In David Walcott’s “The Sea is History,” the poem’s extensive use of biblical allusions and oceanic imagery exposes how human history, no matter how powerful it seems, is ultimately temporary and easily forgotten on land, a claim that aligns with Eric Paul Roorda and Steve Mentz’s critiques of terracentrism by revealing the human mistake of centering our worldview on land-based narratives instead of recognizing the ocean as the deeper and more enduring archive of human experience. 

First, in “The Sea Is History” by Derek Walcott, the poet portrays the ocean as an archive of cultural memory by referencing Biblical and historical knowledge, thus revealing how man-made monuments and stories are temporary but can be preserved within the ocean which carries an enduring record of human history. By connecting biblical narratives with the ocean, Walcott shows that the sea exposes and carries the realities that Scripture and monuments often spiritualize or brush over, revealing history’s buried truths.

“Where are your monuments, your battles, martyrs?” (ln. 1).  Walcott opens with a challenge. He asks where the remnants of man-made creations can be found once they are long gone, to which the reply is, “The sea / has locked them up. The sea is History” (ln. 3-4), thus establishing the foundation of the poem where the sea is portrayed as a vessel containing historical knowledge and depth. 

Walcott’s challenge to monuments can be further understood through Eric Paul Roorda’s concept of terracentrism, as written in his introduction to The Ocean Reader, which describes the deeply ingrained human fallacy to center history, meaning, and value on land-based narratives rather than those of the ocean. As Roorda explains, “Those who have considered the watery majority of the planet on its own terms have often seen it as a changeless space, one without a history. Because the Ocean can’t be plowed, paved, or shaped in ways the eye is able to discern, it has seemed to be a constant, while the land has changed drastically over the centuries” (Roorda 1).  Here, he explains how because terracentrism shapes human worldviews, and thus how humans record and remember the past, only easily visible, changeable, and human-created spaces such as monuments, cities, and other land-centric features are considered significant in the recording and studying of the world’s history. On the other hand, and as Roorda described, the ocean is often wrongfully perceived as empty, unchanging, or merely an insignificant backdrop to human history, being dismissed as a geographical feature due to the fact that humans cannot easily perceive the true change and cycles it goes through, for example all of the ocean’s changes and contents are submerged and not visible to humans. So, land becomes the default perspective for the recording of history and thought, enabling humans to feel powerful and create a sense of achievement through tangible structures and borders meant to endure for long periods of time. Monuments are thus significant to humans because they provide something tangible as well as stability, and they are able to be claimed and controlled, which are qualities that are valued within land-based thinking. In contrast, the ocean is fluid, constantly moving, and impossible to fully claim or control, which prevents it from conforming to the fallacy of a terracentric worldview. Even the engineered “names” that humans give to parts of the ocean, like the Indian Ocean or Atlantic Ocean, in an attempt to divide and control them into different entities, does not take away from the fact that the ocean is factually and permanently one large body, or how “seawater travels widely and endlessly across these artificial geographic markers” (2) no matter how many futile attempts humans make to tame it. Roorda mentions how as a result, histories associated with the sea are often overlooked or erased, not because they lack significance, but because they cannot be easily understood in a society that only fathoms land as a site of importance. Walcott’s line that “the sea has / locked them up” (ln. 3-4) directly rejects the assumption that history must be visible on land to be valued. Instead, the poem exposes how terracentrism limits historical knowledge because it correlates permanence with truth and dismisses what cannot be controlled or owned. The ocean’s lack of stability and clear borders undermines the power of monuments as the most reliable mediums of remembering history, revealing that what humans choose to remember is shaped less by a true appreciation for historical depth and more by means of power, control, and comfort in understanding. Thus, Walcott’s opening lines do much more than merely introduce the sea as a setting for the poem, but rather they challenge the very logic by which humans define history. By positioning the ocean as a true vault of monuments, battles, and martyrs, Walcott’s work aligns with Roorda’s critique of land-centered history and exposes the human mistake of looking at land-based narratives over fluid, ocean realities. Through this lense, Walcott’s poem can be read as a poetic refusal of terracentrism, insisting that history exists and is held not where humans have tried to anchor it, but where it has been forgotten or allowed to endure beyond human control and perception.

