Call him Ishamel. He sets out seeking a girl whose favorite great book
is Moby Dick, and this is the story of his perilous voyage, as he walks the American streets, navigating
esteemed universities and corporations, and braving
the postmodern fogs of dance
clubs in cities including Charlotte, San Francisco, New York, and Chapel Hill.
We'll be showing Moby Dick at RiRa's in Charlotte, Top of the Hill in Chapel Hill, and the
eCafe/Theater in Raleigh. Check
back here soon for pictures, dates, details, and more!
And as always, we wish ye smooth sailing aboard The Jolly Roger.
In Search of the White Whale
by Drake Raft
Call me Ishmael. Not so long ago I set out upon a voyage seeking the
White Whale--a girl whose favorite Great Book is Moby Dick. I set sail in
Charlotte one windy spring night last April, with a digital video camera
in hand to document the perilous voyage. And ever since, I have been
haunting the streets of the Queen City, in-between voyaging to New York
and San Francisco on jollyroger.nbci.com business--perhaps you saw me in
the shadows at Mythos this summer, or up in RiRa's, standing between
George Bernard Shaw and James Joyce, or crawling the galleries on North
Davidson, looking for the girl who would let me know that the renaissance
has begun, that a classical context was again breaching the surface, that
Charlotte was leading the Great Books renaissance. But by the time I got
to Bar Charlotte, they said she'd headed to Fat City.
Tuto Mondo's: The techo-rave is thundering as I sit in-between two young
ladies on a plush couch. Now one can't just sit down next to a girl and
ask her what her favorite great book or classic is, unless one has a video
camera. If one has a camera, then one can ask a girl pretty much
anything. And the blonde on my left begins to lecture in detail about her
favorite great book, The Acts of Kama Sutra, which I had not heard of
before the advent of my voyage, but which I have found to be a popular
favorite. Another standard response to my "Great Books" query is, "What do
you mean by a Great Book or Classic?" And that's the question the
brunette on my right interjects, just as the Kama Sutra conversation is
getting under way. Mark Twain once said that the classics are the books
that everyone quotes and nobody reads, and I must admit that the more I
ponder the definition of a Great Book, the more the answer eludes me, like
the White Whale itself. But I try my best to answer, and I tell her that
the Great Books are those that remind us of entities greater than
ourselves, thus exalting while entertaining, and bolstering our dreams
while easing our burdens. The classics place the most noble of heroes in
tragic situations, thereby silhouetting humanity's frailty and grandiosity
against the backdrop of an often indifferent universe, resulting in
sublime comedy and tragedy, depending upon if one chooses to laugh at or
weep with reality's embedded ironies. "Well then I'll go with the Kama
Sutra too," the brunette concludes.
The Charlotte Streets: The Great Books know no snobbery nor prejudice,
they speak the same truths to all equally, and their standard fare for a
first class passage to exotic lands is the opening of their covers. They
join us in all walks of life, and though commonly quoted in the Senate and
the ivied halls of academia, the words were often composed by penniless
poets and prophets. A homeless man overhears me interviewing a group on
North Tryon, and says, "Did I hear you say the Great Books young man? Let
me tell you this about that--Shakespeare and Dante, Dante and Shakespeare,
there are no others. The Divine Comedy, young man. It's God's daily
news."
Have a Nice Day Caf: It's college night, and I brave the dance floor when
Slim Shady comes on. It's one of those places where it seems impolite to
introduce yourself before you start grinding on someone, and I'm not so
sure I'm supposed to have a camera in there, or the copy of Moby Dick I
took out with me as an ice breaker, so I keep a low profile and join a
bridal party. They begin passing Moby Dick around, and it is way funnier
than it probably should be, but they're enjoying it, and with the context
set, I begin interviewing. Unfortunately none of them have ever read it,
except for one who keeps yelling at the camera, "Call me Ishtar!" There's
a fog rolling in, and popular answers beneath the rotating disco globe
include To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, and The Catcher in the
Rye, but when asked if they know who wrote the tomes, about half the
interviewees aren't sure, suggesting that they had had to read the books
for high school. How many people can name a favorite song and not know
the band? In Sync comes on, and I break away to the girl behind me, and
for a moment I think I've found her. Some guy yells over "Bye Bye Bye"
that her favorite classic is Moby Dick, but when I ask her who wrote it,
she shrugs and says, "Charles Dickens?"
