Saturday, August 17, 2019
Jack London
ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews, Vol. 23, No. 3, 172ââ¬â178, 2010 Copyright à © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 0895-769X DOI: 10. 1080/08957691003712363 R USSELL M. H ILLIER Providence College Crystal Beards and Dantean In? uence in Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠James I. McClintock has described Jack Londonââ¬â¢s classic short story ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠as the ââ¬Å"most mature expression of his pessimismâ⬠(116).In what follows, I wish to explore the possibility that there is a substantial element of spiritual allegory operative in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative. London originally conceived his tale as a moral fable and a cautionary narrative to American youth never to travel alone. To this end, London published the story in Youthââ¬â¢s Companion. In its ? nal version, though, the tale assumed decidedly darker and more sinister tones.In capturing the menace of the inclement northland, London was dr awing upon his own travels in the Klondike, but I would argue that his narrative was also inspired by a fusion of his experience of the harsh and bleak environment of Dawson City with his encounter with the literature he read while he was sheltering in a winter cabin beside the Stewart River, in circumstances Londonââ¬â¢s biographer Andrew Sinclair characterizes as ââ¬Å"a trap of cold and boredom, short rations and scurvyâ⬠(48). Sinclair describes the modest library with which London weathered that cramped and piercingly cold spell of ? e months and writes how, ââ¬Å"In the tedious con? nes of the winter cabins, [London] settled down to absorb the books that became the bedrock of his thought and writing, underlying even the socialism which was his faith. These were the works of Darwin, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and Kipling, Miltonââ¬â¢s Paradise Lost and Danteââ¬â¢s Infernoâ⬠(48). The last two works Sinclair accounts for are of particular consequence. Between the pages of Milton and Danteââ¬â¢s epics London would have encountered fallen angels and unrepentant sinners who had been immured in Hell for committing crimes of hubris.Indeed, London transferred his fascination for the hubris of Miltonââ¬â¢s Satan to his antihero Wolf Larsen in the novel The Sea-Wolf . 1 Most importantly, though, London would have discovered, at the outer reaches of Miltonââ¬â¢s Hell, ââ¬Å"a frozen Continent [ . . . ] dark and wilde, beat with perpetual storms / Of Whirlwind 172 Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠173 and dire Hail, [ . . . ] all else deep snow and iceâ⬠(PL 2. 587ââ¬â89, 591); and, within the innermost circle of Danteââ¬â¢s pit of Hell, he would have found a frozen subterranean lake blasted by biting winds.Neither infernal vision would have been so very far removed from Londonââ¬â¢s own experience of the subzero temperatures and appalling conditions of the Klondike. Indeed, the inhuman cold that defe ats Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist was as much an attribute of the traditional medieval idea of Hell as its notorious qualities of ? re and brimstone. The landscape of Londonââ¬â¢s revised tale is conspicuously preternaturalââ¬â ââ¬Å"the mysterious, far-reaching hair-line trail, the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it allâ⬠(1302).Where Miltonââ¬â¢s Hell is characterized by the paradoxical quality of ââ¬Å"darkness visibleâ⬠(PL 1. 63), Londonââ¬â¢s comfortless northern world has ââ¬Å"an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day darkâ⬠(1301). Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist is an anonymous ââ¬Å"man,â⬠a gold prospector who not only lacks the imagination to survive in the Yukon wasteland, but who is also oblivious to any metaphysical possibilities and unmindful of ââ¬Å"the conjectural ? eld of immortality and manââ¬â¢s place in the universeâ⬠(1302).Incapa ble of companionability, the man always travels alone, except for his husky, an animal he treats with contempt and even with hostility. His disdain for the wise counsel that ââ¬Å"the old-timer on Sulphur Creekâ⬠(1309) gives him to travel into the northland with a partner is a recurrent reminder to Londonââ¬â¢s reader of the manââ¬â¢s improvidence, unsociability, and willful self-alienation. Londonââ¬â¢s own brutal ordeal in the Klondike had taught him the importance of having a trail-mate: when wintering by the Stewart River, London and Fred Thompson, journeying for supplies through the wilderness, had ââ¬Å"backpacked all the way or they pulled heir own sled, for they owned no team of huskiesâ⬠(Sinclair 48). In the case of the man in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative, the idea of working alongside or depending upon other creatures means no more to him than the enjoyment of