<p>The Tragic Hero and His Morality: A Look at the Tragic Hero archetype in Moby Dick and House of Leaves.</p>
<p>The Tragic Hero, with his unjust yet condemning fate, is among the earliest and most utilized of literary archetypes. We can see his appearance in the most celebrated Classical Greek Tragedies such as dipus and Medea, to Medieval and Renaissance works such as Gísla saga Súrssonar and Hamlet, and to many Post-Modern era novels and characters, such as Winston in 1984. Despite vastly differing specifics and details in both the characters themselves and their plots, the response evoked in the audience remains consistent; one of pity, hopelessness, and compassion. While this is due in part to the strength of character with which the Tragic Hero starts out, the morality of the character must only be relatively significant in the context of his misfortune for readers to empathize with him, with disregard to the legal and societal stance on the Tragic Heros deeds. This can easily be seen when comparing two works known for the prominent role cast for the Tragic Hero, Moby Dick by Herman Melville and House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. In these two novels, the lack of legitimate morality is justified to the readers by the sheer tragedy and disconsolate fortunes of their protagonists, Captain Ahab and Johnny Truant.</p>
<p>Captain Ahab, the old sea faring captain of the Pequod in Moby Dick, is perhaps the definitive example of a Tragic Hero in american literature. He spends the near entirety of the novel engaged in a conflict with Moby Dick, the great White Whale that cost him his leg prior to the novels accounts. Although little information is given on the subject of Ahabs past; it is revealed that Ahab is an orphan and started whaling at the age of 18, and has since spent only three years on land. It is also mentioned that Ahab is a Quaker, and married late in life. The names of his wife and son are never given, and no friends or acquaintances are mentioned. It seems that the reader is given more personal information on Ishmael, the deeply philosophical yet disassociated narrating ship-hand (who, especially in the exposition of the novel, could arguably serve as protagonist-in-part). This evokes the readers mental of image of Ahab to be upstanding, but not fully realized nor rewarded for his hard work. Perhaps before crossing paths with the White Whale, he was a simple and diligent man, making his living honestly and doing the best he could.</p>
<p>His undoing, however, is found in his Mad quest for the white whale (Mather 333). In taking Ahabs leg, Moby Dick symbolically bested and took a piece of control away from Ahab. Being a seafaring man, Ahab would naturally depend on his physical abilities, and for the White Whale to damage what little this man had could have proven catastrophic for Ahab… With thirty-seven out of forty years being spent on the sea, to Ahab, being an able-bodied captain defines his self-identity. This injury, while being in reality only a physical setback that Ahab would be able to cope with, strikes such a blow to Ahabs pride that he determines himself to kill Moby Dick. He hunts and tracks the white whale with what is described often throughout the novel as a Monomaniacal passion, Monomaniacal being a single pathological preoccupation in an otherwise sound mind… (Goldstein 155-156). Following the loss of his leg, Ahabs only desire and goal centers around revenge against Moby Dick, not just for the physical consequences of the injury, but rather, as Melville puts it, because:
“All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby-Dick.” (Melville 473)</p>
<p>We can seen in this passage, that the White Whale itself is not provoking Ahab to this fixation, but rather all that Ahab disdains, fears, and curses in the world is manifested in Moby Dick. To Ahab, this is not just a quest for vengeance, but a very battle between right and wrong, between good and evil, and is one that only Ahab can fight and rectify.</p>
<p>However, when looking at this story from an objective standpoint, the Majestic battle between good and evil is completely synthesized by Ahab in his obsessive state. Logically, Ahab is overreacting to a situation that is only natural. Moby Dick, upon its first encounter with Captain Ahab, was being hunted and in danger for its life; it is only animal instinct to defend itself. Not only that, but despite the seeming gravity of a one-legged Captain Ahab, this injury is apparently manageable, as Ahab is able to embark on this arduous quest. One can clearly see that while the White Whale is providing the token opposition, the real damage to Ahab is being done by his own mind. Captain Ahabs death provides a great allegory of this Man-Versus-Self conflict being disguised as a Man-Versus-Character/Nature conflict. Ahab, in his final chase of Moby Dick, brings about his death by hurling his last harpoon at the White Whale, sinking it into his flesh. While this severely injures the whale, the rope of the harpoon is stuck around Ahabs neck, dragging Ahab to the depths of the sea with the wounded whale. This deeply symbolic death physically demonstrates that it is not the whale itself, but rather Ahabs ardent attack against the whale (and his carelessness therein) that brings about Ahabs demise, and allows the destruction of the Pequod and the slaughter of his shipmates.</p>
<p>Yet as we finish the story of Captain Ahab, we cannot help but to pity his life and hope for his success. We applaud this unnecessary and superfluously dangerous pursuit of the whale as a form of needed solace for Ahab; we understand his pain and his devotion. This is partly due to the grandness and familiarity of Ahabs character; himself being modeled and sculpted by Melville to the likes of a Shakespearian Tragic Hero (Melville wrote Ahabs dialogue in Iambic Pentameter as often as possible, a direct influence of Shakespeare). However, more so is this a result of the endearment the reader has for Captain Ahab. We accept his monomaniacal obsession with the White Whale because it is obvious that he did not choose it, he would not want it, and that he is consumed wholly by it. Because he is a slave to his own mind, we justify his ridiculous actions in pursuing this beast as a man acting to only seeking contentment, and we deem him a martyr. A Tragic Hero, in all senses of the word, who was corrupted by an uncontrollable fixation that led to his anticipated downfall.</p>
