Symbolism Of Ships and Boats In Literature

Ships, boats and other sea vessels are symbolically significant across literature. How are they used and what do they symbolise?


If Noah’s Ark existed, it would have looked more like a massive floating crate than like a storybook boat, but illustrators clearly enjoy creating a more aesthetically pleasing ship.

Spring clean on Noah’s Ark, 1925 by William Heath Robinson, 1872 to 1944


In the Ancient Greek myth about Minotaur, King Minos and the Labyrinth of Crete, Theseus, son of Aegeus decided to be one of the seven young men that would go to Crete. He planned to kill the Minotaur and end the human sacrifices to the monster.

Theseus promised his father King Aegeus that he would put up white sails coming back from Crete, allowing him to know in advance that he was coming back alive. The boat would return with the black sails if Theseus was killed.

Theseus did manage to kill the Minotaur. Ariadne’s thread he managed to retrace his way out. Unfortunately, Theseus was not a great person. He left Ariadne behind on the shore even though she saved his life, and was so drunk after celebrating his victory that he forgot to change the sails. His father therefore saw the ship approaching and assumed his son was dead. King Aegeus suicided by drowing himself in the sea, now called the Aegean Sea.

The premature, completely unnecessary suicide is utilised in a number of modern stories including The Mist by Stephen King and in one of the stories of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, directed by the Coen Brothers.


In the most general sense, a ‘vehicle’. Bachelard notes that there are a great many references in literature testifying that the boat is the cradle rediscovered (and the mother’s womb). There is also a connexion between the boat and the human body.

A Dictionary of Symbols, J.E. Cirlot


Most people like paintings of ships. You probably know someone with a painting of a ship on their wall. Perhaps we like to imagine the adventure promised by ships… but only while cosied up inside our own safe homes.

Harald Skogsberg depicts a cosy family mealtime, with a painting of a ship on the wall of the dining room.

The painting below by N.C. Wyeth is a wonderful chimera of the Dream Boat (apologies to Gaston Bachelard). Ships and boats featured prominently in 20th century literature aimed at boys. “Imagination” is an amalgamation of the main seafaring archetypes:

"Imagination", N.C. Wyeth, 1922.
“Imagination”, N.C. Wyeth. The boy is Wyeth’s son. Originally published as a Ladies Home Journal magazine cover for March of 1922.

(The following year, Norman Rockwell painted Lands of Enchantment, perhaps inspired by Wyeth’s cover.)

Vladimir Orlovsky (1842 – 1914)

This discussion of ships includes space ships, for in science fiction the ship becomes a spaceship. Consider outer space is metaphorically the same as the ocean — only the setting differs.


Blanche Fisher Wright (American, 1887 - 1938) Illustration of the nursery rhyme 'Bobby Shafto' from the book "The Real Mother Goose" published by Rand McNally, Chicago, 1916
Blanche Fisher Wright (American, 1887 – 1938) Illustration of the nursery rhyme ‘Bobby Shafto’ from the book “The Real Mother Goose” published by Rand McNally, Chicago, 1916

Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea
Silver buckles on his knee.
He’ll come back and marry me.
Bonny Bobby Shafto!


The Victorians, who were, after all, great engineers, and who were the first to glorify the idea of progress, never felt the need to develop what might be called an engineering aesthetic. The interiors of steamships, trains, and tramways—extraordinary inventions—always took comfortingly familiar forms. The stateroom of a liner resembled a suite at the Ritz.

Home, Witlold Rybczynski

Likewise, trains were designed to look like small home parlours. Later in the book, when describing the Swiss pavilion as designed by cousins Charles-Edouard and Pierre Jeanneret, Rybczynski observes that the interiors of the pavilions were as ‘unfinished’ looking as the exteriors, emanating an industrial atmosphere reminiscent of a ship’s boiler room. So while ships were doing their best to look like homes, later, homes seemed to be doing their best to look like ships.

from The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe
from The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe


Modern humans are used to seeing massive man-made constructions. Visit any city and skyscrapers no longer excite most of us. But massive ships were once the most enormous man-made constructions people had ever seen. The illustration below, from 1923, makes the most of a ship’s size, which is really only palpable when standing right beside one.

1923, United States Line, “Leviathon,” by R.S. Pike, Travel Poster

The misconception that massive ships are indestructible came to an end after the tragic sinking of The Titanic.

The illustrations below are from Song of the English (1909), a book of jingoistic poetry celebrating British colonialism by Rudyard Kipling. However, the art by W. Heath Robinson beautifully emphasises the massive size of the ship in a top-down then a bottom-up perspective.

