Product Description

A handsome young sailor is unjustly accused of plotting mutiny in this timeless tale of the sea.

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A concise introduction that gives readers important background information

A chronology of the author's life and work

A timeline of significant events that provides the book's historical context

An outline of key themes and plot points to help readers form their own interpretations

Detailed explanatory notes

Critical analysis, including contemporary and modern perspectives on the work

Discussion questions to promote lively classroom and book group interaction

A list of recommended related books and films to broaden the reader's experience

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Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #101483 in Books
• Published on: 2006-08-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 160 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9781416523727
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

In the time before steamships, or then more frequently than now, a stroller along the docks of any considerable seaport would occasionally have his attention arrested by a group of bronzed mariners, man-of-war's men or merchant sailors in holiday attire, ashore on liberty. In certain instances they would flank, or like a bodyguard quite surround, some superior figure of their own class, moving along with them like Aldebaran among the lesser lights of his constellation. That signal object was the "Handsome Sailor" of the less prosaic time alike of the military and merchant navies. With no perceptible trace of the vainglorious about him, rather with the offhand unaffectedness of natural regality, he seemed to accept the spontaneous homage of his shipmates.

A somewhat remarkable instance recurs to me. In Liverpool, now half a century ago, I saw under the shadow of the great dingy street-wall of Prince's Dock (an obstruction long since removed) a common sailor so intensely black that he must needs have been a native African of the unadulterate blood of Ham -- a symmetric figure much above the average height. The two ends of a gay silk handkerchief thrown loose about the neck danced upon the displayed ebony of his chest, in his ears were big hoops of gold, and a Highland bonnet with a tartan band set off his shapely head. It was a hot noon in July; and his face, lustrous with perspiration, beamed with barbaric good humor. In jovial sallies right and left, his white teeth flashing into view, he rollicked along, the center of a company of his shipmates. These were made up of such an assortment of tribes and complexions as would have well fitted them to be marched up by Anacharsis Cloots before the bar of the first French Assembly as Representatives of the Human Race. At each spontaneous tribute rendered by the wayfarers to this black pagod of a fellow -- the tribute of a pause and stare, and less frequently an exclamation -- the motley retinue showed that they took that sort of pride in the evoker of it which the Assyrian priests doubtless showed for their grand sculptured Bull when the faithful prostrated themselves.

To return. If in some cases a bit of a nautical Murat in setting forth his person ashore, the Handsome Sailor of the period in question evinced nothing of the dandified Billy-be-Dam, an amusing character all but extinct now, but occasionally to be encountered, and in a form yet more amusing than the original, at the tiller of the boats on the tempestuous Erie Canal or, more likely, vaporing in the groggeries along the towpath. Invariably a proficient in his perilous calling, he was also more or less of a mighty boxer or wrestler. It was strength and beauty. Tales of his prowess were recited. Ashore he was the champion; afloat the spokesman; on every suitable occasion always foremost. Close-reefing topsails in a gale, there he was, astride the weather yardarm-end, foot in the Flemish horse as stirrup, both hands tugging at the earing as at a bridle, in very much the attitude of young Alexander curbing the fiery Bucephalus. A superb figure, tossed up as by the horns of Taurus against the thunderous sky, cheerily hallooing, to the strenuous file along the spar.

The moral nature was seldom out of keeping with the physical make. Indeed, except as toned by the former, the comeliness and power, always attractive in masculine conjunction, hardly could have drawn the sort of honest homage the Handsome Sailor in some examples received from his less gifted associates.

Such a cynosure, at least in aspect, and something such too in nature, though with important variations made apparent as the story proceeds, was welkin-eyed Billy Budd -- or Baby Budd, as more familiarly, under circumstances hereafter to be given, he at last came to be called -- aged twenty-one, a foretopman of the British fleet toward the close of the last decade of the eighteenth century. It was not very long prior to the time of the narration that follows that he had entered the King's service, having been impressed on the Narrow Seas from a homeward-bound English merchantman into a seventy-four outward bound, H.M.S. Bellipotent; which ship, as was not unusual in those hurried days, having been obliged to put to sea short of her proper complement of men. Plump upon Billy at first sight in the gangway the boarding officer, Lieutenant Ratcliffe, pounced, even before the merchantman's crew was formally mustered on the quarter-deck for his deliberate inspection. And him only he elected. For whether it was because the other men when ranged before him showed to ill advantage after Billy, or whether he had some scruples in view of the merchantman's being rather short-handed, however it might be, the officer contented himself with his first spontaneous choice. To the surprise of the ship's company, though much to the lieutenant's satisfaction, Billy made no demur. But, indeed, any demur would have been as idle as the protest of a goldfinch popped into a cage.