the commodities he associates with them: ââ¬Å"the boysâ⬠at the camp, for example, whom the man always keeps in mind throughout the tale, are, to the man, indistinguishable from the material comforts he hopes to gain from ââ¬Å"a ? reâ⬠and ââ¬Å"a hot supperâ⬠(1302).The marked in? uence of Dante in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative, a crucial factor in oneââ¬â¢s appreciation of the tale which, to the best of my knowledge, has hitherto escaped critical attention, helps to con? rm Londonââ¬â¢s infernal rendering of the unforgiving Yukon wasteland. In structural terms the story has a repetitive, nightmarish quality as ââ¬Å"the manâ⬠makes three desperate ventures to build a ? re that are each time frustratedââ¬â? rst, by having the ? e ââ¬Å"blotted outâ⬠by an ââ¬Å"avalancheâ⬠of snow (1309); second, by having his book of sulphur matches extinguished in one fell swoop (1310ââ¬â11); and, third, by having ââ¬Å"the nucleus of the little ? reâ⬠snuffed out by a ââ¬Å"large piece of green mossâ⬠(1311). Lee Clark Mitchell has drawn attention 174 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews to the ominous, reiterative quality of the tale and to how ââ¬Å"events [ . . . ] repeat themselves into an eerie signi? cance, as the man attempts over and over to enact the storyââ¬â¢s titular in? nitiveâ⬠(78).The manââ¬â¢s predicament recalls the unrelenting fates of transgressors in the classical underworldââ¬âof Sisyphus, who pushes a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll down the hillââ¬â¢s other side, or of Tantalus, who fruitlessly reaches out to eat from a branch that is always eluding his grasp. But the manââ¬â¢s thwarted actions also mimic the commitment of Danteââ¬â¢s sinners to both the unending nature of the punishment they must suffer and the experience of their particular sinââ¬â¢s interminable round in each of the nine vicious circles built into the funnel of Danteââ¬â¢s Hell.London underlines the infernal atmosphere of his tale. He is careful, for instance, to identify the old-timer on Sulphur Creek, who warns the man that a traveler should never venture alone into the Klondike in treacherous weather, with that essential feature of Hell, namely Hellââ¬â¢s sulphurate fumes. London further emphasizes this theme by having his antihero build a ? re with ââ¬Å"his bunch of sulphur matchesâ⬠(1310) that, when lit, emits an evil smell of ââ¬Å"burning brimstoneâ⬠(1311). On bungling his second desperate attempt to build a ? re, the man not only blunders and sets a? me all of his remaining seventy matches, he also sets alight his own hand, so that the burning of his ? esh by ? re becomes associated with the freezing cold that burns into the core of his being at the storyââ¬â¢s climax. The freezing cold that literally chills the man to the bone is as apt a fate as a case of Dantean contrapasso, where the punishment of the sinner is appropriate to the nature of their sin. The manââ¬â¢s ethical insentience, his lac k of a moral and metaphysical compass to direct his choices and regulate his attitude toward others and toward the universe of which he is a part, is re? cted in the deadening numbness that torments and ultimately destroys him. London includes in his narrative one small but revealing detail from Danteââ¬â¢s Inferno that gives the reader a key to unlock the moral of his fable. Because of the intense cold, the beard of Londonââ¬â¢s nameless protagonist, like the coat of the husky that reluctantly accompanies the man, sports an icy ââ¬Å"appendageâ⬠(1303): The frozen moisture of [the huskyââ¬â¢s] breathing had settled on its fur in a ? ne powder of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its crystalled breath.The manââ¬â¢s red beard and mustache were likewise frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing tobacco, and the muzzle of ice hel d his lips so rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The result was that a crystal beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he fell down Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠175 it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. 1303) This curious ââ¬Å"ice-muzzle on his mouthâ⬠(1304) elongates as the man progresses on his journey, so that ââ¬Å"he continued monotonously to chew tobacco and to increase the length of his amber beardâ⬠(1304); later still, the ââ¬Å"ice-muzzleâ⬠(1306) obstructs his mouth when he attempts to eat his meal. The ââ¬Å"amber beard,â⬠a vivid if admittedly bizarre feature of Londonââ¬â¢s tale, gathers in signi? cance if we recollect events in the ninth and ? nal circle of Danteââ¬â¢s Inferno. When Dante the pilgrim arrives at Hellââ¬â¢s bottom, he discovers a frozen Lake Cocytus that i s swept by bitter, freezing winds.As Dante ventures toward the heart of Lake Cocytus, where the ? gure of Lucifer weeps, gnashes his teeth, and beats his wings, he eventually arrives at the region of Ptolomea (Inf. 33. 