Walcott continues by chronologically describing Old Testament books of the Bible. He first describes Genesis, then Exodus, then the Song of Solomon, then Lamentations. By shifting from book to book specifically in chronological order, the work shifts from a mere poem to more of a story with a sequence of events, similar to human history. Walcott is further emphasizing the representation of the ocean as a continuous timeline containing such history and depth. For example, in his representation of Exodus, Walcott writes, “Bone soldered by coral to bone, / mosaics / mantles by the benediction of the shark’s shadow” (ln. 13-15). This could be referring to the famous Exodus story of Moses delivering the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. In doing so, he parts the Red Sea just in time for the Israelites to safely escape, but the waves come crashing down on the Egyptians in their wake, thus drowning their pursuers. The imagery of coral and bone being soldered together imply a connection between elements of the ocean and the land/humans, and the specific usage of the word “soldered” implies permanence, as if they are permanently connected in history. The usage of the word “mosaics” also provides relevance as that form of art consists of several small pieces fitted together to form a larger picture. In this context, the different, small remnants of the past and history held within the ocean are more that mere bits of debris, but rather the parts that make up larger history if put together. In this story, the bones and bodies of the Egyptians lie among the coral and water, forever preserved by the blessing, or “benediction of the shark’s shadow,” in the sea. The poet uses this popular biblical story to materialize the death and the religious story. The ocean becomes not a metaphor but an archive of bodies, holding the truths that triumphant narratives erase. The biblical reference paints the ocean as an archive and it exposes the gap between Scripture’s symbolic story and the physical reality the sea remembers. 

The human tendency to trust land over ocean as reliable grounds of history can again be explained through Eric Paul Roorda’s Ocean Reader and critique of terracentrism, which reveals how familiarity and control shape what humans consider meaningful because it is more comfortably understood. The ocean resists human control and thus, human-written narratives. It does not organize history into neat beginnings and endings or preserve events in ways that may be skewed or untruthful. As a result, humans are more comfortable trusting land-based narratives and perspectives because they align with familiar structures of meaning and authority that society is conditioned to value and view as necessary, while distrusting the ocean because it does not contain those rigid structures. Walcott’s depiction of Exodus directly confronts this bias that Roorda introduces by separating the biblical story’s symbolic, land-based narrative from the ocean’s physical holdings of bodies and bones, and thus objective memories. Where the Bible frames the drowning of the Egyptians as a necessary step in the divine escape, the ocean preserves the physical remains of that event without religious interpretation or meaning. The ocean refuses to be manipulated by human-written agendas or narratives and instead shows only the objective truth, and it does not allow humans to distance themselves from or justify suffering. Raw histories are not turned into metaphors, but rather held within coral, bone, and sediment, as Walcott describes. By trusting land and religious propaganda over the ocean, humans try to protect themselves from confronting the full weight of historical truth and violence. Roorda exposes humans’ selective attention to the ocean as he writes, “They relentlessly hunt sea creatures, taking 90 million tons of fish from it annually. They use it as a highway, with 100,000 ships at sea right now. They study it, find inspiration in it, play on it, and fight over it” (Roorda 3). Humans rely heavily on the ocean for transportation, food, and cultural inspiration, yet ironically exploit it and selectively choose to ignore the need to care for the ocean. Walcott further adds to the conversation of human selectivity as a fallacy in perspective, showing that what humans dismiss as unstable or lacking in history is in fact the space where history is preserved the most honestly. In doing so, the poem along with Roorda’s work reveal that human reliance on land-based narratives is not rooted in the desire for truth, but in comfort, control, and the need to tell stories that affirm human values.

 In Walcott’s representation of the Song of Solomon, a book about marriage and poetic love, he flips the romantic narrative with descriptions of “white cowries clustered like manacles / on the drowned women, / and those were the ivory bracelets / of the Song of Solomon” (ln. 20-23). The poet’s mention of drowned women chained with manacles could be referring to the slave trade where many slaves died in transportation overseas, once again associating human and ocean elements by comparing cowries to the chains. The typically beautiful and romantic images of “white cowries” and “ivory bracelets” represent bondage, definitely not poetic love, in this poem. By flipping the theme of the Song of Solomon, Walcott is contrasting Biblical stories with historical reality, or idealistic love versus slavery. The ocean preserves the bodies, and therefore real history. The poet thus paints the ocean as not only a mere vessel that preserves stories, but also harsh truth, no matter how buried. 

