Herman Melville Gay

WHEN I discourse on Herman Melville, I'm typically queried about his possible non-heterosexual leanings. I posit, likely not. Then, the inquiry pivots to potential same-sex encounters. My response inclines toward a probable affirmative, yet confined to his youth, exclusively during his seafaring years. I then acknowledge that Robert Aldrich's compilation of LGBT biographies, Gay Lives (2012), lacks a dedicated entry for Melville. Aldrich maintains that, although gay liberation promotes open and proud expressions of sexual orientation, he proposes that sexual behavior alone doesn't offer a comprehensive understanding of a person's life. Apparently, a person's sexual life, in itself, is insufficient. Aldrich contends that, since sexual expression represents but a component of self-perception and a person's place within the world, sexual identity should focus on "intimate associations." Unfortunately, no personal testaments to such affiliations exist for Melville. Whether Melville himself possessed such associations remains unknown, despite his own writings on such matters.

The attempt to deduce Melville's adult sexual orientation from his written works has consistently proven problematic. One impediment is Melville's comparative lack of writings detailing his mature experiences. Another obstacle lies in his literary approach—his narrative construction was less than proficient. He seldom grasped the definitive elements of a novel form and was dependent upon others (editors, publishers) to define what constituted a successful narrative. Consequently, his debut novel, Typee, was marketed as an expeditionary narrative of the exotic South Seas. However, the work was actually rife with diverse elements, including anti-imperialist sentiments and his own inner struggles regarding masculinity. Unfortunately, these complexities only obscured his central purpose. Melville's true objective was crafting a palatable narrative that allowed him to engage with sensitive subjects like the nature of good and evil, and the conflict inherent in the male experience within society.

Despite inheriting a lineage of renowned ancestors, Melville lacked models for the life he desired. Within Billy Budd, he eliminated a passage acknowledging that fiction serves as merely a fleeting respite from the relentless conflict between the individual and society. This conflict between personal ambition and societal expectations ensnared Melville, as witnessed firsthand by his father's desperate, ultimately futile, pursuit of wealth. He also witnessed the demise of his admired father, who succumbed in a state of despair (a fate interpreted in Calvinistic thought as eternal damnation) and poverty. The ramifications were undeniable; during his adolescence, Melville entered the workforce at the lowest echelons, as a seaman. There, he witnessed the societal effects on men who failed, and the manner in which empires are built upon human hardship. Eventually, Melville came to recognize a kindred spirit in men who navigate life without the advantages of social standing or ethnicity. He realized that manhood transcended these constraints, possessing a universal essence.

At sea, Melville discovered a lifestyle at odds with the conventional norms of the land. This revelation extended into the realm of sexuality. However, despite potential exposure to the assertiveness associated with sailors' sexuality, his primary characters are frequently passive observers, relying on circumspect terms like "peep" or "glimpse" to allude to same-sex interactions. No overt acts of violence are depicted. Yet, these narrative choices reflect the author's inherent discomfort with fully embracing his emotional and sexual responsibility. This is evident in the novel Redburn, where, according to historian William Benemann (writing in this issue), the sailors force a recalcitrant boy to climb a mast by pushing him with their backsides. This, Melville's prose implies, approaches the brink of homoerotic explicitness. Subsequently, Redburn returned home, ensuring he left behind any trace of his experiences.

For those unfamiliar with such subtleties, the novel's ambiguous tone might be construed as simply reflecting a youthful fear of societal conformity. However, Melville's choice of words suggests that "climbing the mast" symbolizes a public sexual initiation. Such practices, common amongst merchant sailors during that era, were usually confined to discreet acts of mutual masturbation, often occurring below decks. This explains why, later in the narrative, when a shipmate expresses anxiety about Redburn's lack of proficiency in social dances on shore leave, Redburn readily alleviates these concerns. Melville suggests that Redburn willingly assimilates into the established social norms of the sailor's world ashore. Apparently, Redburn's narrative centers on the "green" initiates, often referred to as "boys" in popular sea shanties, who are celebrated for both their bravery and their sexual availability.

Melville's own life was marked by self-promotion, earning him the nickname "Tawney" from his kin due to his embellishment of personal accounts related to South Sea adventures. In these narratives, he employed the first-person pronoun "I" to evoke firsthand experience, which he further bolstered with elaborate details and suggestive fantasies. Over time, his family perceived his experiences among the cannibalistic populations of the South Pacific as having profoundly impacted him, as if he had returned home bearing the marks of pagan culture. These embellishments ultimately found their way into his debut, and arguably sole successful, novel Typee.

In Typee, young Tommo flees an onboard revelry involving sailors and Polynesian women to live amongst the Typee people ("lovers of human flesh"), where a peculiar leg injury leads to his pampered, passive treatment. As a prodigal son, upon realizing the islanders' cannibalistic proclivities, he returns to civilization, but with an arsenal of captivating stories to share. Even today, Melville's travel narratives continue to resonate, revealing the potential for profound human transformation under extraordinary circumstances or when subjected to unfamiliar cultures.

Melville once wrote to his friend Richard Dana Jr., author of Two Years before the Mast, that no one can truly capture the human experience without enduring the trials of seafaring. In Redburn, Melville asserts that 'there are passages in the lives of all men, so out of keeping with the common tenor of their ways... that only He who made us can expound them.' A popular song of the era encapsulates this sentiment more directly: 'Well, you know what sailors are.'

