My well-loved copy of Moby-Dick holds a special place on my shelf, not just for its literary significance, but for the evocative woodcut illustrations scattered throughout. These images, like postcards from Ishmael’s epic voyage, enriched my reading experience, drawing me deeper into his whaling odyssey. This personal connection immediately resonated as I opened “Leviathan or, The Whale” by Philip Hoare. This isn’t just another book about whales; it’s a beautifully illustrated exploration, interwoven with photographs, woodcuts, and drawings, documenting Hoare’s profound quest for these magnificent creatures. Much like Ishmael, Hoare embarks on a journey, albeit a modern one, with Herman Melville’s masterpiece tucked in his thoughts, if not his pocket. His initial encounter, a face-to-face with a whale off the coast of Massachusetts, is visceral and immediate – a simple, awestruck “Fuck!” This primal reaction ignites a compelling journey, leading him from the curated tanks of Coney Island Aquarium to the hushed halls of London’s Natural History Museum, and ultimately into the vast, two-mile-deep expanse of the Atlantic, swimming alongside these behemoths.
Hoare’s journey in “Leviathan” is, at its core, a deeply personal and somewhat melancholic exploration. It’s undertaken by a man who initially harbored a fear of whales, a fear that, endearingly, doesn’t entirely dissipate even as he immerses himself in their world. This initial apprehension is humorously highlighted when, during a dive to swim with a sperm whale, his awe is momentarily overshadowed by a less heroic bodily function. This vulnerability makes Hoare’s narrative all the more relatable and human, grounding the reader in his extraordinary experiences.
Yet, within these pages, “Leviathan” unfolds as a treasure trove of information, meticulously detailing the biology and history of whales. From the sheer scale of a sperm whale’s brain, dwarfing our own in size, to the almost unbelievable dimensions of a right whale’s testicles, Hoare presents a fascinating compendium of facts. He delves into the extensive and often brutal history of humanity’s exploitation of whales, cataloging the myriad uses of their flesh, bone, and blubber. However, beyond the biological and historical details, the heart of “Leviathan” beats with a fervent plea for the survival of these majestic animals. Hoare acknowledges the inherent risk of anthropomorphizing these creatures, yet he poignantly evokes a sense of grief for the devastation humankind has inflicted upon them. He reveals the whales’ inherent social intelligence and mutual care, illustrating how sperm whales heroically form protective laagers around their young when threatened by orcas. Tragically, this very defensive tactic, designed to safeguard their vulnerable offspring, was brutally exploited by harpooners, enabling them to slaughter whales en masse.
The literary echoes within Hoare’s work are profound and resonant. The late W.G. Sebald, a writer known for his own introspective and image-rich prose, admired Hoare’s earlier works, and the affinity between these two authors is readily apparent. Both share a similar approach: a contemplative wandering through the world, observing with knowledgeable and empathetic eyes, meticulously gathering images and impressions, and embracing intriguing digressions. For those who, like myself, still feel the literary void left by Sebald’s passing, the discovery of Philip Hoare is a genuine delight. There’s a hope that Hoare, unlike some of literature’s ill-fated ocean voyagers, will not be metaphorically “swallowed” by his subject, but will continue to illuminate the wonders of the natural world. “Leviathan” achieves something remarkable: it reignites the reader’s appreciation for “Moby-Dick,” casting Herman Melville’s epic in a fresh and revitalized light. Philip Hoare’s “Leviathan or, The Whale” is, unequivocally, a beautiful and profoundly moving book, a worthy addition to the canon of whale literature and a powerful testament to the enduring allure of these ocean giants.
