Mi viaje a la lectura / My Journey into Reading

Bartleby, the Scrivener is a short story published in 1853 by Herman Melville, best known for his novel Moby-Dick.

The story is narrated by a lawyer in New York, in the famous financial district of Wall Street, and portrays the routine of an office defined by order, productivity, and repetition.

It tells the story of Bartleby, one of his scriveners, who one day, for no apparent reason, stops being the efficient worker he once was and begins to respond to every request in a disconcerting way: “I would prefer not to.” A phrase that gradually transforms the dynamics of the office and deeply unsettles his employer.

What remains unexplained

In my reading, Bartleby, the Scrivener is not so much a story that needs to be explained as one that is sustained precisely by what remains unexplained.

Beyond the many interpretations that try to assign it a specific meaning, what stands out is its construction: a carefully crafted narrative that feels almost timeless.

The story reaches us through the gaze of another—his employer—which creates a distance that keeps Bartleby from ever being fully understood. Trying to confine him within a clear explanation, rather than enriching the story, seems to diminish it.

Its strength lies in the void it leaves behind: something happens with Bartleby, yet it is never revealed to us. And it is within that void that the reader comes into play, interpreting from their own experience, their values, and their personal history.

In this way, each reading becomes a different version of the same story.

A quiet form of disconnection

In my interpretation, Bartleby, the Scrivener portrays a deeply lonely man. Bartleby seems to be immersed in a silent process of self-destruction, one in which he has no place in the world—no family, no support system to hold him.

The only thing he has is his job, yet even that gradually loses its meaning. His refusal does not feel like an act of rebellion, but rather like a slow disconnection from everything around him.

In the end, Bartleby remains in the only space he has ever inhabited, even when he is no longer part of it. It is there that it becomes evident that no one is able to help him.

The only person who, from his own imperfection, tries to accompany him is his employer, who, despite his efforts, does not know how to do so either. This inability to help does not come across as indifference, but rather as a human limit in the face of another’s pain.

If you come across other interpretations of Bartleby, the Scrivener, you may notice that mine is, in a way, more benevolent toward his employer. It does not focus on political readings, labor relations, or questions of justice and injustice, nor on the historical context of places like Wall Street or New York.

My reading moves in a different direction—more intimate, more human. And yet, it is precisely because of the richness of the story that exploring other interpretations becomes so compelling.

I would be curious to know how you read it—what you see in Bartleby, and in his story.

Perhaps, when someone cannot be understood, they cannot truly be helped.

Who do I recommend Bartleby, the scrivener?

I recommend this story to everyone. It is very short. In that brevity, it becomes almost a mirror. Sometimes, it is enough to read it to sense the way someone thinks, or what it awakens within you. And if you do not like it, that is fine too. In the end, it is such a short story. You will have read one of the most important writers of the 19th century.

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