Why Read Moby-Dick?

There are very few books that reward multiple readings in life, and Moby-Dick is one of them. I first read it in my twenties, and absolutely loved it. Now, twenty years later, I have accumulated more of the joys and bruises of life, and have more sympathy with and understanding of the narrator, and more appreciation for Melville’s poetry and humor.

Even in the chapters that feel digressive, where Melville distracts us with details of whale anatomy or the mechanics of whaling, Melville still cannot refrain from making the most mundane item into a philosophical discourse. It is like listening to a spectacularly good conversationalist. For example, here is a quote from Chapter 60: “The Line”, which is ostensibly about the rope attached to the harpoon.

“All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, every-present perils of life. And if you be a philosopher, though seated in a whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side.”

That kind of writing can drive some readers crazy, but I think the key is to embrace it. The key is to not try to race through the story. Melville lingers in the telling. He’s clearly in no hurry to tell us the bare facts. He first needs to prepare us, both intellectually and emotionally, for the real impact of the story.

From the very first paragraph, Melville makes it clear that his narrator is in no hurry. If we are going to listen to this story, we need to know something about the kind of person that the narrator is, and to recognize ourselves in him. He’s someone who has clearly felt that quiet desperation of which Thoreau speaks. Who knows if Thoreau did not articulate the phrase after reading Moby-Dick?

That nameless restlessness and dissatisfaction that plagues the narrator is something with which we can all identify. In the first paragraph, Ishmael, as he asks us to call him, clearly states that his life is not what he wants, and he is willing to engage in a sea voyage as a desperate act to maintain his sanity. I found myself referencing that paragraph more than once over the years since I first read it. In fact, I probably think of it every November, as it prominently references the “damp, drizzly November in my soul.” That November can happen at any time of the year, but it’s usually toward the end of the year that I cast my eye back on where I have been, and turn it hopefully to the future.

Read the first paragraph of Moby-Dick. Savor the cadence, and the way Melville beautifully describes the human condition, right there on page one. I will definitely be reading this again, when I have gathered more joys and bruises.