Many — if not most — people know the touted statistic quantifying humanity’s exploration of ocean life: As of now, only 5% of Earth’s oceans have been explored, leaving a whopping 95% of ocean waters, and its contents, a mystery. Such a large number of unexplored seawater is difficult for the human mind to conceptualize: How can you visualize 310 quintillion gallons or 132 million square miles of uncharted ocean? It’s virtually impossible to imagine — but that doesn’t stop us from trying.
Humanity has always been enamored with the unexplored, the unknown and the misunderstood; the ocean, and what lives there, is no exception.
But what is it exactly that draws the human mind and eye down under the ocean waves? Perhaps it’s the ocean’s grandiosity, its unimaginable immensity. Or, perhaps our wonder can be attributed to the wildness of the sea and the presumed impossibility of surviving beneath it. More likely, though, it’s the creatures that populate the oceans that astound us, their vibrancy and quirks enchanting to us land-dwellers who have never seen their like. With so much intelligence and heart swimming under the deep blue sea, it’s not hard to imagine that those who dwell beneath might be just like us.
One of my favorite books as a child was a hefty work of nonfiction that explored the ocean and the animals that swim beneath the surface. I leafed through the pages during long after-school afternoons, taking in the detailed diagrams and colorful illustrations as I was introduced to creatures I had never known existed. Coral reefs enchanted me, flocks of tropical fish mystified me and whales enthralled me. But the creature that most amazed me was the octopus. Intelligent beyond compare and unbelievably cool-looking, I was captivated by the complexity of these animals. Scientists have studied octopuses for decades — and yes, it is octopuses, not octopi — trying to pin down just how smart they really are, and what they mean for the realms of medicine and evolution. But octopuses are more than just intelligent test subjects: They’re complex, creative beings, full of personality and life, and this much was apparent even from just the watercolor pictures in my favorite childhood book. Though we could not have looked more dissimilar, and the difference in our biologies is vast, I felt a connection with the octopus, a connection that hooked me and dragged me deeper and deeper into the beautiful mystery of the ocean, and how art allows us to explore it.
The first work of ocean-adjacent literature I read after a years-long break from my elementary ocean-mania was naturalist Sy Montgomery’s “The Soul of an Octopus,” a book that kickstarted my descent into obsession with what my roommate would later coin “octopus literature.” Riding the high of documentaries like “My Octopus Teacher” and the countless aquarium visits of my childhood, I was enamored with the cleverness and sagacity of the creatures Montgomery described. With every octopus anecdote she recounted, the personality of each animal shone through, leaving me with no doubts about their intelligence and more than a little in love with each and every one of them.
When Montgomery’s time with each octopus ended as they succumbed to the end of their short natural lives, I found myself bawling uncontrollably at the loss of such sweet, brilliant beings. Just as I have cried for the deaths of people I have never met or the loss of a character on screen, I cried for these octopuses, who, to me, seemed as full-fledged and complex as any human being. The amazement I felt reading each word draws me to so many of the other works of octopus literature and ocean fiction that populate my shelf: From the heartwarming story of Gina Chung’s “Sea Change” to the nimble narration of Shelby Van Pelt’s “Remarkably Bright Creatures,” I am constantly hungering for clever cephalopods and oceanic works of art that bring me closer to the inexplicable ocean and its occupants. To relate to a fictional character is a beautiful thing; to feel kinship and love for a fictional creature is even more special, creating a sharp sense of empathy and connection with the natural world that we so often find ourselves lacking.
Writers are so often told to write what they know. But isn’t it so much more exciting when they don’t? So much of our natural world is a mystery, and there’s no better way to explore it than through the awe and joy within the pages of ocean and octopus literature. So when you’ve explored every fictional avenue available to you and immersed yourself in the plentiful pipe dreams of beautifully crafted fantasy worlds, maybe fix your gaze on a magical mystery a little bit closer to Earth.
Senior Arts Editor Annabel Curran can be reached at currana@umich.edu.