The back cover of my edition of Moby-Dick declares that it is the greatest novel ever written by an American. After finishing it this afternoon, I don't think I would qualify to defend that statement. The first page and a half (which I reread to Dee today) immediately keeps the expectations pretty high, and all through the novel are wonderful metaphors and large-scale comparisons of almost everything to the whaling business (it seems to me that Moby-Dick is as much about writing as it is about anything else), but, my word! - how detailed a description, however poetic, do I really need of every part of a whaling ship? (The exclamation point in the last sentence was my own personal imitation of Melville's, or Ishmael's, enthusiastic writing style.)
There are sections of Moby-Dick that I loved. Two examples are the chapters named "Moby-Dick" and "Cistern and Buckets." The later chapters of the book, when we actually read about Captain Ahab's mad quest to kill the white whale, are also wonderful. But I confess to having lost interest many times along the way. I found that when I read very slowly, I enjoyed it more, because I could appreciate the metaphors and wordiness. But when I got tired of doing that (I could usually keep up the slow reading for several pages at a time) I just got frustrated by it.
I've spoken to three people in the last couple of weeks who have told me that they shared my experience to one degree or another. I'm glad I've read it, but the trouble was that from about halfway I was only really reading so that I could say I'd read it. I don't think it was a waste of time or anything, but I probably won't reread it, except for certain sections.
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