It recently came to my attention that I am a 25-year-old with a degree in English, and I have not read one of the most famous (or infamous?) works of American fiction: Moby Dick. Those of us with English degrees have these dirty little secrets: I never read a word of Austen, Twain, or Tolstoy (gasp). I'm afraid this confession will cause the Literature police to come and confiscate my degree. Melville, however, is a different story.
I pride myself with my knowledge of 19th-century American literature. I am fascinated with Poe, Hawthorne, James and I reread Chopin's The Awakening every year, without fail.And I have read Melville. I have read Billy Budd, the novella, published after his death, featuring the allegory of good versus evil; the innocent Billy Budd versus the antagonistic John Claggart. It is a fascinating look into the inner workings of a ship at sea, complete with the drama of mutiny and sexual tensions of men at sea. Moby Dick, however, is another beast entirely. Standing at a fierce 552 pages, this massive book is a tangible representation of the unconquerable white whale within. Its sheer girth is enough to frighten any human being, but it scares even the bibliophiles among us.
What is it about this book that seems so insurmountable? I enjoyed the descriptions and clarity regarding life at sea in Billy Budd, but in Moby Dick, Melville spends chapter upon chapter giving intense descriptions of the operations upon a ship, as I recall from a class discussion (yes, I took a class on it, didn't read it, and, yes, still got an A). These descriptions are technical and dry, and they read almost as a user's manual. This style seems completely opposite that of the musings on human relationships and the allegory of good and evil presented in Billy Budd.
However, Melville himself was a man of the sea. He is no stranger to the sea, as he made several whaling voyages, and seems to be enamored with the sea himself. In fact, it is difficult to separate his voice from the narrator's voice in the opening chapter of Moby Dick. He speaks of the tantalizing call of the sea that effects us all. Keeping this in mind, I like to think of Moby Dick as Melville's love story of the sea- how it enamors, enslaves us, engulfs us.
As I embark on this journey to finally read this classic in its entirety, I cannot help but wonder if chasing this leviathan is as maddening an adventure as chasing the title's famous white whale. I endeavor to read this work closely, and at leisurely pace with the intent to pay attention to the beauty of the ship and sea themselves. This is, after all, what inspired this timeless novel- the inexplicable call of the sea. Perhaps I will become as enamored as Melville, and truly see the beauty of the technical workings of a ship, but I will end up as mad as the infamous Captain Ahab, chasing an unattainable dream.