After chronologically describing Lamentations, Walcott shifts his poem to the New Testament with the lines, “the spires /  lancing the side of God / as His son set, and that was the New Testament” (ln. 56-58).  Biblically, the New Testament begins with the emergence of Jesus Christ, who was crucified. The imagery of spires piercing the “side of God” is reminiscent of how when Jesus was on the cross, Roman soldiers pierced his side with spears to see if he had died yet. The images of God’s son setting can have a double meaning. It can represent Jesus, the son, dying on the cross, but also the sun literally setting, thus bringing about a new day in history and narrating an end and beginning simultaneously. Waves enact “progress,” not because they advance but because they erase and renew with every break, and they become the mechanism and vessel through which human stories are submerged and remade. This pushes the biblical imagery toward a reflection on historical time itself, how events are layered, repeated, forgotten, and preserved beneath the surface. Walcott characterizes these sequence of events as “waves’ progress,” once again connecting the sea to human history and stories. The pun on “son/sun” links Biblical narrative to the natural flow of time, suggesting that endings and beginnings, written through the imagery of crucifixion and sunset, are layered within the ocean’s depths. Waves enact “progress” not by moving forward but by continually erasing and rearranging the world’s surface, mirroring the ongoing process by which human histories and stories are written, buried, and re-told.

Walcott’s rejection of linear progress through the image of waves is further explained by Steve Mentz’s concept of how language is a key factor in terracentrism. In the preface to Ocean, Mentz argues that terrestrial thinking is too limited, a problem caused by the language that humans use, for example “progress,” “ground,” and “field.” “Progress” assumes that history moves in a straight line toward continuous improvement or resolution, however Mentz proposes the use of “flow” instead, a term that emphasizes circulation, repetition, and transformation rather than linear advancement. “Thinking in terms of cyclical flows rather than linear progress makes historical narratives messier, more confusing, and less familiar. These are good things” (Mentz xvi). Here, he argues that history and advancement do not come in the commonly accepted form of regularity and standardization, but rather in a more fluid, unpredictable way like the flow of the ocean and waves. These metaphors contrast from the land-centered experience, where everything appears solid and movement can be measured. Ocean “flow” does not move toward a fixed endpoint at the end of a linear path, but rather it moves through cycles and waves. Walcott’s description of “waves’ progress” mirrors Mentz’s concept because the waves do not represent improvement or forward movement in the traditional, human sense, but rather display change through constant breaking, erasing, and reshaping of the surface. Thus, Mentz’s claim supports Walcott’s poem in that oceanic thinking is more realistic and flexible than terrestrial metaphors by refusing clarity and linear-based “progress.” Mentz writes, “The blue humanities name an ocean-infused way to reframe our shared cultural history. Breaking up the Anthropocene means reimagining the anthropogenic signatures of today’s climactic disasters as a dynamic openings” (Mentz xviii). In order to address true history, the ocean cannot be written out of it, and history itself cannot be viewed as a linear timeline, but rather as something “dynamic.” History, similar to water, does not stay put, but rather it builds as time goes on, distorts, and is reremembered. Mentz’s framework helps explain how Walcott’s imagery not only emphasizes the ocean as a keeper of history, but actively describes how history itself moves.

Ultimately, “The Sea is History” by Derek Walcott uses heavy Biblical allusions and connections between humans and nature in order to further the purpose of depicting the ocean as a vessel preserving truth and history, which is supported by Eric Roorda and Steve Mentz’s works exposing terracentrism and human-centered narratives. 

Works Cited

Roorda, Eric Paul, editor. The Ocean Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Duke University Press, 2020.

Mentz, Steve. Ocean. Bloomsbury Academic, 2020. ProQuest Ebook Central, ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/sdsu/detail.action?docID=6036857.