124). In this place he ? nds wretched sinners buried up to their waists in ice: We went farther on, where the frost roughly swathes another people, not bent downwards, but with faces all upturned. The very weeping there prevents their weeping, and the grief, which ? nds a barrier upon their eyes, turns inward to increase the agony, for the ? rst tears form a knot and, like a crystal visor, ? l all the cup beneath the eyebrow. (Inf . 33. 91ââ¬â99) The ââ¬Å"crystal visor [visiere di cristallo]â⬠(Inf . 33. 98) or ââ¬Å"the hard veils [i duri veli]â⬠(Inf . 33. 112) that form and clamp about the faces of these sinners offer an attractive source for the ââ¬Å"crystal beardâ⬠or ââ¬Å"muzzle of iceâ⬠that torments the countenance of Londonâ⬠â¢s antihero. Just as the tears around the faces of Danteââ¬â¢s sinners solidify and accumulate to form visors or veils, so the tobacco spit in the beard of Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist encrusts, clusters, and builds to form an icemuzzle.Londonââ¬â¢s ice-muzzle that shatters, ââ¬Å"like glass, into brittle fragmentsâ⬠(1303), also seems to recall Danteââ¬â¢s frozen Lake Cocytus, which has the durability ââ¬Å"of glass [di vetro]â⬠(Inf . 32. 24). In his depiction of the Yukon London gestures further to Danteââ¬â¢s sinners, who are embedded in Lake Cocytus. Just as Danteââ¬â¢s Lake Cocytus is one solid block of ice, so the creek that surrounds the man ââ¬Å"was frozen clear to the bottom, ââ¬â no creek could contain water in that arctic winterâ⬠(1304).Equally, just as Danteââ¬â¢s sinners are trapped in the ice, so various ice pools, covered with ââ¬Å"a snow-hidden ice-skinâ⬠(1305), present ââ¬Å"trapsâ⬠(1304) that are concealed around the surface of the creek. It is through the ice-skin of one of these same traps that the man falls and, like Danteââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"wretches of the cold crust [tristi de la fredda crosta]â⬠(Inf . 33. 109), the man ââ¬Å"wet[s] himself halfway to the knees before he ? oundered out to the ?rm crustâ⬠(1307). 176 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and ReviewsLondonââ¬â¢s allusion to Dante is all the more pertinent when we consider the nature of the sin for which Danteââ¬â¢s transgressors in Ptolomea are being punished. The inhabitants of Ptolomea are those offenders who have transgressed against their guests, hosts, or companions. Londonââ¬â¢s critics have acknowledged the manââ¬â¢s hubris as ââ¬Å"an overweening con? dence in the ef? cacy of his own rational faculties and a corresponding blindness to the dark, nonrational powers of nature, chance, and fateâ⬠(Labor 63ââ¬â64). Yet, as with Danteââ¬â¢s sinners con? ed in Ptolome a, the fatal ? aw of Londonââ¬â¢s antihero is as much his inability to understand the value of companionship or community. In this way the nameless manââ¬â¢s husky acts as a foil to its master. London characterizes the relationship between the man and his dog as that existing between a ââ¬Å"? re-providerâ⬠(1309) and a ââ¬Å"toil-slaveâ⬠(1306), and, as such, he reveals that their union is based upon a ruthless pact of convenience and functionality rather than an accord of mutual love, respect, and sympathy.The ââ¬Å"menacing throat-soundsâ⬠(1307) of the man are, to the perceptions of the dog, as ââ¬Å"the sound of whip-lashesâ⬠(1307), and the narrative con? rms the dogââ¬â¢s apprehensions in his masterââ¬â¢s futile, last ditch effort to destroy manââ¬â¢s best friend and use its very lifeblood and vital warmth in order to save his own skin. Londonââ¬â¢s account of his protagonistââ¬â¢s failure to be companionate with his dog is a cruci al index to the manââ¬â¢s inability to ââ¬Å"meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon manââ¬â¢s frailty in generalâ⬠(1302).His cruel treatment of his dog furnishes yet another example of his refusal to perceive his fellow human beings and the natural world surrounding him as more than ââ¬Å"thingsâ⬠stripped bare of their ââ¬Å"signi? cancesâ⬠(1302). His aversion to companionability, which is equivalent to Danteââ¬â¢s sin of Ptolomea, is further re? ected in his refusal to heed the old-timerââ¬â¢s advice to foster human community and trust to a ââ¬Å"trail-mateâ⬠(1309). Londonââ¬â¢s allusion to both the frozen wastes of Danteââ¬â¢s Ptolomea and the crystal beards of the sinners who reside in that nhospitable climate provides a convincing literary analogue for Londonââ¬â¢s haunting and gloomy depiction of the Klondike; the intertext also serves to highlight the nature of the tragic ? aw of Londonââ¬â¢s protago nist in placing his trust in a misguided individualism where ââ¬Å"any man who was a man could travel aloneâ⬠(1308). It may be the case that in the parallels between Jack Londonââ¬â¢s severe experience of being buried in the Klondike and Danteââ¬â¢s unforgettable vision of his cardinal sinners, buried in Lake Cocytus, London found a subject that he could not resist treating imaginatively, irrespective of his religious and political standpoint.However, if, as I believe, Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠can be read as a moral fable of transgression and punishment that is heavily invested in the stuff of spiritual allegory and, in particular, relies upon the design of Danteââ¬â¢s Commedia, then our tidy, traditional understanding of London as a long-standing, dedicated Socialist who was condescending toward, if not scornful of, spiritual and religious matters becomes problematic or, at the very least, open to reassessment. Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"T o Build a Fire (II)â⬠177So that there can be no mistaking the taleââ¬â¢s literary debt to the Florentine master, Londonââ¬â¢s coda to his narrative contains a strong, though unsettling, allusion to the close of each of Danteââ¬â¢s three canticles. The allusion unsettles, because it bears Londonââ¬â¢s signature pessimism regarding an unresponsive universe. As, in turn, each canticle ends, Dante the pilgrim gains an increasingly clari? ed and luminous perspective upon the starry universe that proclaims Godââ¬â¢s abundant love and His concern for Creation: in Inferno, while emerging from Hellââ¬â¢s pit onto the surface of the Earth, Dante is able to contemplate the ? mament and ââ¬Å"see again the stars [riveder le stelle]â⬠(Inf . 34. 139); in Purgatorio, from the peak of Mount Purgatory Dante is ââ¬Å"pure and ready to rise to the stars [puro e disposto a salire a le stelle]â⬠(Purg. 33. 145); and, in Paradiso, Dante is at long last granted a beati ? c vision of his Maker and is ? lled with wonder ââ¬Å"by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars [lââ¬â¢amor che move il sole e lââ¬â¢altre stelle]â⬠(Parad. 33. 145).In contrast, Londonââ¬â¢s powerful closing image of the husky, now masterless and ââ¬Å"howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold skyâ⬠(1315), indicates a more indifferent and uncaring naturalistic universe than the ordered Dantean cosmos where Godââ¬â¢s embosoming love moves the sun and the other stars. Perhaps, then, in Londonââ¬â¢s closing reversion to the bright, dancing stars and the cold sky of an unfeeling universe, James McClintock is correct in his critical judgment that, ultimately, London never truly abandoned his essentially pessimistic worldview in ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠.Notes I wish to thank my freshman class from the fall semester of 2009 for being a receptive audience to the ideas presented in this paper. Above all, I am grateful to Marek Ignatowicz, a poet and a true man of letters. Without his facility for illuminating discussion on all things literary, and without our memorable conversation on the subject of beards in fact and in ? ction, it is highly probable that the topic of this paper would never have occurred to me. 1 Miltonââ¬â¢s Paradise Lost, and in particular the character of Miltonââ¬â¢s Satan, is an inspiration to Wolf Larsen in The Sea-Wolf .Larsen remarks of Miltonââ¬â¢s fallen archangel: ââ¬Å"But Lucifer was a free spirit. To serve was to suffocate. He preferred suffering in freedom to all the happiness of a comfortable servility. He did not care to serve God. He cared to serve nothing. He was no ? gurehead. He stood on his own legs. He was an individualâ⬠(249). Works Cited Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy: Inferno. Trans. Charles S. Singleton. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970. Print. ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Divine Comedy: Paradiso. Trans. Cha rles S. Singleton.Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975. Print. 178 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Divine Comedy: Purgatorio. Trans. Charles S. Singleton. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973. Print. Labor, Earle. Jack London. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1974. Print. London, Jack. The Complete Short Stories of Jack London. Ed. Earle Labor, Robert C. Leitz, III, and I. Milo Shepard. 3 vols. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993. Print. ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Sea-Wolf . New York: MacMillan, 1967. Print. McClintock, James I.White Logic: Jack Londonââ¬â¢s Short Stories. Cedar Springs: Wolf House Books, 1976. Print. Milton, John. The Poetical Works of John Milton. Ed. Helen Darbishire. London: Oxford University Press,1958. Print. Mitchell, Lee Clark. ââ¬Å"ââ¬ËKeeping His Headââ¬â¢: Repetition and Responsibility in Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬ËTo Build a Fire. â⬠ââ¬â¢ Journal of Modern Lite rature 13. 1 (1986): 76ââ¬â96. Print. Sinclair, Andrew. Jack: A Biography of Jack London. London: Harper and Row, 1977. Print. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Jack London ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews, Vol. 23, No. 3, 172ââ¬â178, 2010 Copyright à © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 0895-769X DOI: 10. 1080/08957691003712363 R USSELL M. H ILLIER Providence College Crystal Beards and Dantean In? uence in Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠James I. McClintock has described Jack Londonââ¬â¢s classic short story ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠as the ââ¬Å"most mature expression of his pessimismâ⬠(116).In what follows, I wish to explore the possibility that there is a substantial element of spiritual allegory operative in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative. London originally conceived his tale as a moral fable and a cautionary narrative to American youth never to travel alone. To this end, London published the story in Youthââ¬â¢s Companion. In its ? nal version, though, the tale assumed decidedly darker and more sinister tones.In capturing the menace of the inclement northland, London was dr awing upon his own travels in the Klondike, but I would argue that his narrative was also inspired by a fusion of his experience of the harsh and bleak environment of Dawson City with his encounter with the literature he read while he was sheltering in a winter cabin beside the Stewart River, in circumstances Londonââ¬â¢s biographer Andrew Sinclair characterizes as ââ¬Å"a trap of cold and boredom, short rations and scurvyâ⬠(48). Sinclair describes the modest library with which London weathered that cramped and piercingly cold spell of ? e months and writes how, ââ¬Å"In the tedious con? nes of the winter cabins, [London] settled down to absorb the books that became the bedrock of his thought and writing, underlying even the socialism which was his faith. These were the works of Darwin, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and Kipling, Miltonââ¬â¢s Paradise Lost and Danteââ¬â¢s Infernoâ⬠(48). The last two works Sinclair accounts for are of particular consequence. Between the pages of Milton and Danteââ¬â¢s epics London would have encountered fallen angels and unrepentant sinners who had been immured in Hell for committing crimes of hubris.Indeed, London transferred his fascination for the hubris of Miltonââ¬â¢s Satan to his antihero Wolf Larsen in the novel The Sea-Wolf . 1 Most importantly, though, London would have discovered, at the outer reaches of Miltonââ¬â¢s Hell, ââ¬Å"a frozen Continent [ . . . ] dark and wilde, beat with perpetual storms / Of Whirlwind 172 Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠173 and dire Hail, [ . . . ] all else deep snow and iceâ⬠(PL 2. 587ââ¬â89, 591); and, within the innermost circle of Danteââ¬â¢s pit of Hell, he would have found a frozen subterranean lake blasted by biting winds.Neither infernal vision would have been so very far removed from Londonââ¬â¢s own experience of the subzero temperatures and appalling conditions of the Klondike. Indeed, the inhuman cold that defe ats Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist was as much an attribute of the traditional medieval idea of Hell as its notorious qualities of ? re and brimstone. The landscape of Londonââ¬â¢s revised tale is conspicuously preternaturalââ¬â ââ¬Å"the mysterious, far-reaching hair-line trail, the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it allâ⬠(1302).Where Miltonââ¬â¢s Hell is characterized by the paradoxical quality of ââ¬Å"darkness visibleâ⬠(PL 1. 63), Londonââ¬â¢s comfortless northern world has ââ¬Å"an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day darkâ⬠(1301). Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist is an anonymous ââ¬Å"man,â⬠a gold prospector who not only lacks the imagination to survive in the Yukon wasteland, but who is also oblivious to any metaphysical possibilities and unmindful of ââ¬Å"the conjectural ? eld of immortality and manââ¬â¢s place in the universeâ⬠(1302).Incapa ble of companionability, the man always travels alone, except for his husky, an animal he treats with contempt and even with hostility. His disdain for the wise counsel that ââ¬Å"the old-timer on Sulphur Creekâ⬠(1309) gives him to travel into the northland with a partner is a recurrent reminder to Londonââ¬â¢s reader of the manââ¬â¢s improvidence, unsociability, and willful self-alienation. Londonââ¬â¢s own brutal ordeal in the Klondike had taught him the importance of having a trail-mate: when wintering by the Stewart River, London and Fred Thompson, journeying for supplies through the wilderness, had ââ¬Å"backpacked all the way or they pulled heir own sled, for they owned no team of huskiesâ⬠(Sinclair 48). In the case of the man in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative, the idea of working alongside or depending upon other creatures means no more to him than the enjoyment