Analysis of ‘Jaws’

Jaws is a novel by Peter Benchley, published in 1974 and adapted the next year by Steven Spielberg into a movie that starred Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, and Robert Shaw, and costarring Lorraine Gary and Murray Hamilton.

While it is more usual to say that a book is better than its movie adaptation, it is almost universally felt that the reverse is the case with Jaws. The novel’s characters are generally felt to be unlikeable and unsympathetic, and so the changes made to them for the film are justified. Also, while the film streamlines and simplifies the plot to focus on the shark threat, the novel does a detour in the middle to make it into a character study, focusing on their conflicts.

Now, while I would agree that the film is far more entertaining than the novel–indeed, the film established the notion of the summer blockbuster–there are important thematic elements in the novel, only lightly touched on in the film, that deserve a more thorough exploration, so I’ll be focusing on the novel a lot here…without neglecting the film, of course.

Here is a link to quotes from the film, and here’s a link to an audiobook of the novel, whose quirky AI narrator makes lots of amusing mispronunciations.

While the great white shark of the film is just a menace to be defeated, the shark of the novel, somewhat like the white whale of Moby-Dick, is symbolically a force of nature ready to fight back against a most predatory human race. Just as the crew of the Pequod hunt and kill whales as their way of making money (e.g., to get the oil), so do the people of the fictional town of Amity use the beaches and swimming as a way of making money, which can be seen as a human muscling in on the fish’s natural territory.

So the people in the novel are as much predators in their own way as the shark is. Indeed, predation in general is a major theme of the novel, something stripped away to a minimum in the film. When making the film, Spielberg famously said he’d been rooting for the shark as he was reading Benchley’s novel, since the characters were so unlikeable. I would argue, though, that the unlikeability of the characters was the whole point of the novel.

A careful reading of the book demonstrates a critique of capitalism that Spielberg and his fellow moviemakers were trying to shy away from…and in making not only the first summer blockbuster, but also a well-loved, classic film that has since raked in hundreds of millions of dollars worldwide (the result of an aggressive marketing campaign that had included such merchandise as a soundtrack album, T-shirts, beach towels, blankets, toy sharks, etc.), they succeeded most admirably in making the film all for capitalism, rather than against it.

The film, while scary, gave viewers a sense of hope, whereas the novel is much darker in tone, giving us a sense of how much nastier we can be than sharks. Small wonder people like the movie so much more than the book.

I will go into the capitalist critique later on, in particular as regards the…business relationships…of Amity Mayor Larry Vaughn (Hamilton), something removed from the film. For now, though, consider the reality of such things as the polluting of our oceans, which harms so much of marine life because proper disposal of garbage is more costly and eats into profits. Also, there’s the hunting of sharks for their fins to be eaten as a delicacy. Indeed, Benchley later regretted how the Jaws phenomenon led to hostility to a marine animal that doesn’t attack humans all that much, thus making him preoccupied with marine conservation and protecting sharks. As I said above, man is every bit the predator that sharks are, if not much more so.

An understanding of that reality can help us to see how, on a symbolic level, people going out to swim in the waters of Amity Beach are intruding on the territory of marine animals. So while in the movie, as well as in the novel, young Christine Watkins may be innocently skinny dipping, then to die a violent death, that is just our human point of view. From the shark’s point of view, too, she’s just its prey…killing her is of course nothing personal. But the shark, often called “the fish” in the novel, represents the vengeful wrath of nature against her human predators. On a couple of occasions in the novel, a resident of Amity claims that the shark is God’s agent of retribution for the town’s sins.

When police chief Martin Brody (Scheider) learns of the killing of Watkins, and that it was probably a shark attack, he wants to close down the beach to prevent any more attacks. The problem is that the summer tourist season has come, and the Amity economy depends almost entirely on tourism. Because of this problem, Vaughn and the town’s selectmen want news of the shark attack to be kept secret. And so the editor of the local newspaper, Harry Meadows (played by Carl Gottlieb, who also did rewrites of Benchley’s original script for the film, and whose role as Meadows was little more than a cameo, as opposed to Meadows’s much more substantial part in the novel), gives no reports of the attack.

Issues of class difference having an impact on the novel first become apparent in the dissatisfaction of Ellen Brody (Gary) with her marriage to Martin. Her family background is further up in terms of social class than his, so her having become the wife of a police chief feels as though she’s ‘married down.’ As a result, she feels alienated from the Amity community, who seem ‘beneath’ her, and when she meets Matt Hooper (Dreyfuss), an ichthyologist from a class echelon similar to hers–and whose older brother she once dated, years before knowing Martin–she develops a sexual interest in him. Needless to say, none of this is in the movie.

