Trouble in Paradise

In Tales of the Pacific, my favorite short story was “Koolau the Leper.” Usually I enjoy stories with political themes like this one. The story starts with the diatribe of a leper uprising, as the lepers are treated as subhuman due to their disease. People fear catching leprosy because the illness deforms the body until the lepers appear inhuman; a combination of fear and disgust causes the lepers to be mistreated, as people tend to judge others based upon outward appearance.

Though the lepers are ordinary human beings, people somehow judge their inner character by their outer decomposing flesh. The illness is symbolically equated with moral decay, so the lepers not only suffer greatly from the physical disease itself, but the spiritual anguish of losing their beauty and being ostracized. Koolau, however, strongly opposes the mistreatment. He says, “Because we are sick they take away our liberty. We have obeyed the law. We have done no wrong. And yet they would put us in prison.” Though the lepers are not morally degenerate, they are punished for the curse that nature thrust upon them. Their suffering is doubled, and tripled considering the fact that the disease was imported and spread due to imperialistic greed.

Koolau is a martyr who dies for his cause, even after his fellow lepers betray him; I appreciated his strength, determination, and sense of justice.

London is the quintessential man versus nature author, and in his stories nature is a cruel antagonist indeed. A common theme throughout his short stories is the contrast between nature’s alluring beauty, grotesque violence, and apathy toward humanity. Tales of the Pacific grieves for the fallen paradise of the Hawaiian islands.

Jack London’s Darwinism and Male Chauvinism

Several people have recommended Jack London to me, praising White Fang and The Call of the Wild in particular. So far I haven’t had a chance to read either of those, so Tales of the Pacific is my first experience with Jack London. The short stories are captivating, though I took awhile to warm up to them. London deals with natural themes more than moral themes, offering a fresh literary perspective.

“The House of Mapuhi” was difficult for me to get into at first, since in my opinion hardly anything could be more boring than detailed descriptions of boats and ships…so I slogged through until the action occurred, which was when a tropical hurricane severely damaged the island where the main characters lived.

Most of the story involves the survival of Nauri, an old woman with a courageous spirit, after the storm. She overcomes several obstacles such as sharks, intense heat, and a lack of fresh water in order to reunite with her family on the main island. London’s brutal naturalism caused me to wonder if she would return alive, and I was relieved that she did. London’s stories are the type in which no one is safe from being grotesquely killed at any moment, which kept me feeling tense and trying not to become too attached to any of the characters.

An annoying detail I noticed in “The House of Mapuhi” and also “Mauki” is the way London refers to women as if they are property. This is subtle, yet detectable in the sentence, “Mapuhi and his women snapped off.” Mapuhi’s wife and daughters are referred to as “his women,” as if they are his possessions…which is a bit ironic, since Mapuhi is a minor character who shows little personality, while the old woman Nauri shows greater strength and innovation than any of the male characters in the story.

At the end of “Mauki,” London lists the main character’s accomplishments and spoils: rifles, shrunken heads, healthy weight gain, and among these four wives — as if they are of equal or lesser value than the other objects. London writes, “But more precious than the entire collection is another head.” The women are considered part of Mauki’s collection of prizes, and they are less important to him than a shrunken head.

London not only seems to regard women and romantic relationships as impersonal and animalistic; his entire writing style contains a Darwinist twang. The brutality of nature is alluded to frequently. London’s style might be considered similar to Kipling’s, though without the innocence. His short stories are filled with action, thrills, and lengthy descriptions of scenery. They would make good Hollywood movies, similar to Jaws or Jurassic Park — containing simple, yet powerful themes — yet with theme overshadowed by action. London’s style is certainly masculine, as he specializes in action, adventure, and characters with strong spirits.

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  “Nature, red in tooth and claw…” maybe the title ought to be Red Fang instead?