corruption encountered by Redburn, consider the work gloomy and pessimistic, others, such as James Schroeter, assert that such an assessment ignores the humorous elements throughout the text. Redburn's exposure to the rough habits of seamen, which include smoking, drinking, and swearing, provides one such instance, “in which the vices of men are … reflected with comic irony through the eyes of a naive boy.” Pry reports that many critics “have found this novel of initiation notable for its comfortably comic tone, as the more mature Redburn looks back upon and gently mocks his younger self setting out upon the ‘first voyage.’” Harold T. McCarthy, however, addresses Melville's inconsistency in the presentation of Redburn's point of view, claiming that the first-person narration by a boy cannot be sustained within the retrospective of the mature Redburn. McCarthy suggests that Melville was unable to continue the narrative according to his original plan. Thus, even before the first part of the voyage is complete, “Redburn's voice deepened, the character Jackson was introduced, and Liverpool was observed, not through the eyes of a naive country boy, but through the eyes of a man …” Jonathan L. Hall contends that such criticism really involves more than simply formal concerns about shifting points of view and reveals instead the deeper problem of the formation of the self. Hall suggests that “Melville calls into question basic assumptions … about the process through which a boy is supposed, by progressive stages, to become a ‘mature’ man, and about the way in which a ‘mature’ man looks back on the events of his childhood and adolescence.” Judging from the extent and variety of modern critical discourse surrounding Redburn, particularly within the last fifty years, the work appears to be far more complicated than the simple “nursery tale” its author claimed to have produced in order to provide himself with tobacco money.
Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life (novel) 1846
Omoo: A Narrative of Adventures in the South Seas (novel) 1847
Mardi: And a Voyage Thither (novel) 1849
Redburn: His First Voyage (novel) 1849
White-Jacket; or, The World in a Man-of-War (novel) 1850
Moby-Dick; or, The Whale (novel) 1851
Pierre; or, The Ambiguities (novel) 1852
Israel Potter: His Fifty Years in Exile (novel) 1855
The Piazza Tales (short stories) 1856
The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade (novel) 1857
Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War (poetry) 1866
Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land (poetry) 1876
John Marr and Other Sailors (poetry) 1888
Timoleon (poetry) 1891
Billy Budd and Other Prose Pieces (novel and short stories) 1924
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SOURCE: Gilman, William H. “Art and Autobiography.” In Melville's Early Life andRedburn, pp. 176-205. New York: New York University Press, 1951.
[In the following excerpt, Gilman examines the parallels between Melville's early years and that of his fictional character, Wellingborough Redburn.]
If the exposition of Melville's intentions in writing Redburn and his own awareness of the artistic process working in him casts light on the book, a detailed study of his method ought to make its nature even more clear. For the framework of fact he selected liberally from the events of his youth and of the voyage to Liverpool late in his twentieth year. His homes on Bleecker Street and Broadway become Redburn's “in old Greenwich Street.” Allan Melvill, like Walter Redburn, was an importer of French goods and a veteran of many trips across the Atlantic. In Melville's home were most certainly the English and French books, the old European guidebooks, and the portfolios of French prints that delighted Redburn. Into the boy's domestic recollections Melville worked even such minute details as those of his own mother's formidable house cleanings.1 Both the author and his fictional creation had declaimed speeches on the stage of the high school. Both enjoyed happiness, comfort, and great expectations as the sons of well-to-do gentlemen. Both suffered spiritually and physically as a result of the...
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SOURCE: Schroeter, James. “Redburn and the Failure of Mythic Criticism.” American Literature 39, no. 3 (November 1967): 279-97.
[In the following essay, Schroeter discusses the limitations of the mythic, initiation into evil interpretation of Redburn, claiming that there are important elements of tone and structure within the novel that undercut such an interpretation.]
The usual critical opinion of Redburn is that it is a gloomy book. Some recent critics, including William Gilman and Edward Rosenberry, have pointed out comic elements in it, and when the book first appeared it was praised mainly for its “freshness” and “humor.” But ever since the Melville revival of the twenties, the critics, perhaps because they were trying to stress that the book ought to be taken seriously, have been calling it a “dark” book, a “bitter” book, a self-pitying book, a tragedy of some kind, or a reflection of Melville's own misery.1 Commenting on the period when Melville was composing it, Lewis Mumford observes:
Now, for the first time, Melville is conscious of the black maggot within him, deposited as a mere egg in his youth, and growing day by day, nourished by his later disappointments, sorrows, frustrations. Things have begun to go badly: he thinks back without difficulty to times when they were even worse. The physical misery of...