Related to this was the idea that ships are feats of human workmanship, proof of our superiority and conquering the world. (The sinking of The Titanic brought us down a peg.)

I grant that ships are impressive, more so 100 years ago.


In her short story Powers, main character Nancy becomes an elderly woman. After her husband dies, she goes on a ghastly geriatric cruise at her friends’ behest. In the parts left out of the story,  it seems Nancy is done with people telling her not to go deep into her own mind. She has spent her entire life caring for others. Though the sequence on the ferry is summarised rather than shown, Nancy’s experience on the cruise ship seems to have switched something over in her — she will no longer fill up the rest of her life with frivolities that keep her entertained on the surface. Munro may be making full use of the symbolism of the sea, in which the surface is symbolically different from the depths. By dutifully taking a trip on a ferry, this is symbolically the same as avoiding her subconscious, if the ocean depths equal our subconscious.


A small boat, a man, a river — this will put you in mind of the River Styx. For more on that see Glossary of the Underworld.

Charles Pettitt - The River Ferry
Charles Pettitt – The River Ferry


In stories, ships are often treated as characters.

Katherine Mansfield sometimes used ship and boat metaphors to indicate a character’s anagnorisis that their path was set.

In “The Wind Blows”, Katherine Mansfield takes adolescent main character Matilda down to the sea, where she looks out upon the water and sees a coal hulk. This image contrasts with the hormonal turmoil she’s felt all day, exacerbated by the famous Wellington wind. This ship seems to say something about fate — the hulk is a calming anchor in her mind. She imagines herself as the ship, perhaps as a calming strategy, but also as the realisation that her whole life stretches before her, vast as the sea, and despite the ups-and-downs of this particular day, life will go on.

In “Pictures“, ageing singer Ada Moss eventually realises she must engage in sex work to avoid being turfed out of her housing mid-winter. That’s the plot revelation. The revelation is more subtle, symbolised in the final sentences when Ada imagines herself and her customer as yachts.

In another Katherine Mansfield short story, “Je ne parle pas francais“, our unreliable narrator Duquette imagines his friend Dick has ‘been to sea’: “I cannot think why his indolence and dreaminess always gave me the impression he had been to sea. And all his leisurely slow ways seemed to be allowing for the movement of the ship. This impression was so strong that often when we were together and he got up and left a little woman just when she did not expect him to get up and leave her…” Eventually Dick leaves Paris for England. “He put out his hand and stood, lightly swaying upon the step as though the whole hostel were his ship, and the anchor weighed.” The viewpoint character Duquette feels lost without him, but doesn’t have the self-awareness to understand why. Later, when Dick Harmon returns, Duquette imagines him as a steam train rolling into Gare Saint Lazare.

This is a perfect example to make my point: That ships and trains have very similar, overlapping functions in storytelling. The difference is perhaps this: A ship contains an ocean below it, and therefore masks hidden depths. In contrast, readers are not encouraged to ponder the earth below a train (unless the train is underground). Trains keep us imaginatively on level ground. We associate ships with hidden depths and trains with a different type of terror: fatalistic outcomes leading us irrevocably toward death.


Often a feature of highly symbolic genres such as science fiction and horror stories, the sapient ship has a mind of its own.


Perhaps more than any other kind of vehicle, we like to think of boats as individuals within a family. This might come from the concept of a tug boat perhaps. The small boat has might and pulls the larger boat, which seems like a reversal of the typical parent/child dependency.

The correspondence between the two girls (sisters?) and the boats is clear in Anders Zorn’s painting below.

Anders Zorn (1860 – 1920) Carrera en barco, 1886


If you go to an island, it seems like there’s no coronavirus. And the boat itself is like an island. You’re separated from the stress of life.

The Boat Business Is Booming, NYT

You can’t keep Huck and Jim on that raft forever, and once they leave it, they must confront the brutalities of society.

Considering The American Voice, NYT


In the painting below, the navy ships are painted to blend with the city — where does the city end and the navy begin?

A fleet of ships in the distance vaguely resembles a city, ONLY at sea. This is surely connected to the ‘ocean as city’ aspect of ocean symbolism.

Gustave Buchet (Swiss, 1888 – 1963) The old navy, 1955


I suspect 2020 will mark a change in public perception of cruise ships, not so much as luxury spaces but as hotspots for pandemic level viruses, but it will be interesting to see how long that lasts.

