The Year of Reading Dangerously: How Fifty Great Books (and Two Not-So-Great Ones) Saved My Life

by Miller, Andy

  In the 1990s, there used to be a website called Grudge Match™ which staged imaginary fights between characters from pop culture. These ranged from the obvious (‘Obi-Wan Kenobi vs. Darth Vader’) to the witty (‘Red-Shirted Ensigns vs. Imperial Stormtroopers’) to the cross-platform meta-brawl (‘John McClane vs. The Death Star’). Some grudge matches even had nothing to do with Star Wars – ‘a Rottweiler vs. a Rottweiler’s weight in Chihuahuas’, for example, or the epic ‘Battle of the Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath vs. Greed vs. Lust vs. Gluttony vs. Sloth vs. Envy vs. Pride vs. Virtue’. The outcomes were hotly debated by contributors from all over the planet and, following a public vote, a winner would be declared, in the above cases Obi-Wan, Stormtroopers, John McClane, the Rottweiler and Lust respectively. But after ten years, the site’s owners packed it in because ‘long story short: we ain’t in grad school any more’. (However, matches have been archived at www.grudge-match.com/History/index.html – kids, this and pornography are how your parents first harnessed the awesome power of the Internet.)

  When contemplating the difference between Moby-Dick and The Da Vinci Code, it would be tempting to frame it in Grudge Match™ terms, thus:

  Figs. 6: Whale vs. Grail.

  (courtesy Gabriel Barathieu)

  Grail (© PoodlesRock/Corbis)

  It is the eternal dilemma for the artist and the hack alike: fame and wealth in the here and now or an impoverished, miserable life but a posthumous shot at immortality – ‘Austerity vs. Posterity’, or ‘Riches ’n’ Bitches vs. Nervous Twitches ’n’ Diggin’ Ditches’. The fact was this. More people had probably read – and enjoyed – The Da Vinci Code in five years than had read – and enjoyed – Moby-Dick in one hundred and fifty. The latter was awkward, demanding and brilliant. The former was accessible, electrifying and bollocks. In the white corner, high art. In the Brown corner, low schlock.

  And yet, a Grudge Match™ between Moby-Dick and The Da Vinci Code, though amusing, would do little except confirm our prejudices and tell us next to nothing about what makes each novel so remarkable in its own sphere. So instead I suggest we look for the hidden – and not-so-hidden – resemblances between the lives and careers of Herman Melville and Dan Brown. What do they have in common? We may be astonished by what we uncover.

  I call . . . a Love Match!

  TEN ASTOUNDING SIMILARITIES BETWEEN

  THE DA VINCI CODE BY DAN BROWN

  AND MOBY-DICK BY HERMAN MELVILLE

  Dan Brown (© Featureflash/Shutterstock)

  ♥

  Herman Melville (© Bettmann/Corbis)

  1. QUESTS FOR THE HOLY GRAIL

  The Da Vinci Code and Moby-Dick are both epic grail quests, over a hundred chapters in length, each with a scene-setting prologue and meditative epilogue. Both narratives focus on the personal quest of an individual, or individuals, who, by going against the received wisdom of their age and confronting terrible, unknown dangers, put their sanity, their lives and even their immortal souls in peril. In Moby-Dick, Ahab, Ishmael and the Pequod crew criss-cross the planet in bloody pursuit of a seldom-glimpsed killer albino whale whose metaphorical significance is practically infinite; in The Da Vinci Code, Robert Langdon, Sir Leigh Teabing, Interpol, Opus Dei and a seldom-glimpsed killer albino monk – metaphorical significance: nil – criss-cross the planet in bloody pursuit of the actual Holy Grail: a cup, or a code, or a cryptex, or a person, or a cup again at the end, I wasn’t quite sure. But then I wasn’t sure what was going on in Moby-Dick a lot of the time either.

