Thursday, August 17, 2006

water

This is a word that benefits from the ubiquity of its referent. Just as (and of course because) water itself can give, save or take life, can have a warming or a cooling effect, can cleanse or taint, is found at both great depths and great heights, and transforms as casually into a solid block as it does into vapor, "water" is a constant symbol of all of this and more. There is very little that water in fiction hasn't been; it has been time, both ever-changing (as in countless river tales such as The River Why) and never-changing (as in the closing lines of The Great Gatsby), mercy (I fail to come up with an example but refuse to sacrifice this one. Help me out here.), wrath (as in the Bible), or simply the extreme power of inexplicable occurrence (as in The Mill on the Floss, though you may have some more refined interpretation). Often it is as hazardous as it is vital, as in Hatchet, which I still recall reading in elementary school. Perhaps the fact that it composes so much of our body is part of what encourages us to communicate such varied things with it. Moby-Dick is another work in which water fills many roles, and I highly recommend it along with The River Why. But my absolute favorite occurrence of water in fiction is found in the 17th chapter of James Joyce's Ulysses. The chapter is written entirely in the question-and-answer format of a catechism. With no knowledge of, or regard for, any applicable copyright law, I reproduce the relevant passage here.

What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier returning to the range, admire?

Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean of Mercator's projection: its umplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacific exceeding 8,000 fathoms: the restlessness of its waves and surface particles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the independence of its units: the variability of states of sea: its hydrostatic quiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides: its subsidence after devastation: its sterility in the circumpolar icecaps, arctic and antarctic: its climatic and commercial significance: its preponderance of 3 to 1 over the dry land of the globe: its indisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the region below the subequatorial tropic of Capricorn: the multisecular stability of its primeval basin: its luteofulvous bed: Its capacity to dissolve and hold in solution all soluble substances including billions of tons of the most precious metals: its slow erosions of peninsulas and downwardtending promontories: its alluvial deposits: its weight and volume and density: its imperturbability in lagoons and highland tarns: its gradation of colours in the torrid and temperate and frigid zones: its vehicular ramifications in continental lakecontained streams and confluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and transoceanic currents: gulfstream, north and south equatorial courses: its violence in seaquakes, waterspouts, artesian wells, eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds, waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its secrecy in springs, and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments and exemplified by the hole in the wall at Ashtown gate, saturation of air, distillation of dew: the simplicity of its composition, two constituent parts of hydrogen with one constituent part of oxygen: its healing virtues: its buoyancy in the waters of the Dead Sea: its persevering penetrativeness in runnels, gullies, inadequate dams, leaks on shipboard: its properties for cleansing, quenching thirst and fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm and paragon: its metamorphoses as vapour, mist, cloud, rain, sleet, snow, hail: its strength in rigid hydrants: its variety of forms in loughs and bays and gulfs and bights and guts and lagoons and atolls and archipelagos and sounds and fjords and minches and tidal estuaries and arms of sea: its solidity in glaciers, icebergs, icefloes: its docility in working hydraulic millwheels, turbines, dynamos, electric power stations, bleachworks, tanneries, scutchmills: its utility in canals, rivers, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its potentiality derivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from level to level: its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe) numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: its ubiquity as constituting 90% of the human body: the noxiousness of its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon.

6 Comments:

Blogger Marty said...

Do you mean 'The River Wide?'

I'm kind of obsessed with water; it's a great metaphor, a great life-giver, and it's had some beautiful spotlights in films and books.

August 17, 2006 11:10 AM  
Blogger Seskel said...

I definitely mean "The River Why." It's by David James Duncan.

August 17, 2006 12:59 PM  
Blogger Mo and The Purries said...

How about the duck & the frozen lake joke from Fried Green Tomatoes? After hearing that joke a few dozen times in the movie, you just say "Mercy!"

August 17, 2006 5:08 PM  
Blogger Seskel said...

Or the Kathy Bates hot tub scene in About Schmidt, which elicits a similar reaction?

August 18, 2006 12:23 AM  
Blogger ThursdayNext said...

Papa Hemingway almost always manages to describe a body of water in either a short story or novel (besides OMATS). Part of my affection for Papa has to do with his love of the ocean...

What a flowing post, Seskel! :) I love Mill on the Floss; did you read Tess?

August 18, 2006 6:05 AM  
Blogger Seskel said...

No, I haven't yet. I have it lying around somewhere, I just haven't gotten around to it.

August 18, 2006 9:23 AM  

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