The Cruise by Clarence F. Underwood (1871-1929) Gouache The Saturday Evening Post interior illustration
The Cruise by Clarence F. Underwood (1871-1929) Gouache The Saturday Evening Post interior illustration

The modern luxury cruise liner, perfect for spreading disease, is simply a reversion to the historic riskiness of ships. Storms, icebergs, mutiny, starvation, sickness, food poisoning… That’s apart from simply getting lost.

The Icebergs (Frederic Edwin Church), 1861
The Icebergs (Frederic Edwin Church), 1861

Whenever characters are separated by a ship journey, the audience wonders if loved ones will ever reunite.


Research has shown that when asked on a date from a high and precarious place, the person asked is more likely to say yes. This psychological phenomenon must have been intuited for a long time, I think. Case in point: All the paintings of men wooing women on little boats, which are not especially dangerous in the scheme of things, except you’ve already asked her to trust you completely by taking her into a body of water in a tiny little vessel, and who knows what you plan to do with her there. If she’s not already a tiny little bit scared of you, there’s always a danger of falling in.


A showboat is a ship or boat that functions as a traveling theatre.


Pretty much anything can serve as a fantasy portal — boats and ships are among the less imaginative, I guess. There’s a strong history of boat portals in folklore, for example dead people crossing The River Styx. Likewise, you can take a boat to Fairyland.


‘Boys playing sailors’ is a common trope in stories about children, and is traditionally considered a typically boyish thing to do, along with playing pranks with toads and climbing trees.


The ability to fly is one of the main wish fulfilment fantasies delivered by fiction and if an object exists in the world, some storyteller somewhere has made it fly. The ship would make an especially good flying vehicle. Unlike, say, a rug, where you have to hold onto the sides for dear life and have no facilities onboard, a ship can house you comfortably as you fly from place to place.

The ‘spaceship’ is of course the epitome of this. The name ‘spaceship’ has a literary quality to it; astronauts and space engineers are likely to use the term ‘spacecraft’ when referring to the real world objects.

See also: Airships and Hot Air Balloons.


Ships help us bridge vast magnitudes inside our imaginations. 150 years ago, to board a ship meant you were undertaking a journey more lengthy than any other available to you on land. It was the only way to get from one hemisphere to the other.

Today the Earth seems small due to aircraft, and the furthest distances covered by man now happen on spaceships.

Wealthy Victorians showed great interest in miniature objects. They created miniature versions of their houses (now sometimes mistaken for doll houses), they kept cabinets of curiosities and they also liked tiny ships. The ship inside a bottle entrances the viewer not just because it has been constructed inside a bottle but because it can be held in the hands.

During the 1880s my ancestors left the United Kingdom on a ship, travelled all the way to New Zealand and never returned, though two generations later, my grandmother still referred to the United Kingdom as ‘home’. She never went further than Australia in her lifetime. Perhaps the intrigue of tiny ships allowed pre-flight, pre-Internet generations to imagine they lived in a smaller world, and to imagine that if they wanted to see their ‘homeland’ or their loved ones again, it might be no more arduous than crossing the living room.


The imagined life of pirates is one of glamour, more so than for almost any other criminal. We don’t often glorify burglars in children’s literature, yet empathetic pirates are everywhere. The first decade of the 2000s saw a resurgence in children’s book pirates. See Jack and the Flumflum Tree, for instance. The O.G. pirate story enjoyed by a child audience is of course Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island (1883). Stevenson created a storybook pirate archetype. Children’s authors continue to use the piratical motifs ushered into popularity by Stevenson.

Part of the appeal of the pirate ship must be due to the heterotopia, and the pirate’s status not as an outlaw so much as a renegade who, in common with the contemporary reader, is far less bound by the cultural conventions of yesteryear.

Unlike the rigid rules of Golden Age of landlubber societies, male pirates were marrying other men, for instance. Pirates were renegades in many ways, criminals of course, flat out thieving and terrorising. But their general outcast status allowed them to transcend forward-thinking cultural taboos we are still pushing back against today.

Modern children’s stories are yet to utilise the best anarchist attitudes during the (so-called) Golden Age of Piracy. However, we are recently starting to see some LGBTQ+ pirates. This change is led by storytellers working outside mainstream publishing e.g. funded by Kickstarter. One example is the Promised Land series by Adam Reynolds, Chaze Harris, Christine Luiten and Bo Moore.

Header illustration: ‘The Tyger Voyage’ by Richard Adams, illustrated by a Nicola Bayley (1976)