“Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificient parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces–though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment.”

I was kind of looking forward to hating this book. I really, really wanted to be able to scoff, Ah, yes, Moby Dick. Of course I’ve read it, but it’s rubbish. I don’t like a novel transcending others, being said to be The Great American Novel. It’s so much to live up to, so many people thinking it’s great, there must be a flaw. Right?

Obviously. There are flaws. But it is Great, nonetheless.

Melville was quite progressive in his ideas. The novel, published in 1851, stretched social boundaries and questioned religion and social norms. I appreciate that. His style, was very readable, even though it made me feel most ignorant at times. I found myself looking to Wikipedia for information on the Greek and Romans. He took a basic nautical adventure story, to sell for popularity among the public, and made it so much more.

My biggest complaint about the novel, is not the blubber description in the middle that everybody seems to bitch about, but the characters.  I understood the concepts behind them, but they were rarely affective enough for me to feel them.