  2. FACTS

  Melville and Brown both love statistics, historical anecdote and facts. The very first word of The Da Vinci Code is ‘Fact’, a statement of intent which is only undermined by the fact that so much of what follows is untrue.2 Brown initially claimed that either ‘99 per cent’ or ‘absolutely all of [the book] is true’, although he has subsequently retrenched, utilising phrases like ‘alleged’, ‘rumoured’, and ‘seem to be’ when discussing this controversial issue. Nevertheless, his novel is full of art history, theological supposition and precise measurements of height, depth and length, sometimes to the nearest millimetre. Moby-Dick, meanwhile, creaks with ancient maritime lore, accurate scientific data (accurate for its time) and disquisitions on the function and harvesting of blubber, spermaceti, etc. As a young man, Melville had shipped with the whaler Acushnet and the purpose of his novel was, in part, to impart that hard-won knowledge to the reading public. ‘I mean to give the truth of the thing,’ he wrote. However . . .

  3. THE FACT FACTOR

  Melville and Brown both wear their learning heavily. Brown will merrily disfigure a sentence if it means he can cram in one more gratuitous statistic, e.g. ‘Murray Hill Place – the new Opus Dei World Headquarters and conference centre – is located at 243 Lexington Avenue in New York City. With a price tag of just over $47 million, the 133,000-square-foot tower is clad in red brick and Indiana limestone. Designed by May & Pinska, the building contains over one hundred bedrooms, six dining rooms –’ Enough already!

  If a little learning is a dangerous thing, a lot of learning can be even worse. Moby-Dick repeatedly judders to a chapter-length halt so Melville/Ishmael can instruct the reader on the measurement of a whale’s skeleton, or harpooning technique, or the best cuts of whale meat: tongue, hump, barbecued balls of porpoise (‘the old monks of Dunfermline were very fond of them’). The author is also an incorrigible show-off. He throws in Milton, Byron, Shakespeare; pagan folklore, magazine clippings, Holy Scripture; Cleopatra, Cinderella, Thomas Jefferson and dozens more. He probably has something to say about pots calling kettles black too but I am not at home at present and do not have a copy of Moby-Dick to hand, so am unable to confirm. There is no Internet access at the cottage where I am currently staying. I’ll get back to you.

  4. DIALOGUE

  Neither Brown nor Melville cares for naturalistic dialogue. As you will have noted, no one in real life speaks like either Robert ‘I’ve got to get to a library . . . fast!’ Langdon or Captain ‘lick the sky!’ Ahab. And why should they? This is not real life. Nevertheless, it represents a problem for cinema and theatre adaptations of both The Da Vinci Code and Moby-Dick, which can seem slightly, well, ludicrous. Of these, the flop musical theatre adaptation of Melville’s novel – Moby! A Whale of a Tale – was perhaps more in sympathy with the original text than other, more serious efforts. I should know: I still have the souvenir mug.

  The principles of brand extension make it inevitable that there will be a musical theatre adaptation of The Da Vinci Code. Potential producers should be aware that the book and lyrics of Moby! were penned by one Robert Longden. Coincidence? Professor Robert Langdon would tell us there is no such thing.

  5. SYMBOLOGY

  In their different ways, Brown and Melville are both obsessed with symbols and symbolism. Robert Langdon is a professor of symbology at Harvard. The Da Vinci Code is packed with cryptic riddles; Moby-Dick is a cryptic riddle in itself. And what is that elusive white whale if not a ‘lost symbol’? Dan Brown particularly loves anagrams and his characters are always obliged to untangle not-very-fiendish word puzzles to reveal hidden meanings and clues. This is the sort of lexicographical riddling one associates with writers like Vladimir Nabokov, Italo Calvino and Georges Perec, only not as good.

  Let us adopt a symbologist approach to our subjects and see whether there are any invisible connections buried just beneath the surface. One anagram of ‘Herman Melville, Moby-Dick’ would be ‘Hmm – a credible milky novel’. Shuffle the letters of ‘Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code’ and we uncover this message: ‘B. was a contrived, hidden con.’ And rearranging ‘Andy Miller – The Year of Reading Dangerously’ proves what we have suspected for a while: ‘I am only a greying fatheaded Surrey nerd – LOL.’

  Dr Langdon may be onto something.