of the commodities he associates with them: ââ¬Å"the boysâ⬠at the camp, for example, whom the man always keeps in mind throughout the tale, are, to the man, indistinguishable from the material comforts he hopes to gain from ââ¬Å"a ? reâ⬠and ââ¬Å"a hot supperâ⬠(1302).The marked in? uence of Dante in Londonââ¬â¢s narrative, a crucial factor in oneââ¬â¢s appreciation of the tale which, to the best of my knowledge, has hitherto escaped critical attention, helps to con? rm Londonââ¬â¢s infernal rendering of the unforgiving Yukon wasteland. In structural terms the story has a repetitive, nightmarish quality as ââ¬Å"the manâ⬠makes three desperate ventures to build a ? re that are each time frustratedââ¬â? rst, by having the ? e ââ¬Å"blotted outâ⬠by an ââ¬Å"avalancheâ⬠of snow (1309); second, by having his book of sulphur matches extinguished in one fell swoop (1310ââ¬â11); and, third, by having ââ¬Å"the nucleus of the little ? reâ⬠snuffed out by a ââ¬Å"large piece of green mossâ⬠(1311). Lee Clark Mitchell has drawn attention 174 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews to the ominous, reiterative quality of the tale and to how ââ¬Å"events [ . . . ] repeat themselves into an eerie signi? cance, as the man attempts over and over to enact the storyââ¬â¢s titular in? nitiveâ⬠(78).The manââ¬â¢s predicament recalls the unrelenting fates of transgressors in the classical underworldââ¬âof Sisyphus, who pushes a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll down the hillââ¬â¢s other side, or of Tantalus, who fruitlessly reaches out to eat from a branch that is always eluding his grasp. But the manââ¬â¢s thwarted actions also mimic the commitment of Danteââ¬â¢s sinners to both the unending nature of the punishment they must suffer and the experience of their particular sinââ¬â¢s interminable round in each of the nine vicious circles built into the funnel of Danteââ¬â¢s Hell.London underlines the infernal atmosphere of his tale. He is careful, for instance, to identify the old-timer on Sulphur Creek, who warns the man that a traveler should never venture alone into the Klondike in treacherous weather, with that essential feature of Hell, namely Hellââ¬â¢s sulphurate fumes. London further emphasizes this theme by having his antihero build a ? re with ââ¬Å"his bunch of sulphur matchesâ⬠(1310) that, when lit, emits an evil smell of ââ¬Å"burning brimstoneâ⬠(1311). On bungling his second desperate attempt to build a ? re, the man not only blunders and sets a? me all of his remaining seventy matches, he also sets alight his own hand, so that the burning of his ? esh by ? re becomes associated with the freezing cold that burns into the core of his being at the storyââ¬â¢s climax. The freezing cold that literally chills the man to the bone is as apt a fate as a case of Dantean contrapasso, where the punishment of the sinner is appropriate to the nature of their sin. The manââ¬â¢s ethical insentience, his lac k of a moral and metaphysical compass to direct his choices and regulate his attitude toward others and toward the universe of which he is a part, is re? cted in the deadening numbness that torments and ultimately destroys him. London includes in his narrative one small but revealing detail from Danteââ¬â¢s Inferno that gives the reader a key to unlock the moral of his fable. Because of the intense cold, the beard of Londonââ¬â¢s nameless protagonist, like the coat of the husky that reluctantly accompanies the man, sports an icy ââ¬Å"appendageâ⬠(1303): The frozen moisture of [the huskyââ¬â¢s] breathing had settled on its fur in a ? ne powder of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its crystalled breath.The manââ¬â¢s red beard and mustache were likewise frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing tobacco, and the muzzle of ice hel d his lips so rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The result was that a crystal beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he fell down Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠175 it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. 1303) This curious ââ¬Å"ice-muzzle on his mouthâ⬠(1304) elongates as the man progresses on his journey, so that ââ¬Å"he continued monotonously to chew tobacco and to increase the length of his amber beardâ⬠(1304); later still, the ââ¬Å"ice-muzzleâ⬠(1306) obstructs his mouth when he attempts to eat his meal. The ââ¬Å"amber beard,â⬠a vivid if admittedly bizarre feature of Londonââ¬â¢s tale, gathers in signi? cance if we recollect events in the ninth and ? nal circle of Danteââ¬â¢s Inferno. When Dante the pilgrim arrives at Hellââ¬â¢s bottom, he discovers a frozen Lake Cocytus that i s swept by bitter, freezing winds.As Dante ventures toward the heart of Lake Cocytus, where the ? gure of Lucifer weeps, gnashes his teeth, and beats his wings, he eventually arrives at the region of Ptolomea (Inf. 33. 