What I have learned:

In the beginning of this course, I was very unsure of the course content and what exactly I would gain from this experience. Not in a bad way, but I thought it would simply be a fun class about mermaids (which it definitely ended up being!). However, I also gained much more than just an enjoyable period. I learned a lot about critical thinking and close reading, especially considering stories I have already had prior knowledge of like the Little Mermaid. I also learned a lot about human perspective and how everything is subjective. For example, everything depends on having an “other” in order to exist, like we know something is what it is based on the fact that we know it is not another thing. The most interesting and impactful idea that I have taken from the course I think is the importance of the ocean. We have talked a lot about territorializing and land-centric ideas with roots in our very language, thus shaping our worldview to elevate human importance. I learned that I definitely have fallen to that skewed worldview all of my life, and finally learning to shift my entire perspective is impactful when trying to open my mind and branch out of my limited views. This skill is transferable far beyond this class and shifting from land-centric to inclusive, fluid, thinking about the ocean, but it will also aid me later on in life when trying to see from other people’s perspectives who share different experiences and identities than me.

In the following chapters of the Deep by Rivers Solomon, we get a further view into the perspectives of the main character, Yetu, specifically in her interactions with other members of this fictional society, like her amaba and Oori. For example, through her conversation with her amaba, we can see in further depth the concept of “ignorance is bliss”, as her mother refuses to believe her own daughter’s claims of how horrible and painful the role of Historian is. To me, this mirrors modern society’s tendency to ignore large parts of our own history if it does not fit within a certain narrative that is commonly accepted. For example, in schools we are taught that concepts of racism such as slavery and mistreatment of groups like Natives was simply a bad thing that happened a long time ago, however we are not commonly taught in-depth the horrors of what exactly went on or how the effects are still present to this day.

The society narrated in this novel reveals how there is no such thing as a society without pain or flaws and that an act of remembering is more than a mental concept, but a physical one as well. This novel as a whole reminds me of the book the Giver, which many people probably read in middle school, where the main character is the only one with memories of our flawed society’s past within a “utopian” world without war or pain. Despite that world being a “perfect” society, there still is a need to have one person remember everything, just like the Deep. If they pile all of that history and responsible upon one singular person so as to not burden the rest of society to keep it “perfect” for everyone else, that begs the question of why they even need to remember anyways? Obviously, we as readers know that history is important to learn from, but what good is it if only one person can access this knowledge? I think that this means that no matter how hard we try, we can’t eradicate completely pain or the past, we must face it in one way or another, even if all evidence is erased except small remnants. The second point that I noticed is how throughout the chapters, Yeti’s act of remembering is described as physical above mental. For example, when the memories go back into her after the Remembrance, it is described as a seizure. The novel also describes memories as if they are physical objects she is carrying and being burdened with. I think this shows how history is more important than simply remembering, but it is trauma that can affect our lives in very real, tangible ways even if we do not easily see those correlations.

Paper plan: For my final research paper, I am planning on using my Discovery 2 post about “The Sea is History” by David Walcott where I analyzed how the poem uses extensive Biblical knowledge and references to depict the sea as containing even forgotten human history. I am planning on connecting this discovery to the week 10 reading by Eric Paul Roorda, where I wrote about terracentrism and the human tendency to base our worldviews around land-based narratives. I am planning on connecting these two works by discussing how the poem points out that human creations and history are only temporary moments in an infinite timeline, despite them seeming so strong and powerful at their time, however the ocean actually is forever, and that is the human fallacy of overestimating the greatness of land that Roorda’s work points out. Based on my feedback, I can also connect Steve Mentz’s ideas of how this fallacy is perpetuated by human’s language and way we chose to frame our worldviews.

Thesis: In David Walcott’s “The Sea is History,” the poem’s extensive use of biblical allusions and oceanic imagery exposes how human history, no matter how powerful it seems, is ultimately temporary and easily forgotten on land, a claim that aligns with Eric Paul Roorda’s critique of terracentrism by revealing the human mistake of centering our worldview on land-based narratives instead of recognizing the ocean as the deeper and more enduring archive of human experience.

This story about Aganju and Yemaja shows how Yoruba mythology depicts creation as something born out of both unnatural circumstances and transformation. The story makes it clear that Yemaja’s historical significance to the Yoruba people comes from her suffering and struggles. When she resists Orungan, “she fled from the place” and her aggressor who was also her son, and it is precisely this act of oppression and violence that becomes the source of divine creation. The moment her body breaks open, the story describes how “her body immediately began to swell in a fearful manner,” a phrase that depicts her transformation not as peaceful or beautiful, but as painful and violent. This specific description supports the idea that Yoruba mythology acknowledges the reality that creation and life can emerge from hardship and rupture. Her suffering is not erased, but instead, it becomes sacred and allowed for further gods and goddesses to exist. This is an example of Yoruba representation of women and creation as well. Women go through suffering and pain to bring life into the world, just like Yamaja. The details of how the lagoons started flowing from her breasts also promote the idea of female reproduction.