  6. DAY JOBS

  Because they need to feed and clothe themselves, many published authors have day jobs before, during and after their literary careers; Herman Melv
ille was no exception. Prior to becoming a novelist, he was a sailor; while he was a novelist, he was also a lecturer and a journalist; and, as noted above, after the failure of Moby-Dick and Pierre, he became a customs official. Disturbingly, both he and Dan Brown also found paid work as English teachers. ‘I didn’t understand how funny this play Much Ado About Nothing truly was until I had to teach it,’ Brown has said. ‘There is no wittier dialogue anywhere.’ It is a mark of Brown’s commercial clout that an edition of Much Ado About Nothing was recently published with this quote stamped on the front cover – someone at the publishers clearly felt Shakespeare could do with the leg-up.

  Before becoming a bestselling author, Brown hung around in Hollywood, teaching English and trying to make it as a singer-songwriter. He formed his own record company and self-released several unsuccessful albums. In 1993, Dan Brown contained a song entitled ‘976-LOVE’ which, possibly catching a wave from Nicholson Baker’s 1992 novel Vox, appears to be about phone sex. ‘Now when I’m feeling small, you’re the one that I call,’ sings Brown, with rudimentary symbolism. ‘I see your face in my mind / I feel your love come pulsin’ through my telephone line –’

  Ugh! Hang up, hang up!

  As far as we know, Herman Melville never wrote a song about phone sex. But a glance at Chapter 94 of Moby-Dick, ‘A Squeeze of the Hand’, furnishes us with a hint of what a song it might have been. ‘Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; / I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it . . . / nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other . . . / Would that I could keep squeezing that sperm for ever!’ From which we conclude that, unlike Dan Brown, Herman Melville could have made a serious fist of it in LA.

  7. CRITICS

  As discussed, as Dan Brown’s fortune has spiralled, so has the opprobrium of critics. The Catholic Church denounces him as a heretic; professors of literature lambast him; celebrities like Stephen Fry dismiss his books as ‘arse gravy of the worst kind’.3 He has to put up with spiteful parodies, online polls of his twenty worst sentences and a man with a Fatwa on his head calling him names. Brown tries to be sanguine. ‘There are some people who understand what I do, and they sort of get on the train and go for a ride and have a great time,’ he said on publication of The Lost Symbol, ‘and there are other people who should probably just read somebody else.’

  But if anything, Brown should count himself lucky. With sales of his books already dwindling, critics attacked Herman Melville with such venom that they effectively put him out of business. The bafflement which greeted Moby-Dick turned to outrage when Pierre appeared. On 8 September 1852, the New York Day Book ran a news story under the headline: ‘HERMAN MELVILLE CRAZY’. The paper’s correspondent reported that ‘a critical friend, who read Melville’s last book, “Ambiguities” (sic.) . . . told us that it appeared to be composed of the ravings and reveries of a madman.’ He continues: ‘We were somewhat startled at the remark, but still more at learning, a few days after, that Melville was really supposed to be deranged, and that his friends were taking measures to place him under treatment. We hope one of the earliest precautions will be to keep him stringently secluded from pen and ink.’ With press and public deserting him, Melville’s publishers soon followed suit. Which is ironic, because . . .

  8. BLOODY PUBLISHERS

  Both Brown and Melville have good reason to blame their editors and publishers for at least some of the negative feeling directed towards them. Moby-Dick was first published in London by Richard Bentley, who made numerous cuts to the manuscript and forgot to include the book’s epilogue, leading many already discombobulated critics to conclude that Ishmael had drowned with the rest of the Pequod’s crew, and was therefore unavailable to narrate the novel they had just read, an error for which they entirely blamed Melville and not his incompetent publisher.

  Likewise, many of the factual and grammatical errors with which The Da Vinci Code is littered arguably could and should have been picked up before publication. As one of our friend Socrates’ fellow correspondents notes, ‘No self-respecting editor could have missed such blunders. Editors’ jobs are to make the author look better (and more educated) than they are.’ Apparently, something went wrong with The Da Vinci Code. Or maybe it didn’t. Perhaps no one ever thought Brown’s mass-market thriller would come under such close, rigorous, critical scrutiny. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a reasonable expectation because, under normal circumstances, such a page-turner might be read exclusively by the audience Brown was writing for, readers who want to ‘get on the train and go for a ride and have a great time’. True, someone could have gone over the train with a squeegee prior to departure – an editor, or Brown himself for that matter – but ultimately it has made no difference to the passengers. To stretch the metaphor to breaking point, Dan Brown’s high-speed bullet trains run on farts but they get millions where they want to go. On Herman Melville’s scenic, if slow, stopping service, meanwhile, there will always be seats available. But no thanks to the rail operator.