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SOURCE: McCarthy, Harold T. “Melville's Redburn and the City.” Midwest Quarterly 12, no. 4 (summer 1971): 395-410.
[In the following essay, McCarthy examines Melville's treatment of Liverpool, London, and New York as centers of Anglo-American culture founded on private property, class difference, and social malaise.]
Melville wrote Redburn, he recorded in the journal of his visit to London, “to buy some tobacco with.” The early chapters of the novel make plain what he had in mind. It was to be, as the sub-title suggests, a semi-comic adventure story of a gentleman's son serving before the mast, a formula familiar to readers of the day, and in substance it was to be loosely related to Melville's first sea voyage. Before the Highlander reached its destination, however, Melville's personal commitment to his moral experience broke through the stock formula he had intended; Redburn's voice deepened, the character Jackson was introduced, and Liverpool was observed, not through the eyes of a naive country boy, but through the eyes of a man who had seen several widely different societies, who had grave doubts as to the direction his own society was taking, and who saw in Liverpool the prototype city of the Anglo-American culture.
The first sight of Liverpool's docks, “long China walls of masonry,” brings to Redburn's mind the memory of New York's waterfront...
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SOURCE: Bell, Michael Davitt. “Melville's Redburn: Initiation and Authority.” New England Quarterly 46, no. 4 (December 1973): 558-72.
[In the following essay, Bell examines Melville's treatment of initiation into the adult world as less involved in problems of innocence or good vs. evil than most critics assume; Bell's criticism is more concerned with the social and psychological implications of the transformation from naïve child to experienced adult.]
Recent criticism of Melville's Redburn, when it has not been simply concerned with gauging the achievement of the novel, has involved itself in a debate which illuminates not only Redburn but also certain general and almost unconscious tendencies in American literary criticism. On the one hand, there are those who agree with Newton Arvin's “mythic” reading of Redburn, which asserts that its “inward subject is the initiation of innocence into evil.” On the other, there are those critics, represented by James Schroeter, who argue that “the difficulty with the mythic method, certainly as applied to Redburn, is … that it is contradicted repeatedly by some of the most important tonal and structural features of the novel.”1 It is the intention of this essay to argue that while the action and tone of Redburn carefully limit the implications of such terms as “innocence,” “evil,” and...
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SOURCE: Haberstroh, Charles. “Redburn: The Psychological Pattern.” Studies in American Fiction 2 (1974): 133-44.
[In the following essay, Haberstroh maintains that Redburn was written as a haven from his precarious emotional state following the publication of Mardi.]
Redburn was written in part to help Melville avoid the bankruptcy toward which he was heading in 1849. After the financially disastrous “‘fogs’ of Mardi,”1 Melville needed to write novels that would have a broader popular appeal. A realistic treatment of the merchant service could (and did) re-establish Melville's credit. But Redburn is probably as much the end product of a suicidal crisis as of economic necessity; in his fourth novel, Melville took a very important step away from the destructive emotional state he was evidently in during the last stages of composing Mardi.
As Norman Tabachnik has pointed out, Melville's writing in general shows “a mood of depression and affects equivalent to those found in a suicidal state; expressions of death-like wishes abound in his creative work.”2 One reason for this was that Melville's writing was inevitably committed to playing out a continual pattern of quest and failure. Melville knew, long before he ever wrote his first novel, that no voyagers, be they sailors or lubbers, ever find a better life than...
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SOURCE: Lanzinger, Klaus. “Melville's Redburn: Old World Expectations and Disappointments.” In Americana-Austriaca, pp. 67-76. Stuttgart: Wilhelm Braumüller, 1974.
[In the following essay, Lanzinger discusses Melville's disappointment and disenchantment with Europe as a legendary cultural mecca.]
Although Herman Melville's fourth novel, Redburn: His First Voyage (1849), has received considerable critical attention since Gilman's breakthrough study of the “little nursery tale”,1 the central problem of Redburn's relation to the Old World or Europe has hardly been touched upon to date. Much attention has been given to the theme of initiation from innocence to evil, of his disillusionment, and to the structural organization of the book, but Redburn's disenchantment has not been clearly explained owing to his cultural disappointment with the Old World.
Redburn could be called Melville's European novel. As such it anticipates the European theme in Hawthorne's Marbel Faun (1860), Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad (1869), and the novels by Henry James. Although in the disguise of a simple sea adventure story, Redburn's voyage to Liverpool is a cross-Atlantic pilgrimage in search of the fabled lands of culture, not unlike that of the Jamesean hero. Since it is a substitute for the grand tour or educational leisure journey to Europe, it...
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SOURCE: Pry, Elmer R. “Redburn and the ‘Confessions.’” American Transcendental Quarterly 43 (summer 1979): 181-88.
