Smorgasbord

Here's the first and mightiest of the picaresque novels I'd like to explore: Silverlock by John Myers Myers, first published in 1949. And no, that is not a typo. Both his middle name and his surname were Myers, as apparently he was descended from the Myers family on both his mother's and his father's side--so his middle name was his mother's maiden name, if I understand correctly.

Silverlock is quite simply amazing. The main character and narrator, A. Clarence Shandon, a world-weary, tough-talking, hard-boiled Chicago modernist/realist (similar to the gumshoes of Myers' contemporary authors--think Bogie in "The Maltese Falcon"), takes an ocean cruise and becomes shipwrecked, rescued, abducted, involved in military invasions, rescued, embroiled in love affairs, rescued... all the while learning to open his mind, live in the moment, and love life. You get the idea of the bones of the plot. Further actions and character development (especially character development) are driven by his adventures.

The genius is in the details. Shandon, a.k.a. Silverlock (from the white celtic streak in his otherwise dark hair), has boarded the ship Naglfar, so right up front, you know he's in for trouble. Here's a marvelous first sentence for you: "If I had cared to live, I would have died." That is, the ship is caught in a storm, and those who struggle to lower the lifeboats are dragged down with the ship, while Shandon, who shrugs fatalistically (que será será) and clings to nothing, is washed away by the storm waves and is clear of her when she sinks. He then fails to struggle against the waves, so he both floats and conserves his energy.

The first obvious picaresque reference in the book, then, is to a shipwreck. But there are so many in literature, that it is impossible to get any more precise in identifying which shipwreck... Robinson Crusoe? Swiss Family Robinson? Gulliver's Travels? Even St. Paul in the Bible, though Shandon is no saint and St. Paul wasn't named Robinson... and given the coincidence of the name, by the way, if I were surnamed Robinson, I'd stay away from sailing! Perhaps the real-life story of the Titanic (and that begs the question, were any of the survivors of the Titanic surnamed Robinson)? In any case, any literary shipwreck which leads to a great adventure in a new country will do. Perhaps the reference is merely to the effectiveness of the shipwreck device for introducing new adventure throughout literature as a whole.

But the second picaresque reference, the Naglfar, is quite precise: it comes from Norse mythology. It is the doom ship made of dead men's fingernails which will appear at Ragnarok (the end of the world) and bring men to fight the gods. If you are into symbolism, I believe this means that Shandon's ship is bringing him to a place where he will fight his old assumptions and the priorities that rule his life, changing his life forever (or perhaps better phrased as "ending his old life"). Otherwise, it is just a cool way of saying the sea voyage is doomed before it begins. If you cannot stand to let a reference pass, here's a good place to stop and read some basic Norse myth for background.

The next reference--a very minor one--is in the same sentence, an instance of Myers' colorful writing: "On the fourth day, the fog cleared; but the sky did not, and the wind came up. It blew the Naglfar no good, and somewhere, nine days out of Baltimore, down she went." It is a reference, of course, to the old adage, "An ill wind blows no good." Not something that most people would even have to look up, but it underlines the idea that Myers has stuffed this book full of references and that you have to be on your toes if you want to find them all. Here's a question related to this particular quote: is there any story which refers to incidents that occur "nine days out of Baltimore" or any other port? I welcome suggestions. (I plan to check The Old Man and the Sea to see if that's the source, but somehow that doesn't quite seem to fit.)

[10/11/2011: I find that a google search on "nine days out of Baltimore" turns up an exciting narrative of a privateer during the War of 1812, who seized the Brig Nymph (for violating the non-importation act) nine days out of Baltimore, then proceeded to capture a number of British frigates and brigs. There were some pursuits, sea battles, ship burnings, trades of prisoners... The reference is in Splendid Deeds of American Heroes On Sea and Land by Fallows, Huntington and Reed, published in 1900, so possibly childhood reading for Myers. However, I suspect there is a more literary source which I haven't yet found. Maybe Billy Budd?]

Or another question, related to the following paragraph of Silverlock: is there any story/philosopher who says something to the effect of "Every man knows he will die; and nobody believes it. On that paradox stand not only a host of religions but the entity of sane being"? There is no doubt in my mind that Myers was classically educated and MUCH better read than I am (and the breadth of my reading isn't too shabby, I suppose, though sometimes I just go with escapist reading rather than trying for depth), so that is probably his paraphrase of some philosopher--maybe one of the existentialists. If it is not distilled from someone else's philosophical writing, then Myers was not only a highly gifted writer, but also a deep thinker and a philosopher in his own right. Again, suggestions for source are welcome.

Back to the story... Shandon has become apathetic over the years, and is indifferent to his plight (not believing, naturally, in his own non-existence, as indicated above). He swims and treads water, and suddenly sees a bit of wooden mast floating nearby. The spark of hope it gives him causes the catastrophic loss of his indifference (he begins to flail around trying to reach it and to despair of ever doing so), and he desperately swims to the mast, only to discover another survivor (from a different shipwreck) already clinging to it. We later get to know the other man very well, but at first he remains nameless, helping Shandon get a good grip on the mast, then commenting lightly, "you must be as fond of swimming as the Great Silkie himself." And this really is a good time for a break, while you read the folk song "The Grey (or Great) Silkie (or Selkie or Selchie) of Sule Skerry." (Here's a youtube video of The Corries singing it--very haunting but recorded quietly and with a very heavy Scots dialect; a Joan Baez version, still in dialect, that is a bit clearer and louder; a modern language (no dialect) Judy Collins version.)

There are years' worth of references in Silverlock (assuming you want to read it and them as we go along), so we'll spread them out. Each reference adds to the richness of the story, so it is worthwhile to know them. I may do a few blog entries in a row about Silverlock now, just to get through the rest of the first chapter, and I'm planning on adding links so you can read online or buy any of the works to which Myers refers.

Over the decades, Silverlock has been the subject of numerous find-the-reference games among literary circles. I'd like to play and hope you will join me. Of course, the jist of the game is this: if you haven't yet read the material to which Myers points, you won't recognize a reference when you see it--so you have to one-up each other in finding references and tracking them down. If you provide the answer to one of my questions, I'll acknowledge you in the blog as the master of that reference!