Noting this uncomplaining acquiescence, all but cheerful, one might say, the shipmaster turned a surprised glance of silent reproach at the sailor. The shipmaster was one of those worthy mortals found in every vocation, even the humbler ones -- the sort of person whom everybody agrees in calling "a respectable man." And -- nor so strange to report as it may appear to be -- though a ploughman of the troubled waters, lifelong contending with the intractable elements, there was nothing this honest soul at heart loved better than simple peace and quiet. For the rest, he was fifty or thereabouts, a little inclined to corpulence, a prepossessing face, unwhiskered, and of an agreeable color -- a rather full face, humanely intelligent in expression. On a fair day with a fair wind and all going well, a certain musical chime in his voice seemed to be the veritable unobstructed outcome of the innermost man. He had much prudence, much conscientiousness, and there were occasions when these virtues were the cause of overmuch disquietude in him. On a passage, so long as his craft was in any proximity to land, no sleep for Captain Graveling. He took to heart those serious responsibilities not so heavily borne by some shipmasters.

Now while Billy Budd was down in the forecastle getting his kit together, the Bellipotent's lieutenant, burly and bluff, nowise disconcerted by Captain Graveling's omitting to proffer the customary hospitalities on an occasion so unwelcome to him, an omission simply caused by preoccupation of thought, unceremoniously invited himself into the cabin, and also to a flask from the spirit locker, a receptacle which his experienced eye instantly discovered. In fact he was one of those sea dogs in whom all the hardship and peril of naval life in the great prolonged wars of his time never impaired the natural instinct for sensuous enjoyment. His duty he always faithfully did; but duty is sometimes a dry obligation, and he was for irrigating its aridity, whensoever possible, with a fertilizing decoction of strong waters. For the cabin's proprietor there was nothing left but to play the part of the enforced host with whatever grace and alacrity were practicable. As necessary adjuncts to the flask, he silently placed tumbler and water jug before the irrepressible guest. But excusing himself from partaking just then, he dismally watched the unembarrassed officer deliberately diluting his grog a little, then tossing it off in three swallows, pushing the empty tumbler away, yet not so far as to be beyond easy reach, at the same time settling himself in his seat and smacking his lips with high satisfaction, looking straight at the host.

These proceedings over, the master broke the silence; and there lurked a rueful reproach in the tone of his voice: "Lieutenant, you are going to take my best man from me, the jewel of 'em."

"Yes, I know," rejoined the other, immediately drawing back the tumbler preliminary to a replenishing. "Yes, I know. Sorry."

"Beg pardon, but you don't understand, Lieutenant. See here, now. Before I shipped that young fellow, my forecastle was a rat-pit of quarrels. It was black times, I tell you, aboard the Rights here. I was worried to that degree my pipe had no comfort for me. But Billy came; and it was like a Catholic priest striking peace in an Irish shindy. Not that he preached to them or said or did anything in particular; but a virtue went out of him, sugaring the sour ones. They took to him like hornets to treacle; all but the buffer of the gang, the big shaggy chap with the fire-red whiskers. He indeed, out of envy, perhaps, of the newcomer, and thinking such a "sweet and pleasant fellow," as he mockingly designated him to the others, could hardly have the spirit of a gamecock, must needs bestir himself in trying to get up an ugly row with him. Billy forebore with him and reasoned with him in a pleasant way -- he is something like myself, Lieutenant, to whom aught like a quarrel is hateful -- but nothing served. So, in the second dogwatch one day, the Red Whiskers in presence of the others, under pretense of showing Billy just whence a sirloin steak was cut -- for the fellow had once been a butcher -- insultingly gave him a dig under the ribs. Quick as lightning Billy let fly his arm. I dare say he never meant to do quite as much as he did, but anyhow he gave the burly fool a terrible drubbing. It took about half a minute, I should think. And, lord bless you, the lubber was astonished at the celerity. And will you believe it, Lieutenant, the Red Whiskers now really loves Billy -- loves him, or is the biggest hypocrite that ever I heard of. But they all love him. Some of 'em do his washing, darn his old trousers for him; the carpenter is at odd times making a pretty little chest of drawers for him. Anybody will do anything for Billy Budd; and it's the happy family here. But now, Lieutenant, if that young fellow goes -- I know how it will be aboard the Rights. Not again very soon shall I, coming up from dinner, lean over the capstan smoking a quiet pipe -- no, not very soon again, I think. Ay, Lieutenant, you are going to take away th...

Customer Reviews

Brilliant but Difficult
Melville is an exceptionally difficult author for the modern reader. His wind-up to the events forming the core of the book is unpardonably long. And he is an intrusive and wordy narrator who can't resist frequent digressions.

Still, once he gets to the confrontation between Billy and his accuser, Billy's impetuous criminal assault, and then the captain's moral dilemma at trial, Melville's tale is riveting. As with Moby Dick, the book is a morality tale with heavy biblical overtones. The captain ends up being a rather attractive, if misguided, reincarnation of Pontius Pilate, convincing himself that he his helpless to prevent the legal necessity of the Christ-like Billy's execution. In posing the moral dilemma of the sometimes impossible difficulty of being able to do the right thing in an imperfect world, the book is truly brilliant.

This book was commonly assigned in high school in the 1970's, which I think is a mistake. Modern readers simply will lack the patience to slog through it. This work is better suited for a college course, and the format of the "enriched classics" is helpful. As for reading it thereafter "for fun", only the hardcore book snob should undertake it.

Is Billy Budd a Political Allegory?
Or is it an oblique admission of latent homosexuality? Or a cautious hatchet-job on a domineering father-in-law? Or a somber biblical morality tale, with Captain Vere standing in for Pontius Pilate? Or simply a prose prologue to a ballad in verse, which spilled uncontrollably out of its frame?

None of those interpretations is as indefensible as it might seem. Literary scholars have advanced all of them in their full armor of earnestness post-modernism. Possibly it's the elusiveness of a final interpretation that has made Billy Budd, like Conrad's Heart of Darkness and Fitzgerald's Great Gatsby, so dear to the critics. Among the writings of Herman Melville, Billy Budd certainly remains the most fraught with ambiguities and uncertain implications.

I hadn't re-read Billy Budd in decades -- not since college, when I wrote a very long and stuffy term paper on Melville's treatments of the military -- and I didn't foresee reading it now. But one of my nieces graduated from law school last month and, at a family celebration, I found her telling me about one of her favorite professors, who structured a whole class around discussion of 'justice' as depicted in Billy Budd! It turns out that there are reams of opinions, by lawyers and law students, about Billy Budd! That it's a 'classic' of legal literature, although my niece suggested a widespread reliance among students on Cliff Notes! Whoda thunkit?

Denizens of literature departments have been predisposed to read Billy Budd as a personal revelation of Herman Melville's conflicted sexual identity. The story IS dedicated, conspicuously, to an old shipmate, Jack Chase, whom Melville had long previously portrayed in his complex novel Redburn. That novel vividly revealed Melville's 'alarm' at the discovery of homoerotic attractions. In Billy Budd, the nameless narrator explicitly probes the antipathy of the hostile petty officer, Claggart, for the handsome sailor Billy in terms of latent homoeroticism. The opera Billy Budd, by Benjamin Britten, commits the story utterly to such an understanding. Nevertheless, I find this train of thought a stub line, a siding where the engine gets to idle. There's too much of the text that focuses on law and discipline, on the historical mutinies that contextualize the tragedy of Budd's execution. Herman Melville was not just spinning word-wheels. He was too deep and deliberate a writer. Some readers have complained that the "story" of Billy is postponed too long by the narrator's ruminations; in fact, some fifteen pages pass before Vere and Claggart are introduced. Whatever more it may be, Billy Budd is a story about the sociology of life on a sailing ship-of-war. The pluses and cons of naval discipline mattered to the old sailor, even in his obscure niche as a customs officer.

So then, shall we plump for the 'political' or 'historical' interpretation? Billy Budd, according to the text, was conscripted in 1797, in the context of the British naval actions against revolutionary France. Melville wasn't born until 1819. Why then did he set his narrative so long before his own experience on a US military frigate? The merchant ship from which Budd was snatched was christened "The Rights of Man", and much is made of Billy's 'farewell to the Rights' when Claggart accuses him of mutinous intentions. Could we construct an allegorical interpretation, with the Handsome Sailor representing Democracy in its infancy? [If any grad student takes this possibility seriously and writes a thesis on it, I want footnote credit!]

Melville's father-in-law was the Chief Justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, Lemuel Shaw, one of the most influential jurists in the history of American business law. Melville scholars have asserted that Captain Vere is a guarded portrayal of Shaw. That would, I think, imply a mixture of admiration and resentment on Melville's part toward his much more prominent father-in-law. A tinge of inferiority perhaps? I'll wager Shaw was intimidating over the dinner platters during family visits. The narrator of Billy Budd -- unnamed and not to be automatically regarded as the author -- insists that Starry Vere is a paragon of virtue and duty, yet at several points inserts doubts about Vere's deeper character, including a speculation about his sanity! The admirable Vere is despicably inadequate in his handling of the confrontation between Budd and Claggart; both the readers and the sailors on the deck of his ship can be heard to mutter against him. He cloaks himself in patriotic sanctimony but he deserves no adulation for wisdom here. Of course, he stands as a synecdoche for naval authority, for the tyrannical discipline against which Melville had strenuously protested in his early novel White Jacket. What happens to innocent, honorable Billy Budd is a potent example of what was hopelessly flawed in hierarchical society. The reader might be excused, I think, for perceiving Billy as "Democracy" martyred by self-righteous Conservatism.

And how about the Morality Tale? There are flashes of biblical imagery. There is the weird, mysterious description of Budd's execution by hanging, when his body doesn't twitch and jerk, as if he were sublimated into death without suffering. Surely Melville, whose whole life had been an agony of religious impulse in conflict with disbelief, had something in mind, some intended meaning. After all, he COULD have written a different story, a more palatable denouement. Honestly, I find less concern for metaphysics, for questions of God, in Billy Budd than in Moby Dick or in Melville's book-length poem Clarel. I'd argue that in Billy Budd, God no longer has a role. Perhaps that's the message.

Nobody, to my knowledge, has ever made much of the thirty-one line poem that concludes the text of Billy Budd. It turns out that Melville had sketched several such nautical ballads, and experimentally prefaced them with brief prose accounts. These were found in his papers in various stages of incompletion. Billy Budd, please remember, was 'unfinished', published many years posthumously, and subject to the decisions of various editors. There are assorted 'definitive' editions. The ballad Billies in the Darbies strikes most readers as an odd anticlimax to the novella, but if you read it on its own terms, it's as bleak a death-wish as you might find at the end of a Viking saga. The comfort of a burial at sea -- "Fathoms down, fathoms down, how I'll dream fast asleep." -- was denied to Herman Melville, the dutiful husband and conscientious office-holder.

Brilliant but impenetrable
In this brilliant tale of the ambiguous nature of justice, the ambiguous nature of good and evil, and the inexplicable nature of man, Melville seems to forsee the id (Claggert), the ego (Vere), and the superego (Budd) long before Freud. These three men find themselves locked in a struggle over the nature of truth and the nature of justice, drawn into it almost against their will (including the evil Claggert). It's a fantastic work of imagination, and moral uncertainty. BUT Melville's prose style is nearly impenetrable. With constant digressions, and with unforgivably long and convoluted sentences, Melville succeeds most often in confusing rather than enlightening the reader. This could have been written with vigor, power, and poetry, but it was written more like a philosophical treatise by Immanuel Kant.