And The Ocean Was Our Sky
By Patrick Ness and Rovina Cai
3.5/5
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About this ebook
With harpoons strapped to their backs, the proud whales of Bathsheba's pod live for the hunt, fighting in the ongoing war against the world of men. When they attack a ship bobbing on the surface of the Abyss, they expect to find easy prey. Instead, they find the trail of a myth, a monster, perhaps the devil himself...
As their relentless Captain leads the chase, they embark on a final, vengeful hunt, one that will forever change the worlds of both whales and men.
With the lush, atmospheric art of Rovina Cai woven in throughout, this remarkable work by Patrick Ness turns the familiar tale of Moby Dick upside down and tells a story all its own with epic triumph and devastating fate.
Patrick Ness
Patrick Ness is the author of ten novels, including his New York Times bestselling The Rest of Us Just Live Here, the Chaos Walking trilogy, More Than This, A Monster Calls, which was made into a major motion picture with a screenplay adaptation by Patrick himself, Release, and And The Ocean Was Our Sky. Born in Virginia, Patrick lives in London. www.patrickness.com
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Reviews for And The Ocean Was Our Sky
92 ratings10 reviews
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Some will say this book is magical. Not me. The story is about a pod of whales with a culture much like humans. They hunt us the way we hunt them. The sky is their abyss the way the deep sea is for humans an abyss. The dialogue is very confusing and there is very little plot other than them trying to find and kill the ethereal villain Toby Wick. (Make sense?) There is also artwork which is very amateurish and adds little to the book. I never say this is my reviews don't but don't waste your time with this one.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I started to listen to this as an audiobook but soon decided I wanted to read it instead. Glad I did. The illustrations add to the story. It's a short book - only took me about 90 mins to read. But as usual Ness has something to say about humanity through fantasy. Here it is our unfortunate ability to "other" and thus dehumanise and so become able to harm and kill because "they" are not like us. I remain a fan of Mr Ness.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5An unusual, whimsical, somewhat dark tale. This seemed to be a similar story to Moby Dick, but the whales are the hunters, and they have a culture of revenge, it seems. It's a very interesting take on another unknown culture, and a little sad that there is so much killing that it leads to pods out for revenge. I felt like the way it was told wasn't really for me, but I do like the premise.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Apparently this Patrick Ness guy is pretty big amongst readers of Young Adult books. This is the first time I've read any of his work. Ness, in an obvious attempt to hook me as a reader, decided to put a finely illustrated whale on the cover. Seriously, every well drawn whale cover ends up on my to-read pile. I'm a sucker for blubber. Here I must apologize to the other whale books on my to-read list that have been there far longer than And the Ocean Was Our Sky. (I'll get around to you all soon.)If you haven't already heard, And the Ocean Was Our Sky is Moby Dick turned upside down. (Literally, as kids today might say.) Told by the whales, we quickly learn that the whales perceive their ocean as being above the sky, and they descend to reach the surface where the human ships are. Cool idea. I like it. Then it gets a tad hokey...The whales, believers of prophecy, sail in ships of their own construction. They hunt humans, using “their bones for tallow and soaps, their skin for sails, their meat … as bait for the vast shoals of prey...” They speak to one another and can, if taught, speak to humans in proper English. So basically the whales are human, the humans are human, up is down and down is up. Make sense? But you can breath a sigh of relief, because there isn't a whale in this book named Moby Dick. So who do the whales hunt? The illusive human with “a rump like he know nil,*” Toby Wick. Yes, Toby Wick, ladies and gentlemen. See what I'm saying, it's kind of hokey.What saves And the Ocean Was Our Sky is a good overall concept, brevity, and the wonderful illustrations of Rovina Cai. They're simple drawings, but they work well to convey the mood of the piece. If only Ness had made more subtle allusions to Moby Dick and kept the whales whales, I probably would've loved this novel. After all, there's so much great writing in this morality about our eagerness to build devils. (Also, the author refrained from placing the whales in little sailor uniforms, so kudos for that.)*Not an actual quote from this novel, but I couldn't refrain from including it.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This was beautiful and heartbreaking and mythic.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Ness' book is highly imaginative and a wonderful reimagining of the Moby Dick story from the whale's point of view.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is a fascinating inversion of Moby-Dick. The art is beautifully rendered as part of the story. It is a short read, which is both good and bad. Moby-Dick is itself a slow burn, and the story takes awhile to really get going, but that slow burn crescendoes into an unforgettable denouement. Here, a short book does not get to *breathe* in the same way, so the end feels a bit rushed. But it's a good book, nonetheless. You don't need to read Moby-Dick to get this novel, but your understanding will be greatly enriched if you do.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Gorgeous illustrations. A fascinating re-imagining of Moby Dick. And that's where I get stuck. I have residual Moby Dick angst that makes it hard to engage with a story so tied to original. Also, it's a very weird story (why underwater boats? Why not? How would the whales even wield the harpoons?), philosophical to point of preachy, violent and strange, strange, strange. So of course I think it's brilliant, but I'm not sure if I liked it. Ya, literary fiction, what a zoo.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A wonderful concept. I didn't enjoy it as much as other Patrick Ness books, but it's just so very different from anything else he's written that it's hard to compare. Beautiful art as well.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The whales of Bathsheba track and hunt human ships. This most recent attack provided leads to track the man, the myth, the monster, and possibly the devil himself. This expedition will forever change the relationship between man and whales.And the Ocean Was Our Sky is a reverse retelling of Moby Dick, where the whales hunt humans. Patrick Ness illuminates that war is not a monolith. The audiobook is captivating allowing for the reader to be ignorant to the fact that the book was originally a graphic novel.