What must be understood here is that the unpleasantness of these characters (her lust, Hooper’s snottiness to Martin, his jealous suspicions of Hooper with his wife and resulting antagonism to him, etc.) is all part of the novel’s critique of class conflict and alienation, all products of capitalism, which in turn is an important part of the overall theme of predation in the novel. Recall, in this connection, Einstein‘s words: “the real purpose of socialism is precisely to overcome and advance beyond the predatory phase of human development.”

Because no one yet knows of the danger of the shark, some people go out to the beach for a swim. Brody is there, too, watching over the area just in case. A little boy named Alex Kintner goes into the water and is eaten by the shark; in the film, his blood is splashing with the water, the shock of it vividly captured in the famous dolly zoom of Brody’s reaction to the killing.

Because of technical difficulties with ‘Bruce,’ the mechanical shark used in the film, its appearance had to be limited. Spielberg was able to turn this problem into a virtue, however, by instead suggesting the shark’s presence: filming from its POV, using shadow, and having John Williams‘s famous music, with the E-F-E-F-E-F-E-F in the cellos, double basses, etc. The result was something incalculably scarier, with the sense of approaching danger.

When Alex’s mother (played by Lee Fiero) learns that Brody had known of the shark danger, yet let the beaches stay open, we see her approach him and slap him. In the film, her reaction is gentle compared to the rage she shows him in the novel, and it’s another example of how the film makes the characters more likable and sympathetic.

Still, despite Brody’s attempts to have the beach closed, especially since he’s racked with guilt over Alex’s death (Brody has sons of his own: two in the film, and three in the novel), Mayor Vaughn insists on keeping the beaches open for the sake of the summer season and the health of the town’s economy.

Now, in the film, Vaughn seems to be a well-intentioned, but short-sighted and foolish mayor, dismissing the shark threat and trivializing it in comparison to the, to him, far greater urgency of keeping the town’s economy healthy. In the novel, though, things get far more sinister and darker when we learn of his business dealings with the mafia.

In many posts, I’ve described the presentation of the mafia in film as symbolic of capitalists, since I consider the exploitation of labour to be criminal. The mafia’s criminal actions are illegal, with mainstream capitalists, their criminal actions are legal. In the Jaws novel, though, the mafia are literally capitalists, who have bought up local property at cheap prices and are hoping, during the summer tourist season, to sell it at much higher prices to get a nice profit.

So the mafia is pressuring Vaughn, who in turn is pressuring Brody, to keep the beaches open, with no regard whatsoever for the safety of the swimmers. The mafia at one point even kill the Brody family cat, which Brody angrily tries to blame on Vaughn. Now, Vaughn, incidentally, also needs money from the tourism to pay off some debts. So in all of these issues, we can see not only a sense of predation far greater than just that of the shark, but also how Benchley’s novel is a critique of capitalism.

In man’s muscling into the marine animals’ territory to make a profit, we can see how one of the residents of Amity considers the shark to be an agent of God’s retribution against the wicked.

Quint (Shaw) is introduced in the film far earlier than he is in the novel, which is just before he, Brody, and Hooper go out hunting for the shark. At a town meeting, where a $3,000 bounty is placed on the shark, the eccentric Quint, after scratching his fingernails on a chalkboard where a shark has been drawn (suggesting his Ahab-like hatred of the great white marine animal), he offers his own shark-hunting services for $10,000.

Other shark hunters go after the shark, but end up catching a different one, a tiger shark. At about 6:47 in this set of deleted scenes, we see not only their shark hunting, but also their rowdy competition with each other, hitting the butts of their rifles against other boats, throwing bait at rivals in other boats, foolishly taking their dogs in their boats, and recklessly firing their rifles into the water. Though the film managed to remove much of the novel’s human predation, this deleted scene demonstrates at least an attempt to compensate for those removals.

Because the shark seems to have been caught and killed, Vaughn confidently assures everyone it’s OK to come to Amity Beach and have a good time in the water. He reminds us that amity means “friendship,” though for those who know the town of the novel, the unlikeable characters imply that the town would be more aptly named ‘Enmity.’

Indeed, the sense of unfriendliness and alienation is so keenly felt in a reading of the novel that at times it’s to be noted even in the narration itself. Homophobic slurs pop up occasionally, and racist stereotypes are presented in the insistence that rapists in the town must be black. I suspect, in all fairness to Benchley, that these elements aren’t meant to be a reflection of his character, but are meant to be present in whoever is narrating the story, presumably a resident of Amity.

To get back to the film version, we note that people are on the beach again, though at first they’re nervous about going into the water. Vaughn has to urge an elderly couple to go in, to prod all the others to go in also, by imitative conformity. Brody has people patrolling the water, watching it like hawks in case the shark that had been caught was the wrong one.

