Herman Melville

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In 1865, Melville gave his four young children back issues of Harper’s Magazine as Christmas presents. Harper and Brothers first worked with Herman Melville on his dubiously autobiographical novel Omoo: A Narrative of the South Seas (1847). The book was the sequel to his bestselling Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life (1846), a fictionalization of his time on the whaling vessel Lucy Ann, which the Harper brothers had earlier rejected because “it was impossible that it could be true and therefore was without real value.” Melville’s first story for Harper’s Magazine appeared in the year-old periodical’s October 1851 issue; called “The Town-Ho’s Story,” it constitutes the fifty-fourth chapter of Moby-Dick, which was published a month later to critical revilement and commercial disinterest. In “The Town-Ho’s Story,” Ishmael recounts his shipboard adventures for “a lounging circle of my Spanish friends,” who doubt his honesty.

In the years immediately after the publication of Moby-Dick and the similarly received Pierre: or, The Ambiguities (1852), Melville supplied Harper’s with several more stories, three of which were about recovering from failure. Another was a euphemistic romp called “Cock-A-Doodle-Doo!” After the novel The Confidence-Man (1857) met with the usual scorn, Melville turned to poetry, publishing five poems about the Civil War in Harper’s in 1866. They were included in the collection Battle-Pieces and Other Aspects of the War (1866), the last non-self-published work in his lifetime. In 1890, Harper’s included the largely forgotten author in an article called “American Literary Comedians,” and in the following year’s December issue he received a two-line obituary: “September 27th.—In New York city, Herman Melville, aged seventy-three years.”

Melville received renewed attention following twentieth-century reconsiderations by D. H. Lawrence, Carl Van Doren, and Raymond Weaver, among others; the posthumous publication of his unfinished Billy Budd (1924), which Thomas Mann called “the most beautiful story in the world,” further propelled his revival. “Call me Ishmael” is today one of the most famous lines in English literature, and the Library of America has chosen Melville as one of the first eight writers it would publish. In 2010, paleontologists named a newly discovered twelve-million-year-old giant sperm whale Livyatan melvillei.

Wraparound — From the July 1975 issue

Wraparound

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Wraparound — From the May 1973 issue

Reports

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The laugh is on you

Poetry — From the July 1866 issue

Gettysburg

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–July, 1863

Poetry — From the June 1866 issue

Chattanooga

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Poetry — From the April 1866 issue

Philip

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Poetry — From the March 1866 issue

The Cumberland

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No one would talk to me for this piece. Or rather, more than twenty women talked to me, sometimes for hours at a time, but only after I promised to leave out their names, and give them what I began to call deep anonymity. This was strange, because what they were saying did not always seem that extreme. Yet here in my living room, at coffee shops, in my inbox and on my voicemail, were otherwise outspoken female novelists, editors, writers, real estate agents, professors, and journalists of various ages so afraid of appearing politically insensitive that they wouldn’t put their names to their thoughts, and I couldn’t blame them. 

Of course, the prepublication frenzy of Twitter fantasy and fury about this essay, which exploded in early January, is Exhibit A for why nobody wants to speak openly. Before the piece was even finished, let alone published, people were calling me “pro-rape,” “human scum,” a “harridan,” a “monster out of Stephen King’s ‘IT,’?” a “ghoul,” a “bitch,” and a “garbage person”—all because of a rumor that I was planning to name the creator of the so-called Shitty Media Men list. The Twitter feminist Jessica Valenti called this prospect “profoundly shitty” and “incredibly dangerous” without having read a single word of my piece. Other tweets were more direct: “man if katie roiphe actually publishes that article she can consider her career over.” “Katie Roiphe can suck my dick.” With this level of thought policing, who in their right mind would try to say anything even mildly provocative or original? 

Illustration by Shonagh Rae
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In the early Eighties, Andy King, the coach of the Seawolves, a swim club in Danville, California, instructed Debra Denithorne, aged twelve, to do doubles — to practice in the morning and the afternoon. King told Denithorne’s parents that he saw in her the potential to receive a college scholarship, and even to compete in the Olympics. Tall swimmers have an advantage in the water, and by the time Denithorne turned thirteen, she was five foot eight. She dropped soccer and a religious group to spend more time at the pool.

Illustration by Shonagh Rae
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After losing their savings in the stock market crash of 2008, seniors Barb and Chuck find seasonal employment at Amazon fulfillment centers.

Estimated size of heaven, in cubic miles, according to the Reverend Billy Graham:

1,500

Photographing your food makes eating it less enjoyable.

The shooter discarded his AR-15 semiautomatic weapon, the model used in six of America’s ten deadliest mass shootings and referred to by the NRA as “America’s rifle,” and then fled to a nearby Walmart, where customers can buy rifles but cannot purchase music with lyrics that contain the word “fuck.”

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Report — From the June 2013 issue

How to Make Your Own AR-15

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"Gun owners have long been the hypochondriacs of American politics. Over the past twenty years, the gun-rights movement has won just about every battle it has fought; states have passed at least a hundred laws loosening gun restrictions since President Obama took office. Yet the National Rifle Association has continued to insist that government confiscation of privately owned firearms is nigh. The NRA’s alarmism helped maintain an active membership, but the strategy was risky: sooner or later, gun guys might have realized that they’d been had. Then came the shootings at a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, and at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, followed swiftly by the nightmare the NRA had been promising for decades: a dedicated push at every level of government for new gun laws. The gun-rights movement was now that most insufferable of species: a hypochondriac taken suddenly, seriously ill."

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