About this title: Misunderstood and unappreciated in its time, Melville's monumental work has become the classic epic of American literature. He tells the dual story of the initiation of young Ishmael, a schoolteacher, into the life of a seaman, and the tragedy of Captain Ahab's obsession with the white whale. The novel begins with a lengthy dissection of the word ...
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Note: This is a general synopsis. Each listing is described below.
Binding: Trade paperback
Publisher: Oxford University Press, USA
Date Published: 1988
ISBN-13:9780192817808ISBN:0192817809
Description: Very good. No dust jacket as issued. Cover has very minor wear, no folds or creases, previous owner's name on front end page, pages are clean and unmarked. Trade paperback (US). Glued binding. 656 p. Oxford World's Classics (Paperback). Audience: General/trade. read more
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
Publisher: Tor Classics, New York, New York, U.S.A.
Date Published: 1998
ISBN-13:9780812541564ISBN:0812541561
Description: Fine. 0812541561 Mass market paperback, previously read used book in like new condition, some very minor shelf wear, no rips or tears. _ read more
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
Publisher: Tor Classics, New York, New York, U.S.A.
Date Published: 1996
ISBN-13:9780812543070ISBN:0812543076
Description: Good. 0812543076 Mass market paperback, previously read used book in good condition, varying degrees of shelf wear, some spine creases, m..._ read more
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Penguin Classics
Date Published: 2002
ISBN-13:9780142437247ISBN:0142437247
Description: Good. Moderate cover wear with scuffing to edges and creasing. GoodwillnyBooks is committed to providing each customer with the highest standard of customer service. You may return new items within 30 days of delivery for a full refund. read more
"This is a curious and unwieldy book. At times (and too frequently) it reads like the more excruciatingly detailed scenes of Robinson Crusoe; at others, the zany songs, goofy scenes, and curious characters prove Pynchon and DFW to be no pioneers in their lighthearted pursuits. The descriptive prose occasionally builds into an alliterative tornado where form, content, and raw urgency combined to leave me buzzed and page corner-bending. There's a staggering amount of wisdom dressed up in whale-speak and ship-speak, easily justifying the frequency with which this book is taught and revisited. The dialogue and soliloquies are reminiscent of (and well-nigh the equal to) Shakespeare: the rhythm of speech, if not technically similar, certainly conjures up the Bard and, regardless of the accurateness of my observation here, offers exquisite aesthetic delights. Indeed, this is the first book I've tried reading/whispering aloud in parts since moving through Paradise Lost earlier in the year.
After a jocular commencement full of quaint homoeroticism and ominous adumbrations, the feverish intensity of the story picks up with Ahab's declaration of his quest to find and kill the white whale. Not only does this scene kick the plot into motion, but it also signals the beginning of Melville's flirtation with other perspectives outside of Ishmael's semi-omniscient narration. Once I'd become familiar and comfortable with the mode of storytelling, we started bouncing from Ahab's point-of-view back to Ishmael over to Stubb, and the story suddenly revealed a passionate and intimate aspect that would become so important with Ahab's consuming madness as the book reached its climax.
Everything in the story feels thoughtfully-constructed, but it occasionally falls into a predictable pattern that likely gives the book its reputation for-dare I say it-boringness. When the style changes feel fresh and organic (as in the perspective switches mentioned above), the mood and flow are well-affected. Frequently, however, Melville seems to be following the modern indie rock playbook: build up tension...build...Build...BUILD... release, ahh. Except here the tension comes from subjection to the minutest of details on whales, whalers, and whaling life that often come across as more creative and artistic Wikipedia entries. But then, right when you can't take it anymore, and you drift into reverie contemplating the risk of eye injury from excessive computer-screen exposure, Melville switches into plot/action mode and the story takes off again...for 3 pages. (There are about 150 chapters in this book, which kinda makes you wonder about the institution date of the rule that literary and genre fiction must be distinguishable by chapter length).
So is Moby-Dick the Great American Novel? I don't think so, but it may at least be The Quintessential American Novel, in the sense that it's imperfect and it chronicles single-minded, results-driven obsession as well as the destruction of living mystery and mastery of the awe-inspiring Unknown. I couldn't help but bring my modern day whale knowledge and sensibilities to the text (a failure on my part), and yet as soon as the brutality and glorification of whale-killing reached its peak, Melville preempted and precluded my ready protestations. Indeed, he mocks all of us who eat meat and would object to the brutal whaling he describes:
But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light, does he? and that is adding insult to injury, is it? Look at your knife-handle, there, my civilized and enlightened gourmand dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made of?-what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating? And what do you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose? With a feather of the same fowl. And with what quill did the Secretary of the Society for the Suppression of Cruelty to Ganders formerly indite his circulars? It is only within the last month or two that that society passed a resolution to patronize nothing but steel pens.