Around this time, we see a TV news reporter saying a cheesy line about how Amity Beach has a cloud over it in the shape of a killer shark. This, by the way, is a cameo by none other than Peter Benchley himself (a former reporter for the Washington Post)…and one wonders if the clichéd line he speaks is meant to be a dig at the writer’s prose.

After a prank pulled by a couple of boys in the water, a false alarm that allows for some temporary relief in the tension, the shark really makes an appearance, killing a man, whose dismembered leg is seen floating down in the water, his blood mixing with it. Later, Vaughn is finally showing some remorse over his trivializing of the danger and his overconfidence that there was no more shark to worry about.

Around this time in the novel, Ellen has seen Hooper again, and with a tense dinner party in the Brody house, her predatory seduction of him begins. Martin, sensing the chemistry between them, is getting drunk and making things awkward for everyone.

After the party, she arranges to meet Hooper in a restaurant for lunch, and the flirtation between them continues. At one point, she makes an odd comment about having rape fantasies. While it is true that some women have these (though they’d be more accurately described as fantasies of being ravished or of having ‘good, rough sex,’ the word ‘rape’ being used here for its connotations rather than its denotative meaning, since ‘rape’ by definition is something one does NOT want to be subjected to), one cannot but be suspicious of the inner motives of a male novelist putting such fantasies in the mind of one of his female characters.

Still, as unseemly as such fantasies may be in Ellen’s mind, they do, in a way, fit in with the general theme of predation. If we see sexual predation and seduction as forms of sexual sadism, then ‘rape’ fantasies could be seen as examples of sexual masochism. Ellen, in this sense, would prey on Hooper and be preyed on by him. In this connection, note what Freud once said: “A person who feels pleasure in producing pain in someone else in a sexual relationship is also capable of enjoying as pleasure any pain which he may himself derive from sexual relations. A sadist is always at the same time a masochist.” To paraphrase Freud, a predator is always at the same time prey. The shark will certainly be the prey of Brody, Hooper, and Quint.

Anyway, Ellen and Hooper will go to a hotel after their lunch date and prey on each other, as it were, in bed. Martin, in the meantime, will try to reach both of them by phone that afternoon, and being unable to do so, will feel his jealousy swelling in him.

Other examples of what could be called predation in Amity include some local scammers trying to take advantage of tourists, who want a glimpse of the notorious shark they’ve heard about in the media; the scammers will trick the tourists into buying unneeded tickets for admission to the beach! Brody finds out about this, and realizes he has to apprehend the scammers.

Finally, after a boy narrowly escapes being eaten by the shark, Brody closes the beach and convinces the town’s selectmen to hire Quint. Now, as we know, insanely jealous Brody and snotty rich kid Hooper are not likable (as opposed to their portrayal in the film, of course), but neither is the Quint of the novel, who disembowels a blue shark and uses an illegally caught unborn baby dolphin as bait, angering ichthyologist Hooper. Once again, we see man as much more of a predator than sharks are.

Now, while in the film there is some friction among the three men on Quint’s boat, the Orca (aptly named after the killer whale that is the natural enemy of the great white shark), such friction is expressed in a generally light-hearted manner. Recall Dreyfuss’s Hooper making faces at Quint after being told he can’t admit when he’s wrong.

In the novel, however, the friction among them gets much nastier, and this contributes to their unlikeability. As I mentioned above, neither Brody nor Quint likes snotty rich kid Hooper, and in this we see the alienation caused by class differences, caused in turn by capitalism. On top of that, Brody’s rising jealous suspicions of Hooper having played around with Ellen (also, as we’ve seen, a product of class differences) fill him with so much rage that at one point he physically attacks Hooper, strangling him for a moment.

While in the movie, the men go out in the Orca one time and confront the shark at the end, in the novel, they go out on four separate trips, each time returning to shore at the end of the day. They never see the shark on the first day, but they do on the second, and Brody is amazed at the size of it. In the film, his amazement can be related to the scene when he’s ladling chum into the water, the shark suddenly appears, shocking him, and he backs up and says the famous line to Quint, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” (Incidentally, Scheider improvised the line.)

The third day is not only when Brody and Hooper have their fight, but also when Hooper brings the shark cage and, unlike in the film, he dies underwater in it when the shark attacks him. Now, he was originally supposed to die in the film that way, too, but footage filmed of a great white shark attacking the cage (with no one in it) looked so compelling to Spielberg that he wanted to use it, and this meant rewriting the scene so Hooper instead would escape and swim to safety on the ocean floor, then resurface with Brody, and together they swim to shore at the end. Besides, the problems with ‘Bruce’ were a constant source of changes to the story.