The passage also reveals how the Yoruba view water as significant in their culture. Yemaja is introduced as someone who “presides over ordeals by water” and is the “mother of fish.” This suggests how water has a deeper significance than merely being a physical feature, as there are indeed “ordeals” that need to be watched over. This makes it even more meaningful how the stream that birthed so many other gods and goddesses flowed from her body. Creation is definitely an ordeal. This also portrays emotional pain as not weakness, but a creative force bringing forth something greater.

In “The Sea Is History” by Derek Walcott, the poet portrays the ocean as an archive of cultural memory by referencing Biblical and historical knowledge, thus revealing how man-made monuments and stories are temporary but can be preserved within the ocean which carries an enduring record of human history.

“Where are your monuments, your battles, martyrs?” Walcott opens with a challenge. He asks where the remnants of man-made creations can be found once they are long gone, to which the reply is, “The sea / has locked them up. The sea is History,” thus establishing the foundation of the poem where the sea is portrayed as a vessel containing historical knowledge and depth. 

Walcott continues by chronologically describing Old Testament books of the Bible. He first describes Genesis, then Exodus, then the Song of Solomon, then Lamentations. By shifting from book to book specifically in chronological order, the work shifts from a mere poem to more of a story with a sequence of events, similar to human history. Walcott is further emphasizing the representation of the ocean as a continuous timeline containing such history and depth. For example, in his representation of Exodus, Walcott writes, “Bone soldered by coral to bone, / mosaics / mantles by the benediction of the shark’s shadow.” This could be referring to the famous Exodus story of Moses delivering the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. In doing so, he parts the Red Sea just in time for the Israelites to safely escape, but the waves come crashing down on the Egyptians in their wake, thus drowning their pursuers. The imagery of coral and bone being soldered together imply a connection between elements of the ocean and the land/humans. In this case, the bones and bodies of the Egyptians lie among the coral and water, forever preserved by the blessing, or “benediction of the shark’s shadow,” in the sea. In Walcott’s representation of the Song of Solomon, a book about marriage and poetic love, he flips the romantic narrative with descriptions of “white cowries clustered like manacles / on the drowned women, / and those were the ivory bracelets / of the Song of Solomon.” The poet’s mention of drowned women chained with manacles could be referring to the slave trade where many slaves died in transportation overseas, once again associating human and ocean elements by comparing cowries to the chains. The typically beautiful and romantic images of “white cowries” and “ivory bracelets” represent bondage, definitely not poetic love, in this poem. By flipping the theme of the Song of Solomon, Walcott is contrasting Biblical stories with historical reality, or idealistic love versus slavery. The ocean preserves the bodies, and therefore real history. The poet thus paints the ocean as not only a mere vessel that preserves stories, but also harsh truth, no matter how buried. After chronologically describing Lamentations, Walcott shifts his poem to the New Testament with the lines, “the spires /  lancing the side of God / as His son set, and that was the New Testament.” Biblically, the New Testament begins with the emergence of Jesus Christ, who was crucified. The imagery of spires piercing the “side of God” is reminiscent of how when Jesus was on the cross, Roman soldiers pierced his side with spears to see if he had died yet. The images of God’s son setting can have a double meaning. It can represent Jesus, the son, dying on the cross, but also the sun literally setting, thus bringing about a new day in history. The thought of development and an unfolding story can also reference how the ocean changes as well, just as much as the land, as the seafloor is constantly shifting and the ocean itself changes with the shifting in orientation of the continents over time. Walcott characterizes these sequence of events as “waves’ progress,” once again connecting the sea to human history and stories. However, with due progress, all waves break eventually, and the poet begins describing the book of Revelations. 