And so I must begrudge Melville his whaling apology as I simultaneously confront my life's own pusillanimous contradictions. In any case, Melville's position shouldn't be oversimplified-he's interested in portraying both the glories and horrors of war and concedes that there are, in fact, ideals (however impossible/impractical they may be to attain): in legend, the first whale attacked by our brotherhood was not killed with any sordid intent. Those were the knightly days of our profession, when we only bore arms to succor the distressed, and not to fill men's lamp-feeders.
Within a novel of such depth, where the literal nearly always represents something(s) more, such a close eco-reading is perhaps uncalled for. This book is overflowing with humor (French translation scene, anyone?), epic struggle, unhealthy human obsession (What is best let alone, that accursed thing is not always what least allures), destiny, societal escapism, and good old-fashioned adventure. And never have I read a superior description of the sinusoidal curve of life; of our empty pursuits; of the fundamental patterns to which we subject ourselves (and are subjected):
Oh! my friends, but this is man-killing! (i.e. soul-killing) Yet this is life. For hardly have we mortals by long toilings extracted from the world's vast bulk its small but valuable sperm; and then, with weary patience, cleansed ourselves from its defilements, and learned to live here in clean tabernacles of the soul; hardly is this done, when -- There she blows! -- the ghost is spouted up, and away we sail to fight some other world, and go through young life's old routine again.
"I first read this when I was nineteen; I did not enjoy reading it nearly so much as I enjoyed having read it. Every summer, a friend's daughter comes home from college, and together we read books she's interested in. This summer, she said she wanted to read MOBY DICK. I was not at all interested, but I'd never say no to a student who wants to read this book.
The past three weeks of reading have been unadulterated joy. The book: I get it, now, I finally get all the fuss. Harold Bloom says that reading is a solitary pleasure. That's true, but the bounty of goodreads has made it much less so. That said, one of the most thrilling moments in my reading life, ever, came an hour or so ago when, having finally spotted the white whale he'd searched three seas for, Ahab shouted, "Thar she blows!"
There is nothing left to be said about this book, nothing I can add. But it truly is an amazing, amazing work of fiction."
One of the most challenging and most intense novels to which I have ever put my mind. Over the course of reading this book, I encountered resistance. When I said I was reading it, someone responded, "On purpose?" Just today, finishing it in a cafe, a couple sitting across from me spoke of the book to each other. "Have you read Moby Dick?" asked the girl. "I tried but it didn't do it for me," said the guy. Who are these people.
Maybe I'm a literary snob. I don't think that's such a bad thing. If you don't become ill at the state of modern "popular" fiction, sometimes called literature but resoundingly far from it, you have not given enough time to exploring how things once were; how dedicated writers were to creating an experience; a time when craft reigned. After reading Moby Dick, I'm just dumbstruck as to what passes for literature these days.
But then maybe people don't want to be challenged anymore. Maybe books have become as much a diversion as television. Sure, books are meant to be a diversion; they are meant to be enjoyable and to pass the time in a pleasant way. Otherwise, why read? But Moby Dick is more than that and literature should be more than that. Books should change you and open you up and free you. Modern fiction is little more than reality tv. Why else would the modern reader be so obsessed with both the non-fiction and fiction memoir? We want to escape but not be challenged. We pick up a book like Moby Dick, feel pressured by it to think, and put it right back down.
Moby Dick is the American epic. There is nothing even close to it. If you think you know of a book that can rival it, let me read it and prove you wrong. This is the novel that all other novels should strive to be in spirit. How can these people turn it away?
Go back to your Palahniuks and Lethams and Eggers and everything else masquerading as something important. Don't give Moby Dick a chance, don't open your eyes, and relax deep into your easy-chair of mediocrity. Moby Dick is difficult. Moby Dick is something you won't fully understand when you try to read it in high school, in college, in your formative years, in your later years. It is something that needs multiple readings and needs to be read at a time in your life when you are most susceptible to the truths it entails. It deserves to be read now and forever.
We all have a White Whale we are chasing. The question is whether or not one may ever truly recognize it."