The fourth and final day, of course, is the final confrontation with the shark, both it and Quint dying, though the latter dies in a more Ahab-esque way, and the former in a far less…explosive…way. But I’ll come back to that in more detail later.

While in the film, there is some friction among the three men, there’s also a lot of camaraderie, which adds to their likability. This is especially so in the night-time scene on the Orca, when they have a few drinks and engage in male bonding in the form of Quint and Hooper comparing scars on their legs.

And it is at this point that we come to one of the most important film contributions to the story: Quint’s recollections of what happened to the crew of the USS Indianapolis. This incident really happened in 1945; the ship delivered the components of an atomic bomb to Tinian in a mission so secret that when the ship was sunk by Japanese torpedoes while on its way to Leyte, the Philippines, the navy was late to learn of the ship’s non-arrival in Leyte.

The surviving crew at the time were left adrift over an ordeal of several days, leaving them without food or water, to suffer from exposure to the elements that resulted in such problems as hypothermia. Then there were the shark attacks, which of course are the focus of Quint’s telling of the story, as well as the source of his Ahab-like hate of sharks.

Just as Captain Ahab, in his rage, tells his crew of when the white whale bit off his leg, so does Quint speak, though in a calm, sombre voice, of his trauma and fear from that ordeal in the water. The scene adds depth to his character, to help us sympathize with him, and also to add an Ahab relation to him in a way that Benchley’s attempts at such a relation come off as contrived and superficial in comparison.

There’s another thing that the Indianapolis story adds to Jaws: the element of capitalism’s muscling in on the sea, causing nature to get revenge on it in the form of shark attacks–God’s retribution on the sinful, as that Amity resident sees it.

The sending of the atomic bomb components to Tinian, “the Hiroshima bomb,” as Quint calls it, was of course part of the plan not only to defeat Japan in WWII, but also, as I explained here, to give the Soviets a great big scare. The nuking of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was meant to demonstrate the military superiority of the American empire to the world. As we Marxists know, imperialism is the highest stage of capitalism, WWII was an inter-imperialist war between Anglo-American imperialism on one side and fascist imperialism on the other.

The nukes didn’t just kill between one and three hundred thousand Japanese; they were also an outrage against nature. The shark attacks, thus, are a symbolic revenge.

In the novel, after Hooper dies, Brody believes the shark can’t be killed and tells Quint he doesn’t think the town can pay him anymore. Quint, however, decides he’ll go after the shark with or without the money, so determined is he in his Ahab-like drive to kill it.

In the final confrontation, the shark attacks the Orca, causing it to sink. In the novel, after harpooning the shark several times, Quint gets his foot entangled in the rope of one of the harpoons he’s hit the shark with, and as the shark goes back into the water, Quint is pulled in with it and he drowns, in true Ahab fashion. All he’d have to say, to make it perfect, is, “from hell’s heart, I stab at thee…”

This link with Moby-Dick is feeble and anticlimactic compared to Quint’s spectacular death in the movie, since we know of his trauma from the Indianapolis incident being reawakened as he kicks in terror and slides down to the shark’s eager mouth to get that fatal bite in the belly.

While the shark’s confrontation with Brody in the novel is, again, anticlimactic, at least it’s more realistic than the spectacular blowup at the end of the movie. Benchley hated the changed killing of the shark so much that he got kicked off the set when they were to film it. Brody’s shoving of a pressurized tank into the shark’s mouth, then firing a bullet into the tank, would not have caused it and the shark to explode; still, Spielberg felt a more dramatic ending was more important than realism, and from the point of view of the movie’s commercial success, he was right.

As for the novel, though, the wounded shark moves closer and closer to Brody, who is afloat on a seat cushion now that the Orca has sunk, and he’s resigned to his fate. But the shark, right up close to him now, just…dies. It succumbs to its harpoon wounds, and sinks down to the ocean floor with Quint, his leg still stuck in the harpoon rope.

Then Brody, like sole-surviving Ishmael, starts swimming to shore–the end!

This is the way the novel ends, not with a bang but a whimper. Again, it’s not an exciting ending, it’s certainly an abrupt ending for the novel, but that was Benchley’s point. This is reality: people aren’t generally very nice (sorry, Dear Reader!), and problems aren’t normally solved in a dramatic, Hollywood fashion.

Jaws the movie is a great moment in cinematic history, to be sure, and is thoroughly entertaining, but it is so because it’s a capitalistic crowdpleaser. Jaws the novel, on the other hand, is an exploration of the darker, predatory nature of man as well as, if not much more so than, of sharks, of which the one in the novel is just a symbolic projection of ourselves.