Melville certainly understood, for he reveals, in the words of William Benemann, "a world that accepts heterosexuality as the norm, yet encompasses a broad spectrum of sexual ambiguity." In Billy Budd, for example, when a sailor spills greasy soup after a jovial exchange below decks, Melville does not imply a deficiency in the sailor's masculinity. On the contrary, he implies that mutual masturbation was a socially accepted practice at sea. Melville even has the ship's officer, Claggart, commend the sailor's "handsome" deed as the paragon of conduct for the warship. Likewise, in Moby-Dick's chapter "A Squeeze of Hands," Melville extols the menial act of squeezing sperm whale blubber: "Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us squeeze ourselves into each other; let us all squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness." To the extent that societal norms fostered conflict between men, this practice of mutual admiration could only reinforce the widely held suspicion that sailors were inherently morally compromised. Established churches denied them entry; the reasons were well-known.

Laurie Robertson-Lorant, a biographer, reminds us that, despite his birth in the comfortable Pearl Street neighborhood of Manhattan, Melville lived in proximity to the Five Points slum, where respectable women could observe laborers swimming naked in the river. Eventually, public baths were constructed to provide a discreet location for these activities. Given that workers were required to pay for access to these amenities, nighttime bathing likely persisted in the open. Young Melville's initial encounters with this male culture likely occurred in the vicinity, on the same "fiddler's green," where a stretch of shore was exclusively allocated to sailors. This provided a seamless transition for him from the urban landscape to the high seas.

Throughout his works, Melville celebrates the beauty of men. He himself possessed striking good looks, deeply admiring his mentor, Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of the most attractive men of his time. Billy Budd even includes a scene where sailors of diverse ethnicities pay tribute to a "Handsome Sailor," a nautical paragon of strength and beauty. In this depiction, a magnificent free black man is featured in Liverpool, subsequently extending this accolade to the seemingly unrefined, blue-eyed, blond Billy Budd. According to Melville's description, Billy is integrated into the Anglo-Saxon ideal of an unvanquished, primordial race. As an unschooled orphan, Billy instinctively retaliates violently when the ship's officer, Claggart, denigrates him. In this maritime world, the Handsome Sailor must meet his demise at the hands of white, imperialist authority—hanged by the Royal Navy that forcefully abducted Billy from a life at sea as a merchant mariner aboard The Rights of Man. At the execution, Billy's lifeless body hangs suspended, devoid of any involuntary convulsions common in hangings—a testament to strength that transcends the control of his aggressors.

As his final work, Billy Budd might be interpreted as Melville's final testament, albeit an unfinished narrative. Melville asserted that reality eludes the constraints of a neatly structured plot. Possibly, his artistic exploration reached its limit; he lacked the inclination to explore other avenues of expressing his manhood.

Class and race were additional constraints, and he was keenly aware of his position in American history as a white man, particularly given his Revolutionary War ancestry. His own seafaring experiences with diverse peoples affirmed his status as a white man with "acceptable" origins. Nevertheless, his travels abroad, witnessing the subjugation of other races under white imperialism, prompted him to question the societal norms that constrained him. "Who ain't a slave?" he queried. Thus, Melville acknowledged the inherent incompatibility between his experience abroad, which broadened his perspective, and the racism of his domestic existence. He understood that a person is inextricably bound by the societal precepts into which they are initiated.

Nonetheless, having lived a life outside conventional expectations but recognizing the need for a traditional home, Melville felt torn, neglecting his domestic responsibilities. He was a challenging spouse and a disheartening parent, one of whose sons tragically took his own life. This is why, in Billy Budd, he allocates the concluding words to Captain Vere, the failed parental figure, and Billy's companions. Vere recites Billy Budd's name in a remorseful deathbed lament, while the sailors commemorate the Handsome Sailor's defiance of imperialist white authority in a ballad. The authorities too commemorate Billy's remarkable display of self-determination with a misleading account of the man's fate. Consequently, Billy's narrative resists being confined to a singular perspective.

In Melville's own life, he failed to establish the "intimate affinities" that today would be recognized as defining a homosexual life. For instance, in a passionate letter expressing gratitude to Nathaniel Hawthorne for positive feedback regarding Moby-Dick, Melville wrote: 'The divine magnet is upon you, and my magnet responds. Which is the biggest? A foolish question: they are One.' Hawthorne, however, seemingly disregarded this thinly veiled expression of desire. He probably perceived it as the sentimental expression of a devoted, yet somewhat obsessive, admirer, permitted within the social norms of their time. A forthright, direct declaration of love, seemingly impossible at that time, was unavailable. Melville's seafaring experiences distorted his understanding of sexuality.

Aldrich, Robert. Gay Lives. Thames and Hudson, 2012.

Benemann, William. Male-Male Intimacy in Early America: Beyond Romantic Friendships. Harrington Park Press, 2006.

Redfern, W. D. 'Between the Lines of Billy Budd.' Journal of American Studies, v. 17, no. 2. December 1983.

Robertson-Lorant, Laurie. Melville. A Biography. Clarkson Potter, 1996.

Rolando Jorif is an assistant professor of English at CUNY-Borough of Manhattan Community College.