I, like Captain Ahab, have a White Whale.
Or did. Until today. I can finally say I conquered it. Yay!
Moby-Dick has been a harpoon in my side for years now. Every time I picked it up…I’d put it right back down. I’d get to the sermon of Jonah pretty much every time and quit. The last time I made it all the way to the Whale Encyclopedia, but that was when I was going through my depression and I just did not have the patience.
This time though, I made it all.theway.throoooooough. Where’s my gold doubloon?
Are you tired of the MD references? Good, me too.
Moby-Dick is pretty much just like any other American adventure/exploration story: We need something from a thing, so we kill the thing and rip the thing apart, to find out how the thing works. Repeat until the thing is depleted.
Oh, and make sure to throw in lots of Biblical references to make it all very moral, to make it seem that the thing the adventurer is doing is perfectly justified.
I realize I’m coming across extremely cynical here. I’m being a little snarky. But…I think I’m at that point with reading all these old books where it’s just like, “Goddammit…did we do ANYTHING good?” UGH.
Moby-Dick reads not so much as a novel, but a report–to whom I am not sure. At the beginning, there is the start of a story, and there are touches of it throughout, but mostly the massive book is just itemized details about whaling ships and the animals themselves. I now know way more about spermacetti than I ever desired to know.
I know Melville is categorized with the adventure greats of his age, but honestly, I don’t get it. Sure, there is a semblance of adventure in the IDEA of sailing the ocean and hunting down whales…but it’s just too diluted to really be that epic.
Fulfills Boxall #96