The Perfect Reader: Deconstructing and Reconstructing the
college student inclusive of Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm: A True
Story of Men Against the Sea.
The Prefect Storm: A True Story of
Men Against the Sea is heralded as a three-year placeholder in the New York
Times bestsellers, splashed across the L.A. Times and Entertainment Weekly,
even so far as to have a movie based off the book. Junger himself is
noteworthy: not only do his journals have the limelight in many popular
journals, but he has proven he can pull off journalism with all the trappings
of a curious fiction.
. . .Wait, non-fiction? That must be a typo. My
history book was rarely interesting, much less dramatic.
No, it’s actually well researched. In The Perfect Storm, he delights is
exploring nautical history from the earliest explorers to the nineteen
seventies. He entertains in everything from stranded Frenchmen-turned-murderers
and ice machines to relatable love stories. And they’re all factual.
How is this so? The book is centered on the fishing industry
of eastern United States, providing in-depth research of many topics and
wrapping it together with the survivors’ account. Not only is the book about
the six men who are lost forever, but about the families, wives, friends, and
community that shares a burden if proofless death.
The book has a decidedly hands-off approach: the reader is
greeted with a spectral forewarning as the author questions, probes – “How do men act in a sinking ship?”
Rewind the clock; land-bound fishermen
are equated to the miner and the philanthropist, switching focus to the main
crew of the Andrea Gail. Then about the gears and methodology of the ship.
Inherently, Junger pits nature against man. “You’re not buying fish,” the
saying goes, “you’re buying fisherman’s lives.”
This cycle continues throughout, keeping many levels of
storytelling viable to different readers. Personal and interpersonal relations
are incongruent at best: while the book intimately relates the doomed sentiment
among the men, they trudge on. They cannot abandon their fellow men, and they
cannot abandon money’s stability for personal safety.
Tantamount to the novel, the author delves deeper into the
biology and mechanics of the people. It is not enough to imply fishermen know how
drowning happens: Junger juggernauts off into a study about the stages of
drowning, the biological systems that “shut off” water from the trachea, and
the eventual feeling of water entering the lungs in a final gasp.
As Junger pens his final pages, the audience is destitute –
yes, we knew the ship was doomed from the moment the first sentence was
read. As the memory of the men is put to
rest in one character after another, we are left to smooth over their pictures.
Yes, they are real; to the mother who had to believe her son was dead, to the
woman who can no longer marry her fisherman, and the wife who may never see her
husband again.
. . .
however. . .
. . .this is my immediate reaction to all things Junger,
especially The Perfect Storm.
Indeed, his customers on Amazon rate him with an impressive
four out of five stars, with a 46% backing of purely positive commentary
against the neutral reviews (33%), and the negative reviews (21%). Certainly, Junger
has plenty of clout among the literate community. This includes everything from
Entertainment Weekly’s “Guaranteed to blow readers away. . . A+,” to Christian
Science Monitor’s formulaic praise of The Perfect Storm coupled with an
ad demanding “ARE YOU AS WELL READ [sic] AS A 10TH GRADER?”
Putting aside Entertainment Weekly and Christian Science
Monitor, what about the average aficionado? What if we don’t absorb our media
from National Public Radio’s journals or Charles Dickens’ family lives? How can
the dubious bachelor know a book is for them with just a plethora of positive
feedback?
Let’s get into the
dirty laundry, shall we?
Keeping true to historical accuracy, Junger writes without
quotation marks:
“[. . .] we took one
hell of a wave, Billy says.”
Which makes the book a pseudo-dream, complete with lurid
conceptions in a third-person omniscient view, gears and mechanisms tying down
the reader akin to what the bedraggled King Triton probably feels as another
ship clutters his kingdom.
But, the author relies
on supposition when the Andrea Gail is lost at sea, only giving shaky
validation for his thoughts based on what other ships did. How can that be
nonfiction?
True, out of all the scenarios, the author goes for the
belief Andrea chose to face the storm after sailing home, instead of edging
around the storm or trying to get back to open sea or countless other options.
Junger’s a historian-eating troll: the rarest of the rare.
Keeping his troll-y goodness about him, Junger writes the
book with a friendly first few pages, delving into each character and giving
slight background about them. Easy, right? But wait! Don’t forget about the
details of the ship. What was that about the boat under new management? Why is
the Eishin 29 included in a laundry list of boats? Doesn’t seem particularly
memorable.
(fast forward a handful of pages)
What was that boat, again? Why is a Japanese boat in
Maryland and why does only one member speak English?
For all my readers who’ve read The Scarlet Letter, parallels
can be drawn from the disgruntled collapse when the book is over, to the
discussion that brings a sudden realization of genius.
Even more simply, Sebastian Junger’s nerdy. . . REALLY
nerdy. Like that one person in every class who has the professor constantly
reiterate the necessity of their lesson plan. While we all have certain soft
spots for knowledge, reading The Perfect Storm can be a page-a-night
ordeal, especially for college students who are required to read a book about
fishing. On the positive side, it could probably stop a particularly loud
intercourse with the sea-worthy monotony displayed every few paragraphs.
. . .So, on behalf of overwhelmed readers across the globe.
. . you conniving trickster, Sebastian Junger. Not one single sub-par review
from a major company, yet achingly difficult to read. I can only find grim
humor in my own scribble’s publishing. Within this welcomed scrutiny, however,
I hope I have equivocally shown the spirit of the book beyond lifeless praise
and selfish criticism.
Away! Away. I shall have little to do with the affairs of
others, be they immortalized shipmen or the weary undead.
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