[In the following essay, Pry contends that Melville's novel, centered on a theme of Christian brotherhood, is far more unified than many critics and readers assume.]
Melville's critics have always been much kinder to Redburn than was its author, who insisted that the book was “trash,” written only “to buy some tobacco with.”1 Most critics have in fact rather liked the story of young Wellingborough Redburn's series of disillusionments as he enters the world of experience, and they have found this novel of initiation notable for its comfortably comic tone, as the more mature Redburn looks back upon and gently mocks his younger self setting out upon the “first voyage.” Some readers, too, have found the book interesting for its symbolism, particularly for the glass ship, for the series of guidebooks young Redburn turns to, and for the eye as the organ of perception.2 But many readers, however much they admire the book's tone or see promise and early development in this pre-Moby-Dick Melville romance, also contend that the novel is finally a failure, most often citing an inadequate development of the Harry Bolton-Redburn friendship, with the second half of the book as a consequence taking on a “fragmentary character”;3...
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SOURCE: Sten, Christopher W. “Melville's ‘Gentleman Forger’: The Struggle for Identity in Redburn.” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 21 (fall 1979): 347-67.
[In the following essay, Sten suggests that Melville's Wellingborough Redburn undergoes not a simple initiation over the course of the novel, but rather the far more complicated and lengthy process of identity formation.]
Since William H. Gilman's Melville's Early Life and ‘Redburn’ (1951) launched the scholarly discussion of Melville's fourth novel as something more than a minor chapter in the author's life story, critics of Redburn (1849) have debated the questions of whether and how the title character matures during the story.1 Until James Schroeter, in 1967, challenged the prevailing “mythic” interpretations of the novel, most commentators accepted the notion that Redburn's growth follows the typically “American” pattern of the “initiation of innocence into evil” described by Newton Arvin in 1950.2 While Schroeter, too, argued that Redburn shows clear signs of moral and intellectual development, the “progressive” school of opinion, as it might be called, has had an increasing number of detractors, nearly all of whom share H. Bruce Franklin's view that Redburn betrays Harry Bolton in the last chapter and thus fails to act in accord with the mature principle of...
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SOURCE: Press, Roger C. “The Unicorn and the Eagle: The Old World and the New World in Melville's Redburn.” Arizona Quarterly 41, no. 2 (summer 1985): 169-82.
[In the following essay, Press claims that Melville's presentation of the relationship between Europe and America in Redburn is far more complicated than the usual dichotomy between decadence and innocence.]
One image in Melville's Redburn (1849) that presents a major theme is the sign above the inn where the crew of the narrator's ship, the Highlander, eat during their six weeks' stay in Liverpool: “Here we stopped before the sign of a Baltimore Clipper, flanked on one side by a gilded bunch of grapes and a bottle, and on the other by the British Unicorn and American Eagle, lying down by each other, like the lion and lamb in the millenium.—A very judicious and tasty device, showing a delicate apprehension of the propriety of conciliating American sailors in an English boarding-house; and yet in no way derogating from the honor and dignity of England, but placing the two nations, indeed, upon a footing of perfect equality.”1 This symbolical device appropriately focuses the reader's attention on the contrasting relationship between the decadent Old World and the dynamic New World, a relationship which in Redburn is not always a clear-cut one.
The inn, for example, “though it...
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SOURCE: Mathewson, Stephen. “‘To Tell Over Again the Story Just Told’: The Composition of Melville's Redburn.” ESQ: A Journal of American Renaissance 37, no. 4 (1991): 311-20.
[In the following essay, Mathewson asserts that Melville expanded Redburn into a full-length book by repeating and recycling elements from the first section into the novel's sections on Liverpool and New York through a process of “self-plagiarism.”]
In 1849, Melville feverishly and rather joylessly wrote Redburn, the first of two books he would complete during that summer in an effort to atone for the financial failure of Mardi. He wrote to his English publisher Richard Bentley that he had “enlarged” Redburn, “somewhat to the size of Omoo—perhaps it may be a trifle larger.”1 Melville frequently relied upon sources while composing; for example, he enlarged his early work by incorporating exploration and travel narratives into his stories of South Seas adventure. In Redburn, however, he expanded his narrative by replicating his own story. The first third of the narrative, the outward-bound voyage from New York to Liverpool, is ingeniously repeated on the return voyage, and the Liverpool section in the middle of the narrative has repeated clusters of three chapters within itself. Apparently, the hurried pace at which Melville wrote Redburn...
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SOURCE: Hall, Jonathan L. “‘Every Man of Them Almost Was a Volume of Voyages’: Writing the Self in Melville's Redburn.” American Transcendental Quarterly 5, no. 4 (December 1991): 259-71.