Predictably, the phenomenon of the film led to the sale of Jaws-related merchandise as I mentioned above, as well as sequels that got worse and worse until being totally ridiculous. Then there were attempts to capitalize on marine animal terror with different movies, like Orca. So the first Jaws film may be justifiably far more beloved than the novel, but it also proved Benchley’s point about the predatory nature of capitalism.

The Tanah–Beginnings, Chapter Eleven (Fragment)

[The following is the twelfth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, and here is the eleventh–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Rawmios had a new teaching for his followers. This is what he said: “Your focus determines your reality. If you focus on the good, you will be happy. If you focus on the bad, you will suffer. Life is a mix of good and bad: though we desire the good, we cannot escape an experience of the bad. We must not imagine the bad to be any bigger than it really is. In the Unity of Action, good and bad alternate like the crests and troughs of the ocean: sometimes they alternate quicker, other times, slower, but they do alternate. When the good comes, prepare for the bad; when the bad comes, patiently wait for the good to return. We don’t like the bad, but we mustn’t despise it. The bad flows into the good, and the good flows into the bad.

“We must not focus on the things we know we cannot have: we would suffer such pain as to go mad. Vainly hoping to gain the love or respect of those who will never give it to us will drive us mad. This is the First Error: mad thinking. Mad thinking denies cosmic unity by thinking we can have love and respect, all from one area, and no hate or scorn also from that area. Reality, however, is fluid: love and hate flow in and out of each other, as do respect and scorn; also, these opposites move from place to place, often going back to the original place, but never staying in any place.

“In the Unity of Action, all things are in permanent flux. Therefore, instead of fixating on one place, vainly hoping to get what we want, always from that place, we must be willing to follow what is good as it moves from place to place. This does not mean we may divorce at the first sign of a marital problem, or repudiate friendships or family whenever any difficulty arises: often enough in these situations, the bad will flow back into the good quite soon; but if it rarely flows back to good, and then only briefly good, we must leave to find our love elsewhere.

“Another aspect of the Unity of Action is the Echo Effect: whatever we send out will come back to us, as the echo of a sound we make rings out back to us. We must not think the evil we do won’t come back to us, just because no one knows what we did…it will. Suffice it to say: if you want something to come to you, you must give that something to others.

“To maintain unity in the universe, an excess in one direction results in an excess in the opposite direction. If our attraction to someone beautiful has us come too close to the desired person, that person will push us far away. […]”

Commentary

As can be surmised by the reader, what we have here is only a fragment of a larger chapter that has been lost. Perhaps the rest will show up in future excavations, and then we can translate it and put this entire chapter together, along with any chapters after this one, to complete the account of Rawmios’ life. For now, though, this is all we have, and what will come after is the next book of the Tanah–“Migration,” which will give narrations after Rawmios’ death.

As for this fragment, we explore further the dialectical unity of opposites, and how one cannot have one opposite without the other. This unity of opposites is a recurring theme throughout the Tanah, as has been expressed either directly in the narratives and their philosophy, or indirectly in the untranslatable nuances of the original language (their rhythms, the connotations in the imagery, the musical qualities of the diction–alliteration, rhyme, assonance, etc.).

Another idea Rawmios touches on here, the “Echo Effect,” is what the Hindus and Buddhists would call karma, or where in the Bible it says that we reap what we sow, or the idea in physics that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. With this idea is the injunction to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Perhaps in the lost remainder of this chapter, and any other lost chapters after this one, he developed this idea more than the brief account of it we unfortunately only have here. Maybe one day we’ll find it.

Since this is just a fragment, we can only assume that there was supposed to be another concrete poem to finish it off. The poem, if it ever existed, has been lost, too. One can only speculate on how the poem expressed, in the visual arrangement of its verses, the “Echo Effect” and the wavelike unity of opposites.

The Tanah–Beginnings, Chapter Three

[The following is the fourth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, and here is the third–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

At the dawn of civilization, there was a lonely island in a sea in the middle of the Earth. It was a most agreeable green hill surrounded by peaceful blue. All was well there: there was no war, troubles were few and simple, and everyone was happy. There was plentiful fruit on the boughs of the trees, delicious fish to be caught in the nets of the fishermen, and the survival of their society depended on one thing–constant procreation.

For this reason, the king of the island of Gymnos (for this was the name of the island) encouraged, and virtually commanded, his people to copulate every night. The climate was hot in the daytime, so everyone went naked everywhere with no shame. Though food was abundant, it rarely made people fat, so the young and fertile were delectable to look upon. Thus, desirable lovers were easily found by nightfall.

All were married, but absolute fidelity was not necessary. Mothers owned the children the fathers sired. A mother’s sons protected her family and their property, which she passed to her daughters when they came of age. Thus women’s responsibilities as mothers and homemakers were central to this society, and men’s responsibilities as protectors, procreators, hunters, and fishermen were of lesser importance.

