In many ways, I can agree that Moby Dick (1851) is the classic that so many readers esteem it to be. Herman Melville has an incredible writing style. He takes his time with details, gradually drawing the reader into the world of whaling, and, in the process, into colonial and maritime history. The opening chapters, where the author introduces his narrator – call him Ishmael – are therefore a delight to read. From Ishmael’s stay at the Spouter-Inn and his encounter with Queequeg, a friendship described in terms of marriage, to the boarding of the Pequod and the appearance of Captain Ahab, I was captivated by the story that was just beginning to unfold. The lone poor sailor’s search for work reminded me somewhat of John Steinbeck’s work ([b:Of Mice and Men|11094566|Of Mice and Men|John Steinbeck|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1516708690l/11094566.SY75.jpg|40283]), albeit set in the harbour of Nantucket this time.

After that, the story meanders through a long series of digressions. At first, I appreciated them, but I eventually grew weary of the novel’s high encyclopaedic level, with its cetology and extensive descriptions of whales, many of which are outdated. Admittedly, Melville writes with humour, but that didn’t stop me from skimming through certain chapters. I also struggled to fully perceive the story through a 19th-century lens. While it’s not fair to judge the book by 21st-century values, the anthropocentric perspective did bother me at times. Captain Ahab is undoubtedly a memorable (or ‘queer’, as the author so aptly describes him) character, but his ‘quenchless feud’ with the ‘murderous monster’ felt too excessive to me.

Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed, unrelenting fangs of some incurable idea; such an one, could he be found, would seem the very man to dart his iron and lift his lance against the most appalling of all brutes. Or, if for any reason thought to be corporeally incapacitated for that, yet such an one would seem superlatively competent to cheer and howl on his underlings to the attack. But be all this as it may, certain it is, that with the mad secret of his unabated rage bolted up and keyed in him, Ahab had purposely sailed upon the present voyage with the one only and all-engrossing object of hunting the White Whale.

It is Ahab who turns an ordinary sentient creature into a ‘monster’ and then, like Victor [b:Frankenstein|24131836|Frankenstein|Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1419726724l/24131836.SY75.jpg|4836639], chases it around the globe. All the while, Moby Dick serves as an ode to nature (or perhaps better: God’s creation). For those who view whales as swimming dollars, the novel conveys that other beings, too, deserve respect. Ultimately, Ahab’s attempt to defeat the leviathan is as futile as [b:Don Quixote|3836|Don Quixote|Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1546112331l/3836.SX50.jpg|121842]’s battle against the windmill. In this regard, the novel may be considered progressive.

I wonder how Melville would have approached the story if he had lived in the age of Wikipedia and Google Images.