"Everyone's heard of this book. And a lot of people have started it. But read the whole thing to the bitter end? I'm convinced that the people who have achieved this accomplishment did so because they had the book assigned for some literature class.
Why do so many literature classes assign Moby Dick? I'm sure that it is because the book figures so prominently on so many lists of "Great Books of Western Literature". And why is it on so many lists of "Great Books"? Well, after reading the whole thing, I've decided that it must be that the people who compile those lists don't actually read the books on them; they just copy someone else's list.
Because, really, Moby Dick is not that great of a book. It cries out for editing - very heavy editing. The problem is, though, that if Herman Melville were to submit his book to any modern-day editor, I'm sure it would be rejected for publication. It is a wacky combination of adventure novel, non-fiction treatise on whales, and morality story. Unfortunately, it manages to come up short on all three. With prudent editing, it might make a compelling short story. My edition of the book ran for 135 chapters and over 800 pages.
We've all heard how Moby Dick is the story of Captain Ahab and his quest for the White Whale. With a book published in 1851 that no one really wants to read to the end anyway, I think I can be forgiven for including spoilers in this review. If you want to read this without having the end spoiled, well, stop reading here, and go knock yourself out - I'm sure your local library's copy is not checked out.
The narrative finally meandered to the bit about Captain Ahab and his failed whale hunt at Chapter 133. That's right - we have 132 chapters of exposition. Tedious, tedious exposition, long on minute details and Weird Portents (a la Shakespeare). In fact, Melville seems to have forgotten sometimes that he was writing a novel, because he writes some of his chapters with stage directions, just like Shakespeare. The narrative point of view is first person, from that famous first line, "Call me Ishmael", but, again, Melville seems to have forgotten himself (although with a novel this long, I can understand his wandering attention. I know my attention wandered while I was reading this bloated carcass of a novel). The narrator relays the inner thoughts of characters who are all alone, and of events that he didn't witness firsthand. Stereotypes are broad and offensive to modern readers, although I suppose in 19th century America, they were typical enough.
But it is not only as an adventure story that Moby Dick disappoints. Melville spends the bulk of his book discussing all aspects of whales, mostly based on his own experience, I suppose, but not really well-researched or fact-checked. There is a chapter on pictures of whales, and how most artists made mistakes in their depictions. Then a chapter on carvings of whales, and how many of these are flawed as well. The gross external anatomy of the sperm whale is described ad nauseam, with a chapter on the eye, and anther on the ear, and another on the forehead, and another on the skin, and another on the tail, et cetera. Through it all, Melville insists that, scientific opinion be damned, whales are a type of fish. While the book does give fascinating details on how a whaling ship of the mid-1800's functioned, it is not a reliable source for actual facts about whales.
And then, as our literature classes love to point out, there is the moral theme of Moby Dick. Melville opines that there are good and bad reasons to hunt and kill whales. The bad reason, as demonstrated by Captain Ahab, is personal vengeance. His monomania regarding hunting down and killing this particular whale is his madness and his downfall. Whaling is a tremendously dangerous pursuit, and loss of life and limb is to be expected. Whaling is supposed to be a noble calling and the only valid reason to hunt the whales, therefore, is the obscene profit that can be made by doing so. What kind of stupid moral lesson is that?
In any event, after 816 pages of this, we get down to it. Moby Dick is a legendary whale that has been hunted for years but never killed, and has a reputation for not only getting away, but also causing death and loss of limb for those who attempt to engage him. At the end, after being chases and tormented for three days, the whale turns on his hunters and destroys their ship. Everyone drowns except for our narrator. There is no reason given why he should be the only one spared - his behavior was no more exemplary or moral than his shipmates - he just happened to get lucky.
One thing that did surprise me in this book was the overt homosexuality among the main characters. Early on, Ishmael and Queequeg share a bed in an inn, and by morning have become intimate, with Ishmael infatuated with the cannibal. Late in the book, there is a declaration of love from Ahab to his first mate, Starbuck, which intrudes unexpectedly. I'm not making this up; check this out:
"Starbuck, of late I've felt strangely moved to thee; ever since that hour we both saw - thou know'st what, in one another's eyes."
This being a Victorian novel, we are spared explicit scenes, but there seems not to be a heterosexual character populating these pages. If you are tempted to pick up the book to satisfy your prurient curiosity, help yourself. I'll bet, though, you give up on it before you reach the end."
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