King Agnos (for this was his name) obeyed his own command to procreate always, and he had a harem with thirty concubines for this purpose. His wife, Queen Vita, permitted him to have them, since she, as first mother of all living on the island, owned her sons and daughters, some of whom were not the king’s. He did not know which were his offspring by his queen, and which were not, but he did not care, for he believed that ignorance is freedom and knowledge bondage.

The people lived on this island as though there was no world anywhere outside of it. One day, however, a young, handsome prince from another land came by boat to the island. It was early in the morning when he arrived, the sun just beginning to rise, and most of the people had only slept for an hour or two after a typical night of orgies.

The prince and his men, fully clothed, were shocked to see the entire population of the island, naked and insouciantly greeting him. When they learned that promiscuity was the norm here, the prince and his crew concluded that the island’s people were savages. The prince felt that it was his duty to civilize the natives.

He soon met the drowsy king and queen; while he averted his eyes from the king’s nakedness, he was captivated by the queen’s loveliness. She returned his passion to him with her fiery eyes. None of this exchange of feelings was known to the king, nor did it concern him.

Normally the people would not rise from their beds until noontime, so most of them were permitted to go back to sleep while the prince discussed urgent matters with the king. Foreign navies were coming in the direction of this island, and would doubtless invade it and claim it as part of their empire. The king, overconfidently remembering the many years of uninterrupted peace the island had enjoyed, ignored the prince’s warning. The prince again tried to advise the king, saying that if his people followed the ways of the prince and the foreign navies (from the prince’s country, Gnosius, on the mainland not too far away), clothed and monogamous, an invasion could be averted. King Agnos scoffed at this admonition, left the prince, and returned to bed with his concubines.

Now the prince was alone with Queen Vita, who invited him to her bed. Prince Patros (for this was his name) happily accepted. They made love that night with an ecstasy that Queen Vita had not enjoyed with King Agnos for years. Until that night, the queen would never have even considered ending her allegiance to her husband; now she was in love with Prince Patros, and she was ready to help him kill King Agnos.

Furthermore, though she was flattered by the prince’s appraisals of her body, she became ashamed of her nakedness, and commanded her ladies-in-waiting to make gowns for her. They stitched beautiful gowns with patterns of silver and gold on them, made from the material of tapestries, and she left her bedroom with the prince the next morning, clothed. She commanded all the servants to make clothes for themselves, and generously gave them drapes and tapestries of her own for their fabrics.

Meanwhile, King Agnos stayed in bed with his concubines that day, feeling particularly overcome with lust. For the past several days, the king had been getting weary of mere procreation, and he started exploring particularly lewd avenues to satisfy his desires. These avenues included entering the top as well as the bottom, and entering the behind as well as the front. Sometimes he tasted instead of entering, and his concubines tasted him, too. They never complained of his excesses: they loved their king so much that they were content, even eager, to please him.

In the afternoon, as they indulged in this way, Queen Vita quietly entered her husband’s bedroom to see what he ws doing. They did not know she was there, but she was shocked to see his lewdness, and she quickly left in horror and disgust.

As the king continued in his idleness and lust, Prince Patros and Queen Vita commanded all the people of Gymnos to clothe themselves by cutting off the pelts of the animals they hunted. Admiring the beautiful attire of the prince, queen, and royal servants, and ashamed of their own nakedness, the people all over the island did as they were commanded, so by nightfall everyone except King Agnos and his concubines were clothed.

The people also attended a wedding ceremony between the prince and queen, making Patros the new king of the island, which was now renamed Vestis. This public ceremony was a declaration that Agnos was unfit to rule the island. The navies of King Patros’s nation, Gnosius, sailed by and saw a clothed, civilized people ruled by one of their own. Therefore they desisted from invading, knowing that the island had been claimed for their empire peacefully.

Now the only thing that remained to be done was the disposal of the old king, who still knew nothing of his usurpation; he still preferred to know only his concubines’ sweet flesh. That night, his lust finally sated, Agnos left his bedroom and went into his garden. When his concubines went out of his bedroom, they were immediately seized by King Patros’s guards and taken to their new home, which would now be a public brothel. There they remained in shameful nakedness, never permitted to wear clothes, and always only to satisfy the lewd desires of strangers till the end of their days.

King Patros walked in the cool of the garden that night, looking for the naked old man, who still knew nothing of what had happened. Finally, the new king found him, and unsheathed his dagger. He lunged at Agnos’s groin and emasculated him. His genitals were thrown on a farmer’s field: in those days, it was believed that this would promote fertility. Agnos was left to bleed to death slowly, neither a king nor a man, still completely ignorant of the revolution that had occurred. He died alone, knowing only that he would never know his concubines, or anyone, again.

