In Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, a young mermaid’s journey is followed by readers as she longs to become closer to humans both physically and emotionally. First off, one of the most powerful details shared to build the contrast between humans and mermaids is the display of the lacking emotional capacity of the mermaid. Specifically for the young mermaid whom the story follows, when she watches sailors perish in the waters of her fellow mermaids, she ” (feels) ready to cry; only mermaids have no tears, and therefore suffers all the more” (Andersen 110). So for the little mermaid, there is already a developing desire to become closer to feeling human emotions, even though she can’t, as she doesn’t have a soul such as a human does.

Andersen uses the absence of tears as a powerful symbol of the boundary between the human and the nonhuman. Tears, a distinctly human expression of pain and empathy, represent the capacity to externalize and release emotion. The mermaid’s inability to cry, despite her immense sorrow, captures her tragic position between two worlds; she feels with human intensity but cannot express it humanly. Her suffering is intensified precisely because she lacks this natural outlet for grief, suggesting that emotional repression is a form of silent torment.

This theme deepens as Andersen describes the mermaid’s yearning for a soul and for human love. In negotiations dealing with the witch to gain human form, the mermaid asks, “If you take away my voice, what have I left?” The witch responds, “Your lovely form” (Andersen 120). Here, the mermaid’s willingness to sacrifice her voice, her very means of expression, underscores her desperate desire to transcend the limitations of her nature. Andersen contrasts the physical silence she chooses with the emotional silence imposed by her mermaid form, suggesting that to be human is not merely to have a body, but to possess a soul capable of both feeling and expression.

Together, these moments illustrate how Andersen transforms the mermaid’s longing into a commentary on the cost of humanity. To be human, in Andersen’s world, is to be able to love, suffer, and express, even through tears. The Little Mermaid’s tragedy lies in her discovery that to gain a soul requires both sacrifice and suffering, yet it is this very suffering that makes her truly human.

In Chapter Four of the Penguin Book of Mermaids, Captain Samuel Barret Eades had stumbled upon a once-in-a-lifetime prize in the discovery of what seemed to be a true aqua-human hybrid creature. In 1822 he was presented the opportunity to purchase a dried up mermaid specimen for $6,000 from a group of dutch traders. The creature purchased was one of both wonder and dreadful ugliness. He obtained a Japanese mermaid, the stark opposite of the famous Christian mermaids known for their regal beauty and elegance. From the outside, the exchange may have been viewed as sketchy by others. Consequently, scientists continuously questioned the legitimacy of the specimen, but that didn’t stop Eades from insisting on bringing it to London. Risking his fame and fortune as a wealthy English Captain, he took the mermaid with him to London to show the world. Even though the mermaid was a short, shriveled, and wretched being, people still flocked to see the exhibit that was the body encased in a glass dish. But unfortunately, the success of the unveiling ended up also being the downfall of the exhibit and reputation of Eades himself.

Eades’ success led to false confidence in his little mermaid. The numerous articles and newspaper publications written about his special piece filled his head with infinite belief and pride in his purchase. Upon the success, he felt so confident in his specimen’s legitimacy that he ended up giving it to a respected scientist for authentication. William Clift was the authenticator who found the specimen to be nothing but stuffing and wooden parts. Luckily for Eades, his inevitable downfall was slightly delayed as he was able to pay Clift off to not disclose his findings to the public. But the scientists in London, being a tight-knit group, ended up backfiring on Eades as he had one too many naturalists falsely authenticate his mermaid. Eades would go on to get caught and then end his journey with his Japanese mermaid as the public found out and the luster ran out in 1825.

While examining the events in which Captain Eades was a part, a similarity can be drawn to the story of Raymondin and Melusine. Shortly, Eades and Raymondin likely would’ve been better off just living their lives as is and not authenticating their mermaid or walking into the sacred place of their SO. This theme of seeking excess knowledge causing ultimate downfalls seems to be present in many stories, especially when it comes to comparing the human and mermaid worlds and how they interact with each other. I feel sometimes it is just better to let things be and remain content with not being able to understand/know about everything around you, because it may just break you down even more.

In this passage, lovers learn that words—even kind or logical ones—cannot repair damage caused by betrayal; once trust breaks, language hits a wall and only silence, the body, and fate remain. Melusine speaks with care and reason. This scene provides insight between Melusine ans her husband, Raymondin amidst the aftermath of a crisis caused by their own son. She calls their son’s act “courage misdirected,” asks her husband to act like the wise prince he is, and points to God’s plan and the hope that time will correct hot youth. But her speech meets a hard stop: his “strange silence,” his eyes swinging from anger to brief softness and back to hatred. Then words do more harm—his attack (“serpent”) turns talk into accusation and breaks her standing with him. At this point the text states the rule of the scene: “There is no language that has not its limits”. That line explains everything that follows: speech cannot undo what has happened. The body takes over—fainting, tears, a doctor’s drink—and the choice to separate becomes real. Even Melusine’s final, beautiful speech—full of forgiveness and prophecy—cannot reverse the break; it only gives form to goodbye. The natural signs that once gave her strength (orchard scent, roses) also fail to persuade time to run backward. In the end, action replaces argument: Melusine rises and departs. Love may remain, but living together ends. The passage claims that grief is not cured by better arguments or more words; language can surround pain, explain it, and mourn it—but it cannot unmake it.

