If I had opened Moby-Dick even ten years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate it. Many of my peers read it in college, and I always knew that many people considered it a Must Read, the Great American Novel, etc. No one ever personally recommended it to me, though. This spring I read online two book-lovers’ brief comments on it, ideas I’d never heard before: first, that it was often funny, but also, that it was a joy to read such prose.
Possibly such prose as this:
[Speaking of the whale Moby-Dick] “He is both ponderous and profound. And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional 
argument for the above supposition.
“And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts.”
Now that I think on it, it’s not surprising that I never heard such reports from my college roommates — None of them was an English major, for one thing, but I don’t recall discussing any books we were reading back then. At nineteen, most of us educated in public schools probably did not have enough exposure to great literature to have developed a literary sensibility. And 
we certainly had little enough life experience to enable us to catch all the subtle humor.
Is Moby-Dick wasted on the young? Did any of you my readers read it when you were young, in school (that would be Americans, mostly), and did you ever read it again? I won’t say any book is wasted on the young, because everything we read widens our literary experience and makes us more likely to deepen our understanding of the next books we come to.
I read both a hard copy and via the audio version, though listening to this particular book on Audible often felt like skimming; I could hear those beautiful sentences passing by, but couldn’t attend to them individually or deeply. The last several chapters in the Norton Critical Edition I completed during a surprisingly leisurely evening when I was also pleased not to be mentally exhausted, and after The End, I sat in my favorite chair for a long while and leafed back through the pages, not wanting to leave the story well-told.
I marvel at the scope of Melville’s “mental furniture,” and the way he weaves his vast knowledge into the philosophizing of Captain Ahab, and the musings of several characters. What a way he has with words — If I had read the whole thing in print the first time through, I’m afraid I’d never have finished, because I would pause at least once in every paragraph to wonder How does he do this? or to analyze the author’s worldview.
Moby-Dick is an American epic, and Harold Bloom says it may be a perfect novel. It is huge in so many ways. The length of a whaling voyage was at least three years! The character of Captain Ahab is as vast and as unknowable as any human. The Big Questions raised by him and others are supersized. The whale is gigantic. And then, there is the Ocean. The descriptions of life lived for such a protracted time in the middle of the sea made me realize that I am a landlubber for sure.
How could one bear a thousand days of being surrounded by the wide expanse, nothing but water and sky all around, and the deepest waters below? Not to mention, frequently getting thrown out of the smaller boats and being constantly at the risk of drowning in those deeps. But the whaler’s life is not without benefits:
“In the serene weather of the tropics it is exceedingly pleasant the mast-head; nay, to a dreamy meditative man it is delightful. There you stand, a hundred feet above the silent decks, striding along the deep, as if the masts were gigantic stilts, while beneath you and between your legs, as it were, swim the hugest monsters of the sea, even as ships once sailed between the boots of the famous Colossus at old Rhodes. There you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves. The tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor. For the most part, in this tropic whaling life, a sublime uneventfulness invests you; you hear no news; read no gazettes; extras with startling accounts of commonplaces never delude you into unnecessary excitements; you hear of no domestic afflictions; bankrupt securities; fall of stocks; are never troubled with the thought of what you shall have for dinner—for all your meals for three years and more are snugly stowed in casks, and your bill of fare is immutable.”
And the great ocean — Melville makes me love “my own” Pacific ocean in a new way:
“To any meditative Magian rover, this serene Pacific, once beheld, must ever after be the sea of his adoption. It rolls the midmost waters of the world, the Indian ocean and Atlantic being but its arms. The same waves wash the moles of the new-built Californian towns, but yesterday planted by the recentest race of men, and lave the faded but still gorgeous skirts of Asiatic lands, older than Abraham; while all between float milky-ways of coral isles, and low-lying, endless, unknown Archipelagoes, and impenetrable Japans. Thus this mysterious, divine Pacific zones the world’s whole bulk about; makes all coasts one bay to it; seems the tide-beating heart of earth. Lifted by those eternal swells, you needs must own the seductive god, bowing your head to Pan.”
Since I’m an American, I’m glad to have read this novel that reveals a fascinating period in American history, and the kind of energy that has formed our nation. Melville knew his Bible very well, but he still seems to have missed the point, and his perspective on all those Big Questions is not really a Christian one. Moby-Dick is not important enough to me personally that I want to spend much more time and effort on it, but if I keep it by my chair, I can see dipping in again in the future just to savor the sentences. And I do hope I might run into some people who would enjoy talking about the book at least a little bit. At the end of the novel, Moby-Dick still lives.