Book preview
And The Ocean Was Our Sky - Patrick Ness
1
CALL ME BATHSHEBA.
It is not my name, but the name I use for this story. A name, I hoped, that would be free of prophecy, free of the burden of a future placed upon it, free of any destiny that would tear it from my hands and destroy worlds.
You think I overstate. You are wrong.
We are a people of prophecy, and when I was a child and still a stupid calf, ignorant of all beyond the reaches of our own stretch of sea, my grandmother had said, simply, You will hunt.
It carried the weight of prophecy.
But we are not hunters,
my mother had replied with the fearful bafflement that was her regular face to my grandmother. We do not hunt. We have never hunted.
Her voice took on a hopeful and hopeless tone, the one that used to irritate me into fury but the memory of which now breaks my heart quite in half. Unless you mean the small hunts,
my mother said, hopelessly hopeful, the ones that every family must–
I do not,
said my grandmother.
She did not.
And everything I might have been, the different futures I might have taken, all my different lives and deaths that existed in their endless possibilities were extinguished in a single repetition of her three words. You will hunt.
Was it prediction? Had she had a proper vision? Or was it a command, as it so often feels in the case of the prophetic? When you predict the future, when you do so strongly and you cling to it, how much of that future do you then cause to happen?
These are questions that haunt me.
At the time, though, they weren’t allowed to matter, for into training I immediately went – my mother never strong enough to overrule my grandmother – into the schools and the vocationals, into a new way of life until, at sixteen, the age of Apprenticeship, there I was, where this story begins: harpoons strapped to my back, swimming along the decks of the great hunting ship Alexandra, our sails catching the currents, the Abyss below us, the ocean our sky.
And all that might have been was long, long gone.
For I, a lowly but eager Third Apprentice, was about to begin the final hunt that ever was. The hunt for a legend, a myth, a devil.
Pray for our souls.
Because this is the story of how we found him.
2
LOOK SHARP,
SAID CAPTAIN ALEXANDRA. As is traditional, our ship bore her name, much like her body bore most of the ship, the ropes from the bow tied to her fins, broad as any three of my young shipmates. The Captain pulls her ship, as is right, as is proper.
We sailed silently over the Abyss. I was Watch Left, swimming above and to the side of our Captain, matched further out front by First Apprentice Treasure and to the side by Second Apprentice Wilhelmina, Willem,
Watch Right. We scanned the surface of the Abyss below us, its sun shining from underneath, like sailing across boiling light.
Behind us, on the Alexandra, our sailors made ready. The Captain was sure we were close to a prize. She could smell it, she said, and though this seemed improbable, we had learned in the months of this voyage not to doubt her. Never to doubt her. Captain Alexandra was both famous and infamous, little of it for good reason past her success at the hunt. Everyone knew about the short, rusted end of a man’s harpoon still sticking from her great head. She was the Captain who’d survived, the Captain who even though the harpoon must, on some level, impede her echolocation, nevertheless persisted, thrived, became the one thing that everyone, everyone, was sure about Captain Alexandra: she was the best hunter in the sea.
Something approaches,
she said, eyes forward, great tail increasing its kick. Something rises.
Where?
whispered Willem to my right, desperately searching the white froth below us.
Quiet,
Treasure said back. She was senior Apprentice. How often do you suppose she let us forget that?
The water filled with the clicks of our echolocations. The Captain left us to it, trusting her sense of smell, her eyes, her clairvoyance, for all I knew.
Less than a league,
Treasure said. Center right.
Look sharp,
the Captain said again.
Yes,
Willem answered. Yes, I’ve located it.
And our Bathsheba?
the Captain asked, not looking back.
For I had remained silent. I had not located it yet. I furiously sent out my clicks, waiting for the responses to echo off the great ball of waxy liquid in my forehead. I heard nothing from the center right, from where Treasure and Willem were claiming such certainty. I clicked again, and nothing. All I sensed there was empty ocean. I was the newest Apprentice, barely a year into our hunt, but I was not incompetent. And though my anxiety was growing, I also began to suspect Treasure and Willem were lying to impress their Captain, perhaps falling into one of the traps that even I knew she occasionally set for unwary Apprentices.
Bathsheba?
the Captain asked again, her voice somehow both playful and menacing, as if I were prey kept alive only at the whim of its predator.
I clicked. Again, and nothing. Again, and–
I turned sharply left. Not center right,
I said, surprised even at myself. I clicked once more. I was nervous. But I was sure. Third of a league. Left and left again.
No–
started Treasure.
Is it?
said Willem.
Quite so, our Bathsheba,
said the Captain, surging forward, pulling the great ship behind us to the left and a notch left again.
I’ve found it!
Treasure said, too loud because too late.
It rises,
said the Captain. And the hunt was on.
3
LET ME BE CLEAR, RIGHT FROM THE START. I hate the hunt, but I loved it then. Now, of course, after all that occurred, after all are dead, after I waited for a rescue that might never come, no one would blame me for hating it.
(Though