His former concubines tearfully mourned his murder when they learned of it, knowing that this was worse than suffering their lot of having to know, and be known by, any goat of a man who entered the whorehouse. The queen seemed to mourn his death, too, remembering the noble man he once was before he allowed his animal concupiscence to debase him so. Still, her grief was easily obscured by the joy of having a new, stronger lord.

The next morning was the dawn of a new day and a new age. The people learned the art of making clothes, which led to the creation of shops. These shops, and others selling many different goods, led to the Vestis people’s learning of commerce. Their once simple island life grew into a complex civilization, with a bigger contrast of rich and poor than ever before. Though this led to more crime than during Agnos’s rule, it was seen as more than compensated for by the pride one had in living in a cultivated society. The arts and sciences became more sophisticated, and men had intellectual pursuits, instead of spending their days in idleness and their nights in lecherous abandon.

One morning, Queen Vita learned from her doctor that she was pregnant. King Patros said, “This is my child: may he be a son.” Though her sons and daughters from before were allowed by their step-father to continue living in regal comfort, they were of inferior status to the new baby that was coming. The queen and her sons and daughters were irked by this vicissitude, but the king’s power was too great to be resisted.

The queen was especially discontented that her new baby was more the property of her lord than her own, but she enjoyed her regal luxury too much to risk losing it from shrewishness, which Patros would never abide. Indeed, the king had their home transformed into a huge palace, whose beauty awed the queen as much as it did the common people. It was designed in the Gnosian architectural style, towering and rising almost up to heaven, it seemed.

In accord with the king’s declaration of ownership of his new child, which was a son, he decreed that all sons and daughters were now owned by their fathers, property would be passed from father to son, and marriages would be monogamous to ensure paternity. Girls had to endure virginity until marriage and be faithful to their husbands until death.

Any man who wished to enjoy more women would have to marry more than one bride if he could support them, or seek the naked women in the brothel. Any girls or wives found guilty of lewdness or infidelity to their husbands were stripped naked and put in the brothel. This was said to preserve social order.

Men thus ascended in social and political importance. No longer did they merely use their bodies to hunt, fish, or procreate for their families: now they used their minds. Men became doctors, lawyers, senators, and warriors, trained in the Gnosian fashion. Women’s importance as mothers was now secondary in the new social order. Sometimes women felt disenfranchised and scorned: it seemed as though they had been unfairly blamed for the debauching of Agnos. Most women, however, agreed with the men that these were small sacrifices for the sake of their now more advanced, literate, and cultured society.

Since society was now monogamous, there were no more orgies at night, so everyone went to bed at sundown, and rose at daybreak.

Commentary

As has been said a number of times already in previous chapters, anyone who hopes to find history in this tale will be bitterly disappointed. It is a myth that expresses truths in allegory and metaphor.

The earliest forms of social organization were simple: men hunted and women gathered. Man was in complete harmony with nature, and all one saw around oneself was the green of plants and the blue of seas and skies.

Societies tended to be matrilineal at first, so there was little need to be sure of paternity. For this reason, the mother was the primary parent, and religion focused on her.

The early stages of society can be compared to the first years of life. Simple lifestyles lead to simple, blunt, open expression of feelings, that is, being naked and unashamed in speech, as it were. When morality becomes more advanced, we hide our faults in the clothing of hypocrisy. Early in life, we freely pursue pleasure; later, we seek it out in more circuitous paths. Ignorance is bliss.

When we are alone or among those we know well, we freely express ourselves; when strangers come into our lives, we learn the hypocrisy of good manners, the mask of politeness. When young and naïve, we are, as it were, drowsy and less aware; as we age, we grow more alert.

As children, we often ignore danger, not yet knowing its pain; when we’re older, we learn its sting, and protect ourselves.

Contraries tend to be mysteriously close from the point of view of the dialectical unity of opposites, as can be symbolized by the ouroboros. The lewdness of orgiastic copulation leads to the begetting of life as one extreme, one opposite. The treasonous horror of regicide–killing the man who was to protect us all from slaughter–shows the ending of life at the other extreme, the other opposite.

These two polar opposites, birth and death, juxtaposed as they are in many famous myths in history, symbolically illustrate the truth of the proximity of all opposites. Marriages and funerals, one quickly after the other, as in this story, can also represent these neighbouring yet opposing extremes; comedies end with marriages, and tragedies end with funerals.

Another thing we see in this story is the evil of imperialism, and of settler-colonialism on aboriginal land. The people of Gymnos, projecting their goodness onto Patros and the crew on his ship, naïvely welcome the clothed visitors to their island instead of suspecting the possibility of them having bad intentions. Such naïve openness is what the natives’ nudity symbolizes.

