Moby-Dick, or, The Pop-Up Whale

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Moby-Dick does not belong to Melville—not anymore. Like any popular or important book, the idea of Moby Dick has long resided at least partially in the public consciousness. But when the text itself is owned by all of us, it becomes as malleable as its wide readership. A recent tour of Moby-Dick editions, many of them from the Rare Books collection at my university library, revealed to me just how varied the textual experience of such a book can be. In the space of a morning, with a book cart in front of you, it is possible to encounter many Ishmaels.

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MQR 53:4 | Fall 2014

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Stephen Burt examines Laurence Goldstein’s review of Los Angeles poetry, Andrew Bush delves into Nancy Willard and Eric Lindbloom’s The River that Runs Two Ways, Yoon Choi encounters her heritage, Rebecca McKanna loses her virginity, and John Felstiner remembers an elusive figure from his childhood.

Fiction by Liliana Colanzi, Claudine Guertin, Toni Mirosevich, and Valerie Miner.

Poetry by Idris Anderson, Peter Blickle, Eduardo Chirinos, Peter Cooley, Haesong Kwon, Ben Landry, Jacqueline Osherow, Pireeni Sundaralingam, Arseny Tarkovsky, and Eric Weinstein.

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Inside the Goat

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So I agreed to wear the goat. First I was fitted with a yellow hardhat to protect my delicate scalp as the goat was lowered over my head. The goat was massive. In truth, it was (mostly) just a papier-mâché goat head, but it covered the entire top of my body, resting warily on the hard hat, steadied by my hands. As with most of the charming but hastily made Honey from the Heart puppets, I had to wear its imperfections as well. Staples stuck, pointy end out, from where its joints came together. It was lopsided and difficult to balance. And I couldn’t see anything except my feet.

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