124). In this place he ? nds wretched sinners buried up to their waists in ice: We went farther on, where the frost roughly swathes another people, not bent downwards, but with faces all upturned. The very weeping there prevents their weeping, and the grief, which ? nds a barrier upon their eyes, turns inward to increase the agony, for the ? rst tears form a knot and, like a crystal visor, ? l all the cup beneath the eyebrow. (Inf . 33. 91ââ¬â99) The ââ¬Å"crystal visor [visiere di cristallo]â⬠(Inf . 33. 98) or ââ¬Å"the hard veils [i duri veli]â⬠(Inf . 33. 112) that form and clamp about the faces of these sinners offer an attractive source for the ââ¬Å"crystal beardâ⬠or ââ¬Å"muzzle of iceâ⬠that torments the countenance of Londonâ⬠â¢s antihero. Just as the tears around the faces of Danteââ¬â¢s sinners solidify and accumulate to form visors or veils, so the tobacco spit in the beard of Londonââ¬â¢s protagonist encrusts, clusters, and builds to form an icemuzzle.Londonââ¬â¢s ice-muzzle that shatters, ââ¬Å"like glass, into brittle fragmentsâ⬠(1303), also seems to recall Danteââ¬â¢s frozen Lake Cocytus, which has the durability ââ¬Å"of glass [di vetro]â⬠(Inf . 32. 24). In his depiction of the Yukon London gestures further to Danteââ¬â¢s sinners, who are embedded in Lake Cocytus. Just as Danteââ¬â¢s Lake Cocytus is one solid block of ice, so the creek that surrounds the man ââ¬Å"was frozen clear to the bottom, ââ¬â no creek could contain water in that arctic winterâ⬠(1304).Equally, just as Danteââ¬â¢s sinners are trapped in the ice, so various ice pools, covered with ââ¬Å"a snow-hidden ice-skinâ⬠(1305), present ââ¬Å"trapsâ⬠(1304) that are concealed around the surface of the creek. It is through the ice-skin of one of these same traps that the man falls and, like Danteââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"wretches of the cold crust [tristi de la fredda crosta]â⬠(Inf . 33. 109), the man ââ¬Å"wet[s] himself halfway to the knees before he ? oundered out to the ?rm crustâ⬠(1307). 176 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and ReviewsLondonââ¬â¢s allusion to Dante is all the more pertinent when we consider the nature of the sin for which Danteââ¬â¢s transgressors in Ptolomea are being punished. The inhabitants of Ptolomea are those offenders who have transgressed against their guests, hosts, or companions. Londonââ¬â¢s critics have acknowledged the manââ¬â¢s hubris as ââ¬Å"an overweening con? dence in the ef? cacy of his own rational faculties and a corresponding blindness to the dark, nonrational powers of nature, chance, and fateâ⬠(Labor 63ââ¬â64). Yet, as with Danteââ¬â¢s sinners con? ed in Ptolome a, the fatal ? aw of Londonââ¬â¢s antihero is as much his inability to understand the value of companionship or community. In this way the nameless manââ¬â¢s husky acts as a foil to its master. London characterizes the relationship between the man and his dog as that existing between a ââ¬Å"? re-providerâ⬠(1309) and a ââ¬Å"toil-slaveâ⬠(1306), and, as such, he reveals that their union is based upon a ruthless pact of convenience and functionality rather than an accord of mutual love, respect, and sympathy.The ââ¬Å"menacing throat-soundsâ⬠(1307) of the man are, to the perceptions of the dog, as ââ¬Å"the sound of whip-lashesâ⬠(1307), and the narrative con? rms the dogââ¬â¢s apprehensions in his masterââ¬â¢s futile, last ditch effort to destroy manââ¬â¢s best friend and use its very lifeblood and vital warmth in order to save his own skin. Londonââ¬â¢s account of his protagonistââ¬â¢s failure to be companionate with his dog is a cruci al index to the manââ¬â¢s inability to ââ¬Å"meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon manââ¬â¢s frailty in generalâ⬠(1302).His cruel treatment of his dog furnishes yet another example of his refusal to perceive his fellow human beings and the natural world surrounding him as more than ââ¬Å"thingsâ⬠stripped bare of their ââ¬Å"signi? cancesâ⬠(1302). His aversion to companionability, which is equivalent to Danteââ¬â¢s sin of Ptolomea, is further re? ected in his refusal to heed the old-timerââ¬â¢s advice to foster human community and trust to a ââ¬Å"trail-mateâ⬠(1309). Londonââ¬â¢s allusion to both the frozen wastes of Danteââ¬â¢s Ptolomea and the crystal beards of the sinners who reside in that nhospitable climate provides a convincing literary analogue for Londonââ¬â¢s haunting and gloomy depiction of the Klondike; the intertext also serves to highlight the nature of the tragic ? aw of Londonââ¬â¢s protago nist in placing his trust in a misguided individualism where ââ¬Å"any man who was a man could travel aloneâ⬠(1308). It may be the case that in the parallels between Jack Londonââ¬â¢s severe experience of being buried in the Klondike and Danteââ¬â¢s unforgettable vision of his cardinal sinners, buried in Lake Cocytus, London found a subject