This scene represented in the passage, provides a rollercoaster for the readers as the emotional ups and downs of the dynamic relationship between Raymondin and Melusine are observed from the outside. The betrayal that is the reveal of Melusine’s secret is ultimately the breaking point between the two, even though her husband is still holding on to the thought of a successful relationship, even after the shattering of trust. Although Melusine will carry on the love held for Raymondin, there is no going back to the physical relationship, and she must now live her true nature.

Limits were tested, borders were crossed within the relationship, showing that no matter who you are, or what someone does, there may always be a limit, and you must be careful not to cross it.

In the chapter “The Story of Melusine” from The Penguin Book of Mermaids, the tale of Melusine offers a compelling mix of myth, mystery, and morality. Melusine, a half-fairy or mermaid-like woman, marries a mortal man, Raymondin, under one key condition: he must never see her on Saturdays. When he breaks this promise and spies on her, discovering her true form, he violates the sacred trust between them. As a result, Melusine is forced to leave him, emphasizing themes of secrecy, trust, and the consequences of betrayal. The moral of Melusine’s story centers on the sanctity of boundaries and the vital role that trust plays in relationships. Melusine, though magical and different, is loyal and loving as long as Raymondin respects her request. His inability to honor this promise not only breaks their bond but ultimately leads to his downfall. This tale reminds us that love is not about complete possession or control over another person, but about mutual respect and acceptance—even of the unknown or unexplained.

In our own lives, the story encourages us to reflect on how we handle trust and personal boundaries. Whether in romantic, familial, or platonic relationships, honoring each other’s privacy and respecting personal space is essential. We often feel compelled to uncover every truth, but sometimes, faith in the other person’s integrity matters more than knowing everything.

Melusine’s story also speaks to the idea that people are more than what we see on the surface. Her dual nature is symbolic of the complexity within all individuals. By judging others solely on visible traits—or by forcing them to expose parts of themselves they wish to keep private—we risk losing something beautiful.Ultimately, Melusine’s tale teaches us that love without trust is fragile—and that true connection requires acceptance, not control.

Steve Mentz’s “Deterritorializing Preface” is a short excerpt that makes a striking argument for the switching of codes from terra-centric vocabularies to ocean-centric vocabularies. At the very beginning of the preface, Mentz states, “our bodies and imaginations register the shift from familiar Terra to alien Oceanus” (1). As he refers to the ocean as “alien,” an idea of the ocean being mysterious, intriguing, and universally unknown is placed and confirmed inside the reader’s mind. So, with the terrestrial language including words such as field, ground, and landscape, which are such strict terms, it is almost essential for us to explore the unknown and expand our vocabulary to become more dynamic, just as the ocean is.

Mentz’s suggestion to change the universal term of the field to “current” is a highly intriguing point, especially as this topic was briefly discussed in class. The term’ field’ seems so stationary and flat, so to use the term “current” as one to suggest flow and change is a positive step in the right direction. To understand the ocean, we must first accept that our minds and ideas need to flow like a current instead of remaining in a constant pasture. Next, we must recognize that the Earth is mostly blue to fully understand and appreciate “Blue Humanities”. To relate to the Earth being mostly water, we must allow our minds and metaphors to float up to the surface and recycle rather than remain on the ground floor and never take off. Lastly, to build on the idea of our language changing as well as our ideas, we must be able to also let go of linear visual thinking related with the term landscape. Instead, we should resort to the term seascape, as nothing is ever so clear in the ocean for us humans, and is always left up to interpretation, such as is most of our lives. Adopting more dynamic language related to blue humanities may prove beneficial to society as it creates open, ever-changing, and therefore constantly learning minds.

This brief reading from Steve Mentz was thoroughly enjoyable and allowed me to open my own mind to re-interpret what blue humanities might be. This type of constant flow-state of thinking, especially relating to everyday language, is one that I have never truly thought about, and I am appreciative of Mentz’s writing.

Hello, my name is Aidan, I am a second-year student here at SDSU. Currently, I am undeclared, but I do plan on going into civil engineering once I complete my pre-requisites. I honestly do not know what this introduction is supposed to include, but here we go. I am the younger sibling to my 21-year-old brother named Jonathan. I have both my parents (separated), as well as a litter of dogs (one being my own), a lizard, and a snake. I am a bit of a nerd, falling in love with movie sagas such as Harry Potter and Star Wars when I was younger. Video Games are also one of my true loves as I have been attracted to them ever since I can remember picking up a Ps2 controller. I enjoy story/rpg games (I have platinumed Elden Ring), as well as sports games such as madden and MLB The Show. I love everything and anything football whether it is playing (which i did from ages 4-18), or watching my USC Trojans and Denver Broncos on Saturdays and Sundays. My King is the man by the name of Bo Nix. Also, I am big into snowboarding, especially up in Big Bear during the Winter. I even happen to be very well versed in the kitchen.

This class was really something I chose because I thought I would be learning about booms involving the ocean, pollution, global warming etc. I had no clue or idea that it was 90% focused on mermaids. But, now that I somewhat understand the direction in which this class is going, I am all here for it. I am excited to go through the journey that is this class with everyone.