Now describing the last book of the New Testament, the poet writes almost nonsensical lines inclusive of “synod of flies,” “bullfrog bellowing for a vote,” and “caterpillars of judges.” It is clear that Walcott is describing Revelations because the book details a sequence of events that precede the end of history and the world. These include swarms, like of flies, and plagues, like of frogs, as well as increasingly chaotic and disintegrating structures of government and authority. Walcott is providing commentary on human systems where politicians beg for votes and synods can be rotted with corrupt figures, while associating humans with nature closely and relevantly, which is consistent with Revelation’s prophecies. Walcott also describes how these events only happened after “each rock broke into its own nation,” insinuating the beginning of a new chapter of history, however chaotic. Thus, the ending line of “History, really beginning,” has a double meaning. The creation of new nations insinuates the beginning of new histories and stories, however the descriptions of Revelations and the end of the world insinuates a conclusion to history. This conflict can be explained by the line, “with their sea pools, there was the sound / like a rumour without any echo.” The sea is denouncing the prophecies of Revelations as nothing more than a rumour with no actual impact, which again is Walcott painting the ocean as holding the truth. What was Biblically and traditionally perceived as the end of history is actually the beginning, hence “History, really beginning.”

Ultimately, “The Sea is History” by Derek Walcott uses heavy Biblical allusions and connections between humans and nature in order to further the purpose of depicting the ocean as a vessel preserving truth and history. 

In poem, “the Sea is History” by Derek Walcott, I found it very interesting how the poet uses so much Biblical imagery to describe the extensive history and depths of the ocean. He goes through the books chronologically, mentioning “Genesis” then “Exodus” then the “Song of Solomon” then “Lamantations” (all Old Testament books), before mentioning the “New Testament”. To me, this represents how the poet is trying to encapsulate the ocean as historical and ongoing, existing and changing throughout even the most ancient of times and even into more recent times. Putting the books in chronological order also emphasizes the representation of the ocean as on a continuous timeline. Walcott’s other mentions of Biblical imagery like Babylon and the Ark of the Covenant can also depict the ocean as the source and location of significant historical and Biblical events, solidifying the ocean’s significant and important part it played in culturally-defining moments. For example, the lines, “of the tidal wave swallowing Port Royal, / and that was Jonah, / but where is your Renaissance?” references the story of Jonah being swallowed by a whale, another significant moment in history that happened within the ocean. The mention of the Renaissance also has some religious and artistic references as that was a time of great cultural development in history. The thought of development and evolution can also reference how the ocean changes as well, just as much as the land, as the seafloor is constantly shifting and the ocean shapes themselves changed with the change in orientation of the continents over time. The ocean has also been a symbolic tool used in many Renaissance arts and cultural stories and traditions. The ending line of “History, really beginning,” has a double meaning to me. I think it means that the ocean has been such a significant part of history as it has been here since the beginning, and many people believe that a lot of species and life evolved from the ocean (hence, it being the beginning of creation as well), but it can also define the difference between old and new (similar to old and new testament referenced earlier). History implies old, but beginning implies new. The ocean is both old and new at the same time because of its extensive past, but also its potential for creation (both culturally and in life/organisms).

According to Eric Paul Roorda’s introduction to The Ocean Reader, he emphasises the human tendency of focusing mainly on land rather than the ocean, and having skewed views of the ocean that align with our comfortable and familiar perspectives. 

First, Roorda references the term “terracentrism,” which defines the land-centered viewpoint that many humans have even surrounding the ocean. Many humans view the ocean as unchanging and without history simply because it is not the land, which we are more familiar with. This reveals a flaw in human perspectives because due to something being less unknown or discovered, we assume that there is no depth to it when in fact the ocean is ever-changing and has deep history, just more than we know. Humans long for knowledge and control, and when we reach the limitations of our current knowledge and seeming control, we tend to simply ignore or brush off the unknown, in this case the true history and importance of the ocean. We fill in the blanks of the unknown with what we know, which may be the cause of our terracentrism. 

Another aspect of this introduction that I found interesting was the capitalization of “Ocean,” which Roorda explains makes the Ocean less taken for granted. I found this detail interesting because the capitalization of words makes it into a pronoun, rather than just a noun, thus separating it from regular language. The concept of Ocean versus ocean makes the ocean feel more important and significant to learn about. For example, the word “land” is not capitalized and is a generic word for something that is not ocean, but a pronoun like “America” provides more significance to the word, making people perhaps care about it more. It reminds people more strongly of certain histories, cultures, and ideas affiliated with that pronoun rather than simply the word “land.” This definitely proves Roorda’s goal of discouraging people from taking the Ocean for granted, as it can appeal to more people’s attention.