[In the following essay, Hall discusses Melville's unconventional use of the maturation process and the construction of individual identity in Redburn.]
Redburn (1849) is the closest Melville had ever come—or ever would come—to obeying the formal conventions of the mid-nineteenth-century novel. Yet for years criticism often centered on the difficulty of describing the relation of the young protagonist to the older narrative voice which claims a continuity with him. Melville was found guilty of “neglecting to keep his center of consciousness in Redburn's inexperience, … adding reflections that could only have occurred to someone much older” (Matthiessen 397), of a “disrupting shift in the angle of vision” (Gilman 208), of “abrupt transitions from youthful, ingenuous narrator to thoughtful, mature critic of society” (Gross 584).1 It would be easy enough to write off these comments, from the 1940s and 1950s, as retrospective attempts to impose a post-Jamesian aesthetic and terminology—unintrusive narrator, consistent “center of consciousness”—on Melville's early Victorian practice. But beneath this concern with what they experienced as a formal incongruity, I...
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SOURCE: Rowe, Joyce A. “Social History and the Politics of Manhood in Melville's Redburn.” Mosaic 26, no. 1 (winter 1993): 53-68.
[In the following essay, Rowe discusses Redburn's handling of the conflict between capitalism and social justice in the Jacksonian period.]
Among the many conflicts which characterize American culture, few are more deeply rooted than that between the claims of free enterprise and those of social justice. Few contending claims are more difficult to reconcile and also more prone to political smoothing over through rhetorical recourse to “middle-class” values. Perhaps, then, this is the time to look back at the Jacksonian era with a view to suggesting the degree of family resemblance between nineteenth-century entrepreneurship and twentieth-century corporate capitalism. Certainly, the two seem to share a common ideology and a reluctance to consider the psychic cost of economic survival in bourgeois society.
No American thinker or artist in either the nineteenth century or up to the present brooded longer or to greater effect upon the tragic paradoxes of American individualism that did Herman Melville. Perhaps because his own coming-of-age was just a step behind that of the nation in the Jacksonian period, Melville was particularly sensitive to the way that the interaction of capitalism and democracy—those bitterly entwined historic...
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SOURCE: Robillard, Douglas. “Redburn: ‘Mythological Oil-Paintings.’” In Melville and the Visual Arts: Ionian Form, Venetian Tint, pp. 47-69. Kent, Ohio: The Kent State University Press, 1997.
[In the following excerpt, Robillard discusses Melville's linking of landscape and seascape descriptions with works of art through his character/narrator Wellingborough Redburn, who envisions the entire world as a work of art.]
After his juvenile, unsuccessful efforts at ekphrasis in the “Fragments from a Writing Desk,” Melville did not attempt to use this literary technique for the next ten years. For a substantial part of that time, he was working as a school-teacher, a “boy” on a merchant ship, and a sailor aboard whalers and naval vessels. Returning to shore in 1845, he began immediately to convert some of his experiences into imaginative novels that had a firm basis in fact. Typee (1846), Omoo (1847), and Mardi (1849) all used the conventional novelistic device of scenic setting with appropriate landscapes or seascapes, shipboard or jungle, native huts or calabooses. But in none of these did Melville link his scenic description with artworks or describe them as if they were works of art.
There are complex reasons for this neglect of what would become a valuable tool in his building of literary technique. He did not, as an apprentice author, know very...
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Andersen, Marilyn. “Melville's Jackets: Redburn and White-Jacket.” Arizona Quarterly 26 (summer 1970): 173-81.
Explores Melville's symbolic use of jackets to label their owners—Redburn and White-Jacket—as outsiders and to serve as markers of each character's psychological development.
Bromell, Nicholas K. “Melville's World of Work in Redburn.” Melville Society Extracts 66 (May 1986): 7.
Discusses Melville's approach to work as seaman and writer in Redburn.
Gallagher, Susan Vanzanten. “Jack Blunt and His Dream Book.” American Literature 58, no. 4 (December 1986): 614-19.
Explores Melville's fascination with predicting the future through astrology and the interpretation of dreams as evidenced by the character Jack Blunt in Redburn.
Greene, Sally. “Who But ‘Some Howard’: Redburn's Search for Charity.” Melville Society Extracts 93 (June 1993): 5-8.
Examines Wellingborough Redburn's disillusionment in the face of the poverty, cruelty, and depravity he encounters on his journey and his references to English philanthropist and prison reformer John Howard.
Heflin, Wilson. “Redburn and White-Jacket.” In A Companion to Melville Studies, edited by John Bryant, pp....
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