Tall Tales of Leaping Fish and Sleeping Dogs

Back in 2019, I took an American Literature course at the local community college. After reading Washington Irving's "Rip Van Winkle" we were assigned to write a brief reflective essay on this work. I found that I struggled to find a beginning to the essay, so I called my father, a retired professor, and asked him:

"If you were limited to writing a single page, what would you say about Washington Irving's 'Rip Van Winkle'?"

Expecting something wonderfully philosophical, I was disappointed with his response:

"You can quote me on this... Every morning I wake up, I feel just like Rip Van Winkle after sleeping a hundred years."

In my mind, I heard the words of Queen Victoria: "I am not amused." I then insisted that he share with me some words of wisdom. Relenting he says:

"This is a classic 'fish out of water' story."

I was not liking where this was going and I believe a sigh escaped my lips, yet he continued, asking:

"What happens when a fish is out of water?"

I quickly replied: "It dies!"

There is a problem with classifying a story with labels such as "fish out of water" or some other euphemism for tall tales or allegories. We simply miss the story.

In another English course, while covering poetry, the professor made a simple, but profound statement:

"We can not analyze a poem until after we understand what it is saying."

Another way to understand this concept is to ask ourselves if we understood the words that were written for what they are and not what they could be or might be. So, what is the story of Rip Van Winkle?

A man takes a walk and enjoys nature, as was his custom after being verbally beaten by his wife. While on this journey he encounters a stranger asking for help. After imbibing and sleeping he wakes twenty years later to find much has changed. (Obviously, my father was exaggerating the details in his initial response). Some changes are more subtle than others. The things that mattered the most to him were no longer as they had been and this caused him great distress. After discovering the fates of his separate companions he laments:

"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?" (Irving 524). Excitement follows as the townspeople talk about the man who disappeared 20 years prior. Things settle down, and after being reunited with his son, daughter, and grandson, Rip returns to his idle ways, content and satisfied.

Rip did not die. The fishbowl still intact was upgraded. It had a new filter and fresh water and maybe some new structures. Unlike the fish, who leaped upon the shore, Rip immersed himself in the comfortable habits of his previous life, minus some of the distresses of a nagging wife or the warmth of his four-legged companion.

We could analyze this story, as it has been so many times before. But what if my father was right? Not about the fish, but about how we feel each morning when we wake? Do we wake to wonder: "Does nobody here know who I am?" When we read "Rip Van Winkle" can we see ourselves in his position? And when we go out into the world and we converse with our acquaintances, peers, and professors do we somehow discover our family? Are we reunited with what once was? Do we find comfort and settle in until we sleep again to wake once more to the question: "Does nobody know who I am?"

Since that conversation with my father, we had many similar conversations. Those conversations have left many strong impressions on me and remain significant memories of my father who passed away on August 1, 2021. I have thought a lot about my father and Rip Van Winkle and know that my father would not settle back into a life of routine after waking from a hundred-year sleep. He would explore everything that is new and then share his wonder of it all with me.

References:

Levine, Robert S., et al. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 1820-1865. 9th ed., vol. 12, W.W. Norton & Company, 2017.