Hans Christen Anderson portrays the ocean, and thus the unknown, in a very dark and alien light through the use of menacing imagery of the depths compared to the bright and jubilant descriptions of the land. By taking into account an older work’s portrayal of the classic mermaid fairy tale, we can compare the dual perceptions that society has crafted about the unknown, especially regarding the deep ocean.

When reading Hans Christen Anderson’s version of the popular Little Mermaid story, it made me realize different ways people have reacted to and decided to depict the unknown. Obviously, Anderson’s older version is much different than the modern version that Disney produced, being much darker and less fantastical, as the mermaid literally dies at the end of the story. 

Anderson’s introduction to the ocean in his version was, “But it is very deep—so deep, indeed, that no rope can fathom it; and many church steeples need be piled one upon the other to reach from the bottom to the surface. It is there that the sea-folk dwell” (Penguins, 108). The way he used the description of fallen churches and being unreachable even by rope creates a foreboding, mysterious tone about the depths. I find it interesting how in older versions like this, the unknown, (the ocean and sea) was depicted as menacing and dark, something that the main character wanted to desperately escape from in favor of the bright and vibrant land. In contrast, in describing how the mermaid viewed the land, Anderson writes, “She saw beautiful green hills covered with vines; castles and citadels peeped out from stately woods; she heard the birds singing” (Penguins, 111). Instead of fallen, crumbling churches, the land is described to have towering buildings and beautiful landscape, which goes to show how Anderson deliberately is perpetuating the ocean in a much more negative and dangerous light than the beautiful land, simply because the ocean is more unknown to humans. In this case, the unknown reminds people of danger and fear. 

While this fascination with the land and sun and desire to escape from the depths of the ocean remains consistent across both versions. It is described as sort of alien, strange, and not something to be admired in Anderson’s version. The unknown is seen as a dark and bad thing because since so much of the ocean is and was unexplored, it was completely up to human’s minds and preexisting notions of what the depths would look like. However, in modern versions, like Disney, they portray the unknown ocean in a much different light. In this case, the unknown does not automatically mean dangerous, but it provides room for imaginative creativity, which we can see through the upbeat musical numbers of Disney’s version. Instead of the ocean being dark and menacing, it is fantastical and magical, both depictions being based off of something unknown. 

This juxtaposition reminds me of the previous reading on Barnum and freak shows. Both depictions of “freak shows” lure in specific audiences but for different reasons. Back then, audiences wanted to gawk at “freaks” even if they knew deep down that it was simply a show and not real. Nowadays, children want to see their favorite Disney characters in admiration at places like Disneyland, even if some might know that they are only costumes. 

When reading Hans Christen Anderson’s version of the popular Little Mermaid story, it made me realize different ways people can react and decide to depict the unknown. Obviously, Anderson’s older version is much different than the modern version that Disney produced, being much darker and less fantastical. I find it interesting how before, the unknown, (the ocean and sea) was depicted as alien-like and dark, something that the main character wanted to escape from, in contrast to the land as something to be desired. According to the text, the youngest daughter has a fascination with the land, especially the sun (as said on page 109).

While this fascination with the land and sun and desire to escape from the depths of the ocean remains consistent across both versions, I find it interesting how differently both creators depict the ocean, representing the unknown. Previously, it is described as sort of alien, strange, and not something to be admired. The unknown is seen as a dark and bad thing because since so much of the ocean is and was unexplored, it was completely up to human’s minds and preexisting notions of what the depths would look like. However, in modern versions, they portray the ocean, still as unknown, however not in a negative way. Instead of it being dark and scary, it is fantastical and magical, both depictions being based off of something unknown. The unknown can either be scary and dark, or bright and whimsical. This reminded me of the previous reading on Barnum and freak shows. Both depictions lure in specific audiences but for different reasons. Back then, audiences wanted to gawk at “freaks”, nowadays children want to see their favorite Disney mermaid in admiration at places like Disneyland.