that he could not resist treating imaginatively, irrespective of his religious and political standpoint.However, if, as I believe, Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠can be read as a moral fable of transgression and punishment that is heavily invested in the stuff of spiritual allegory and, in particular, relies upon the design of Danteââ¬â¢s Commedia, then our tidy, traditional understanding of London as a long-standing, dedicated Socialist who was condescending toward, if not scornful of, spiritual and religious matters becomes problematic or, at the very least, open to reassessment. Jack Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬Å"T o Build a Fire (II)â⬠177So that there can be no mistaking the taleââ¬â¢s literary debt to the Florentine master, Londonââ¬â¢s coda to his narrative contains a strong, though unsettling, allusion to the close of each of Danteââ¬â¢s three canticles. The allusion unsettles, because it bears Londonââ¬â¢s signature pessimism regarding an unresponsive universe. As, in turn, each canticle ends, Dante the pilgrim gains an increasingly clari? ed and luminous perspective upon the starry universe that proclaims Godââ¬â¢s abundant love and His concern for Creation: in Inferno, while emerging from Hellââ¬â¢s pit onto the surface of the Earth, Dante is able to contemplate the ? mament and ââ¬Å"see again the stars [riveder le stelle]â⬠(Inf . 34. 139); in Purgatorio, from the peak of Mount Purgatory Dante is ââ¬Å"pure and ready to rise to the stars [puro e disposto a salire a le stelle]â⬠(Purg. 33. 145); and, in Paradiso, Dante is at long last granted a beati ? c vision of his Maker and is ? lled with wonder ââ¬Å"by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars [lââ¬â¢amor che move il sole e lââ¬â¢altre stelle]â⬠(Parad. 33. 145).In contrast, Londonââ¬â¢s powerful closing image of the husky, now masterless and ââ¬Å"howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold skyâ⬠(1315), indicates a more indifferent and uncaring naturalistic universe than the ordered Dantean cosmos where Godââ¬â¢s embosoming love moves the sun and the other stars. Perhaps, then, in Londonââ¬â¢s closing reversion to the bright, dancing stars and the cold sky of an unfeeling universe, James McClintock is correct in his critical judgment that, ultimately, London never truly abandoned his essentially pessimistic worldview in ââ¬Å"To Build a Fire (II)â⬠.Notes I wish to thank my freshman class from the fall semester of 2009 for being a receptive audience to the ideas presented in this paper. Above all, I am grateful to Marek Ignatowicz, a poet and a true man of letters. Without his facility for illuminating discussion on all things literary, and without our memorable conversation on the subject of beards in fact and in ? ction, it is highly probable that the topic of this paper would never have occurred to me. 1 Miltonââ¬â¢s Paradise Lost, and in particular the character of Miltonââ¬â¢s Satan, is an inspiration to Wolf Larsen in The Sea-Wolf .Larsen remarks of Miltonââ¬â¢s fallen archangel: ââ¬Å"But Lucifer was a free spirit. To serve was to suffocate. He preferred suffering in freedom to all the happiness of a comfortable servility. He did not care to serve God. He cared to serve nothing. He was no ? gurehead. He stood on his own legs. He was an individualâ⬠(249). Works Cited Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy: Inferno. Trans. Charles S. Singleton. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970. Print. ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Divine Comedy: Paradiso. Trans. Cha rles S. Singleton.Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975. Print. 178 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes, and Reviews ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Divine Comedy: Purgatorio. Trans. Charles S. Singleton. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973. Print. Labor, Earle. Jack London. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1974. Print. London, Jack. The Complete Short Stories of Jack London. Ed. Earle Labor, Robert C. Leitz, III, and I. Milo Shepard. 3 vols. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993. Print. ââ¬âââ¬âââ¬â. The Sea-Wolf . New York: MacMillan, 1967. Print. McClintock, James I.White Logic: Jack Londonââ¬â¢s Short Stories. Cedar Springs: Wolf House Books, 1976. Print. Milton, John. The Poetical Works of John Milton. Ed. Helen Darbishire. London: Oxford University Press,1958. Print. Mitchell, Lee Clark. ââ¬Å"ââ¬ËKeeping His Headââ¬â¢: Repetition and Responsibility in Londonââ¬â¢s ââ¬ËTo Build a Fire. â⬠ââ¬â¢ Journal of Modern Lite rature 13. 1 (1986): 76ââ¬â96. Print. Sinclair, Andrew. Jack: A Biography of Jack London. London: Harper and Row, 1977. Print. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
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