Patros’s speaking of good intentions, of protecting the natives from a foreign invasion, all the while secretly plotting a takeover themselves, is symbolized by the foreigners’ being clothed, a hiding of their true intentions. Part of this takeover is the replacing of a matrilineal society with a patrilineal one. Patros’s name seems to be derived from the Latin pater. The renaming of the island as ‘Vestis’ seems linguistically linked with the Latin vestire, ‘to clothe.’ These two etymologies lead to another point.

Much in this story seems to be influenced by mythic and linguistic elements from ancient Middle Eastern civilization. ‘Gymnos’ seems derived from the Greek word for ‘naked,’ ‘Agnos’ seems derived from Greek roots meaning ‘not knowing,’ and ‘Gnosius’ seems derived from the Greek gnosis, ‘knowledge.’ Queen Vita’s name seems derived from the Latin for ‘life.’ These references to nakedness, unknowing, and the queen as ‘the mother of all living’ all suggest a link to the Adam and Eve story.

The following fragment is a poem that expresses the narrative and themes just discussed in the paragraphs above. As with the poem presented in the previous chapter, this one is a remarkable early example of concrete poetry, whose alternating phallic and ’emasculated’ verses visually symbolize the cyclical crests and troughs of dialectical movement.

An island, isolated from the world,

would
see
each
morning
sun
rise
in the
sky
and welcome each new day that was unfurled.

The people living there, though, stayed abed,

for
late
at
night
one
touched
one’s
lover’s
thigh
and didn’t rise at dawn, thus seeming dead.

Their idle king encouraged indolence

and
carefree
lust,
for
this
would
cause
the
birth
of many children. In their innocence

the people saw no shame in going nude

in
search
of
lovers.
Their
king
saw
no
worth
in learning, had no sense of what is lewd.

In marriages, the mothers owned the young

and
fathers
did
not
know
whose
babes
were
theirs
nor by the shame of cuckolds were they stung.

Thus, woman was the more important sex,

and
men
lived
lives
of
lesser,
trivial
cares,
in idleness, sometimes on hunting treks.

A harem, home to thirty concubines,

was
for
the
king
and
his
luxuriant
pleasure.
He cared not how the day’s so bright sun shines,

because at night to be inside for him

was
of
more
worth
than
light,
or
any
treasure.
His girls would gratify him, lights kept dim.

This sleepy people knew no other lands

until
one
morn
a boat
approached
their
shore.
A foreign prince had come upon the sands

of their so lonely beach to learn of them.

Such
shameless
lewdness
he’d
not
seen
before;
he would discover from whom it did stem.

He was enchanted by the lovely queen;

for
the
same
reason,
he
despised
the
king,
for they, nude, were content thus to be seen.

The queen, equally charmed by this young man

with
his
spear
and
strange
armour,
did
him
bring
into her bedchamber. There he began

his entry of her body and her heart.

The
king
knew
not
how
this
young
prince
imposed
himself on their realm with his subtle art

of sweet, seductive words to win his wife,

nor
did
he
care.
The
king
never
supposed
that he would be usurped and lose his life,

Abandoned and castrated, left to bleed.

Rising
in
power,
the
prince
was
the
new
king,
giving his rule only to his male seed.

The old king’s concubines, now prostitutes,

could
only
mourn
his
loss,
and
feel
the
sting
of phallic thrusts from men who were mere brutes.

The queen now also lacked much regal power,

but
was
content
to
have
a
golden
palace
for her new home, a most majestic tower.

And though women were stripped of every right,

a
wise
society,
led
by
the
phallus,
seemed better; cultured, learned–of morning light.

A Chapter from ‘The Targeter,’ Featured in ‘Alien Buddha Zine #68

Chapter Eight from my novella, The Targeter, is being featured in Alien Buddha Zine #68, from Alien Buddha Press. It begins on page 34, with a copy of the cover of the novella:

Then it goes into Chapter 8 of my novella, the chapter being a reverie of the titular character, named Sid Arthur Gordimer, who is drunk and high on a combination of marijuana, ecstasy, and ketamine. His thoughts drift back and forth in his reverie of being a prince in a mansion watching half-naked strippers dancing to electronic music in a party, then of being in a royal palace with Indian music.

His parents, the king and queen, are pressuring him into taking on the responsibilities of the crown…but of course, this is all just the reverie of a drunk, stoned man. Outside of Sid’s apartment, in the real world that he’s trying to escape with booze and drugs, a war is going on. Bombs and gunfire can be heard outside.

He knows he’s no saint, and no prince. He’s a goner.

Please check out the Alien Buddha Zine, which drops on October 29th and has lots of other talented writers in it…and please check out my novella!