RiRa's: Another school of thought generally answers To Kiss The Girls, The
Firm, Jurassic Park, and Harry Potter, and who can say that these books
won't become tomorrow's classics? I, for one, might, for I saw James
Joyce frowning up in RiRa's, as the suited gentleman sitting before him
began defending The Stand as a classic. He'd had a few Guinnesses, and he
was about ready to take the argument to the street, so I said, "It's just
not what James Joyce would say."
"Who's that?"
"He's frowning right behind you."
He briefly glances over his shoulder at the portrait, then back at me.
"Who the hell are you, and why are you asking stupid questions?"
"I'm looking for a girl whose favorite great book is Moby Dick. Do you
know of one?"
He wasn't going to tell me, even if he did know one, so I bid him
farewell. Like Joyce, deep down in my subterranean soul, I know that
works like Hamlet, and Huckleberry Finn, and Moby Dick were written in
greater contexts, and though more concise than The Stand, the works are
the finely chiseled tips of far greater sculptures.
Some would argue that a more appropriate place to have begun shooting a
great books documentary would have been New York, the major port of the
publishing world, through whose hallowed gates virtually all books must
pass in order to be reviewed and read. But in Moby Dick, Melville states
that the White Whale is ubiquitous. And in this information age, where
digitized classics flow freely into every corner of all distant cities
upon the internet, the cultural frontier is to be found wherever one
pauses to contemplate. William Blake saw a world within a grain of sand,
and with the advent of the World Wide Web, we are realizing Melville's and
Blake's visions, as silicon chips hold entire libraries accessible from
anywhere upon this watery globe.
And so it is that Charlotte has all the advantages when it comes to being
the stage for the first few acts of a classical renaissance. For today
New York and San Francisco are dominated by the postmodern corporatization
of literature, where the critics are held superior to the temporal works
which they hype. No lasting renaissance nor work of art was ever
conceived of nor launched by a committee of agents and editors, who tend
to adhere bureaucracy's conformity, but rather new literature has always
sought the open ocean, as far as way as possible from the ballasted
publishing houses, for it is in the White Whale's nature to swim free. So
it was no wonder that when I returned from shooting in Times Square and
gently glided down just to the West of Charlotte one fine Autumn dusk, I
glimpsed the White Whale behind the Bank of America building. So after
spending an hour finding my Jeep in the third satellite parking lot, I
headed out to AB&I.
Atlantic Beer and Ice: I join two young ladies eating dinner out in front
of AB&I, on a most magnificent October evening that is the South's crown
jewel. One of them says her favorite classic is Pride and Prejudice,
whereupon the other adds, "Me too! I never knew you liked it!" It turns
out they're best friends, and they both used to be cheerleaders at
UNCC--that's how they met, and this is their first year working at First
Union. And they're both surprised to find out how much the other one
liked Pride and Prejudice. Ahoy then matie! Think of all the secret
treasures and gems of conversation sail over on a daily basis. Think of
all the silent souls we pass in a day's work, our friends and coworkers,
parents and children, and when's the last time we shared thoughts on our
favorite book? It's a most intimate question, and while good friends may
seldom if ever discuss it, here I was, asking people before I even knew
their names. I was going after the White Whale, and I knew the dire fate
which it implied, but I had no choice, for Ahab is Ahab. So I ask them if
they might know of where I might find a girl whose favorite great book is
Moby Dick. One of them responds that she's never read it, and the other
one agrees, adding, "I think my x-boyfriend read it--that's what he called
his p----."
And so it is that for now I'm fated to walk the Queen City's night
streets, until my quest is completed, or eternity runs out of time. And
although our nobler dreams often elude us, as sure as the classics offer
proof that Socrates never found the Truth, and Ahab never apprehended the
White Whale, and Einstein never realized the unified theory he sought;
look at the noble riches left in the wake of the passionate pursuit of
those eternal entities known as Truth and Beauty. So how is this voyage
to end? Join us next month for a screening of "In Search of the White Whale"
upstairs at Rira's. Check out jollyroger.com/charlotte for details, and
I'll see ye there! Avast! I'm off to the Loew's Motor Speedway.
Call him Ishamel. He sets out seeking a girl whose favorite great book
is Moby Dick, and this is the story of his perilous voyage, as he walks the American streets, navigating
esteemed universities and corporations, and braving
the postmodern fogs of dance
clubs in cities including Charlotte, San Francisco, New York, and Chapel Hill.