  In Brown’s novels, Robert Langdon has an editor called Jonas Faukman. A well-meaning soul, he works in Manhattan, has a goatee beard and over ‘power lunches’, listens patiently while Langdon burbles on about conspiracies and Mary Magdalene and the Priory of Sion like – well, like a character from a Dan Brown novel. In this regard, Brown is for once entirely accurate:

  ‘“Authors,” he [Faukman] thought. “Even the sane ones are nuts.”’

  9. THE PLANKTON FACTOR

  Both Moby-Dick and The Da Vinci Code have spawned entire secondary industries of movies, merchandise, spin-off books and, in the case of the latter, lawyers’ fees for plagiarism suits (always settled in Brown’s favour, it should be noted). Some authors have even written entire books comparing and contrasting Brown’s work with the complete canon of Western literature: a deplorable act. Both books have also attracted a high number of Internet geeks, conspiracy theories and obsessive crackpots. The Moby-Dick feeding pool has more academic bottom – the crackpots have PhDs and publish their ravings in quarterly journals – but the ecology is much the same. A Leviathan will always host its share of barnacles.

  10. THE ZELIG FACTOR

  In Woody Allen’s movie Zelig, the eponymous hero involuntarily changes his appearance to physically resemble whoever he is talking to at the time – rabbis, doctors, Nazis, etc. Under hypnosis, he relates the childhood trauma that triggered this condition: ‘At school . . . There were very bright people . . . Asked me if I read Moby-Dick . . . I was ashamed to say I never read it . . .’

  The Da Vinci Code and Moby-Dick are both novels about which, in social situations, we might feel a Zelig-like pressure to adapt, to express a view, to employ phrases like ‘I couldn’t put it down!’ or ‘You wouldn’t catch me reading that rubbish!’ or ‘I admired the author’s use of symbolism!’, even if we have not read either and have little intention of doing so. Ideally, it is a pressure we should resist but, as you will have realised by now, some of us find it hard to do so. As Zelig confesses, ‘I want to be liked.’

  *

  Unlike Dan Brown, Herman Melville is not around to enjoy the recognition and fortune that was later afforded him. He died obscure and despondent, a failure in his own time and by his own standards. Fifty years on, he became a literary icon. Although there are signs that the Brown phenomenon may be burning itself out – British charity shops report that The Da Vinci Code is their most-donated book, although this may simply be because it has now been read by every man, woman and child in the country and there is no one left to buy it – he has become more famous, faster, than any other writer in living memory, with the possible exceptions of J.K. Rowling and the aforementioned E.L. James. Yet fifty years from now, it may well be that few people remember his name.

  And this is really the point of this Love Match: implausible as it may sound, Melville and Brown were trying to write the same book – like Leonard Zelig, they both wanted to fit in and be liked. Dan Brown was not tryi
ng to write Moby-Dick, a key to all mythologies – that would be ridiculous – but at some level, Herman Melville was trying to write The Da Vinci Code. Had he succeeded, he would not have had to spend the rest of his life working as a customs officer. Like all writers, he hoped his books would engage, inspire and sell. Melville may not have desired riches in the way I think Dan Brown did – he was not trying to make it in showbusiness – but after the failure of Moby-Dick, he was not able to earn even a living wage from his writing. This fact blighted the rest of his days. And I do not believe he was so committed to art for art’s sake that he would willingly have forsaken a modest but loyal readership in his lifetime on a promise of immortality. Because when he wants it to, Moby-Dick thrills and dazzles and tells a page-turning, exhilarating story. But it does everything else too.

  When Herman Melville died, he was working on a novella called Billy Budd, Sailor. It was the first fiction he had written for many years. Tucked away by his widow Elizabeth, the manuscript was not found and published until 1924, by which time the Melville revival was well under way. Though it may be short, Billy Budd, Sailor is an unforgettable and extraordinary book. At the end of his miserable later life, its author’s wayward genius had returned, inimitable and intact. It felt then, and feels now, like the fierce, pathetic proof of the clipping found glued to the inside of the desk on which Melville wrote his story: