This may account for the appeal of Noah’s story. Certainly for fundamentalist readers, for those who want to see the Bible as a blueprint for life, the ark’s measurements offer a satisfying sort of literalism: an actual blueprint. The absurdity and wrong-headedness of reading the Bible literally is neutralized when such a reading can—if you have some extra time and money on your hands—actually yield a pretty sweet-looking boat. It’s no wonder that people have spent millennia sketching out how such a ship would actually look, and that some have gone to the trouble of building it. The seventy-three-million-dollar replica of the ark
currently being built by Creationists in Kentucky, and the recent completion of one man’s
twenty-year ark-building project in the Netherlands, are just the most recent examples of attempts to make the text real. The demands of shooting a blockbuster made an ark builder out of Darren Aronofsky, too. (For more on the quest to adapt Noah for the screen, read Tad Friend’s recent
Profile of Aronofsky in the magazine.)
The search for the original ark is, itself, a tradition that goes back thousands of years. In America, books claiming to have evidence of the ark’s whereabouts seem to come out every other week. The earliest map of the world, carved into a clay tablet in Mesopotamia, may include the mountain where the ship supposedly wrecked. Unlike other sagas, in which a ship takes the hero on a quest in search of an object of desire, Noah’s ark—the physical retrieval of the ship—is itself the quest.
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