<p>Johnny Truant of The House of Leaves, however, finds himself in entirely different circumstances. In standing with the unorthodox nature of the book, Johnny Truant is a very unorthodox character. In simple view, he is a morally challenged twenty-something with slacker-esque tendencies, whose fate intertwines with Zapatos writings and the seemingly fictional Navidson Record, ultimately leading to his destruction.</p>
<p>In the exposition of his story, a clear image of Johnny is given. He is a young man who is ruled by his Id, chasing drugs and sex while maintaining a job as an apprentice at a tattoo parlor. Even his name alone, Johnny Truant, enforces his miscreant status, evoking images of a nobody, invisible to the important world. However, even as we learn about Johnnys continual and habitual adventures with strange women and equally as strange substances, Danielewski is careful never to vilify Johnny. This evidenced from the start of the novel, beginning with the very first two paragraphs of the introduction:
“I still get nightmares. In fact I get them so often I should be used to them by now. Im not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares
For a while there I tried every pill imaginable. Anything to curb the fear. Excedrin PMs, Melatonin, L-tryptophan, Valium, Vicodin, quite a few members of the barbital family. A pretty extensive list, frequently mixed, often matched, with shots of bourbon, a few lung rasping bong hits, sometimes even the vaporous confidence-trip of cocaine. None of it helped. I think its pretty safe to assume that theres not a lab sophisticated enough yet to synthesize the kind of chemicals I need. A Nobel Prize to the one who invents that puppy.” (Danielewski XI)</p>
<p>In this passage we see Johnnys blatant drug use, and his flaws are in full view. However instead of judging Johnny as a simple lowlife, we empathize with Johnny, and are lenient on him. His usage of illicit substances is presented not as recreational, but as medicinal. His actions are no longer out of volition but out of necessity, out of solace, in desperation to suppress and ultimately rid himself of the horrors bestowed upon him by The Navidson Record.</p>
<p>This sympathy continues throughout the novel as Johnnys life is presented to us. Though the reader eventually discovers Johnnys role as an Unreliable Narrator, with many fallacies arising in Johnnys account, we do not think of Johnny as a liar. On the contrary, stories of Johnnys delusional mother, horrible luck with foster parents, and the absolutely horrifying situations Johnny experiences endear the audience enough to Johnny to pity and forgive him, no matter what his actions may be. In the very least, one would write him off as only an underprivileged adult with bad habits and low standards for himself, rather than a deceitful and maniacal human being.</p>
<p>His tragedy, chronologically speaking, begins after he comes into contact with Zapatos account of the Navidson Record, an allegedly made up documentary about a house with inexplicable dimensions and a large, physically impossible system of chambers. Johnny innocently encounters with the book, and blames it on his own stupidity. (Danielewski XXII). These accounts become his downfall, causing him to become consumed with obsession over the story to the point of paranoia and insanity. The records haunt him, eventually taking such a strong hold on Johnny that he suffers from sever hallucinations and insomnia. The fate of Johnny ends with him stinking of [his] own vomit, in a hotel room. (Danielewski XXIII). This is without any doubt at the fault of some paranormal qualities of Zapanos writings, losing all the little sanity the he had left.</p>
<p>Johnnys fate is ironic, as when the account first appears to him, he perceives it as only benign. It turns into a fun investigation; a story that he pursues with such a fervor than most reporters would only hope to dream of. He has both a purpose and a direction his life for the first time, and we as the readers are ecstatic for him. Had he found a less malicious set of notes, accounts, and writings to pursue, we would laud and praise him as a success story and admire the ferocity with which he investigated. However, this is not the case, and as Johnnys mind rapidly deteriorates throughout the story, we are sickened and feel only the chilling lack of hope and despair that he suffers. Despite his initial shortcomings, his fate sickens us, and his life forms a tragedy rich in mediocrity, centered around one golden opportunity that went horribly against him; completely out of control.</p>
<p>While both Johnny Truant and Captain Ahab undergo entirely and completely different trials, the emotional response experienced by the audience is largely the same. We pity both characters, we want to save both characters, and perhaps more iconically, we forgive and understand both characters. We as readers are able to see the good in each character, and recognize them as pure at heart despite their lack of adherence to the logical and moral boundaries that govern society. We can approve of their flaws because of the burden placed upon them, and the harsh punishments they receive serve as atonement. This is what makes the Tragic Hero an archetype rich in reaction; one that will never fail to tear at hearts and connect with the reader, and it is this connection that allows us to absolve the Tragic Hero of any proper guilt and render true tragedy to his story.</p>
<p>Works Cited
Danielewski, Mark Z. House of Leaves. Toronto: Random House, 2000. Print.
*Goldstein, Jan. Console and Classify: the French Psychiatric Profession in the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge Cambridgeshire: Cambridge UP, 1987. Print.
Mather, Frank J. Nineteenth-Century Literature Criticism. Ed. Laurie L. Harris. Vol. 3. Detroit: Gale Research, 1983. 333. Print.
Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. New York: Signet Classic, 1998. Print.</p>
<p>(the Block Quotes came out funky, so I added Quotation marks to further distinguish them on this forum)</p>