Gladsome Lights 
I absolutely love Moby Dick. I picked it up a few times over the years, and did not get very far, but finally read it through in my 60s. I love the language, and the many, many divergent rabbit trails. I love the friendship between Ishmael and Queequeg.
AMDG
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Did you see any movie renditions of the book? I started to watch one but the depiction of Ishmael seemed off and I haven’t continued. I’d rather read anyway.
Melville’s characters are so well drawn. Thank you for responding!!
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I haven’t seen any. I don’t think I want to.
AMDG
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I have never read Moby Dick. I’m curious now as to whether our kids ever read it.
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When I asked them recently, my sons but not my daughters had read it. One son said, “Great book!” and the other, “Don’t bother.” 🙂
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I know I’ve heard Youngest Son talk about the book but I’ve never been tempted to try reading it. I should ask him what he thought of it.
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I read Moby Dick as a first year student at university and read it once more as a young adult – appreciating it much more when I was older.
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We didn’t read the entire thing, but Moby Dick selections were a part of my American Literature class in high school. I smiled at this: “most of us educated in public schools probably did not have enough exposure to great literature to have developed a literary sensibility.” Of all the things I give thanks for, my public school education in 1950s and 1960s Iowa is near the top: American, British, and world lit were semester-long courses, and wide-ranging.
I did go back to Moby Dick once I began sailing, and especially once I began open ocean sailing. Descriptions like those you quoted no longer seemed opaque; I never wanted to take on a three year voyage like some of the cruisers I knew, but three weeks, or three months? Sure.
You’ve also reminded me of one of the funniest experiences of my life. I was driving along a local, heavily traveled road, when I got behind a landscaper’s rattle-trap truck pulling a trailer filled with lawn equipment. On the back of the trailer, there was a hand-painted sign that said, “I’m Ishmael. Call me!” Sure enough, another sign declared it was Ishmael’s Lawn Care that was headed to the next job. I howled, and gave thanks to whomever had educated that fellow.
But the story didn’t end there. This past year, a few years after seeing Ishmael and his truck, I saw him again. This time, ye olde rattletrap had been replaced with a big Ford truck, and it was pulling a brand new, larger trailer with even more equipment. This time, the sign on the back said, “I’m still Ishmael. Call me.”
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Maybe I should have qualified that: California’s public schools? Back then my 7th grade teacher told us about the differences in standardized test scores between areas of the country, and his conclusion was that the weather kept much of the nation indoors and at their books more than in places like California or Florida 🤔 Later in life I’ve heard from people like you about exposure to the book in high school.
Thanks so much for telling about the truck signs! Great story.
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I confess I have never read Moby Dick. But this reminded me of something I thought of a long while ago — there are books we read when we are young, probably in college. And then if we pick them up decades later, they are different books to us, saying something different. As a college student, “Gatsby” was parties and glamor and love denied; as an adult it is so much more — moral, ethics, legalities, depth of character. The same with Jane Austen. “Persuasion” as a young reader — you don’t fully get it. But as an old reader with relationships lost under one’s belt, it is a different book.
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This is why I find myself wanting to reread a lot of the books on my shelves; I’ve discovered how “new” they can be even after ten years.
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I have read some but not all of Moby Dick. I found it rather unforgiving.
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“Unforgiving” is a word I haven’t heard applied to that book yet! I was helped by listening to a narrator who seemed to use the right tone and voice for each character.
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Another California public school educated person. No, hadn’t read Moby Dick and wasn’t sure I’d be up to his ponderous way of writing. While those sentences are beautiful, I don’t think I could make it through today either. So thank you for sharing those MD covers, a sampling of the prose, and how you’ve savored it.
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I was never tempted to read the book, but now you’ve got me curious!
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I had to read it in high school. I did not enjoy it; I decided in my youthful stupidity and arrogance, that early American authors were not for me! From your description here, I see that I missed everything it had to offer except the most obvious surface plot lines!! Oh well. I don’t think I will try it again, however. But I am happy to learn there is so much more to the story than I ever imaginedl
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My brother-in-law had to read Moby Dick in high school, and he hated it. Why is it we can’t read books together in school and enjoy them? Anyway, I finally read it with an online group a few years ago, and I delighted in it. I was completely surprised to find out how lovely it is.
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I’ve been trying to remember what books were assigned reading when I was in high school or college, but I can remember very little — I don’t think there is anything that I’ve read since. It’s too bad!
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I tried reading Moby Dick on my own in high school and failed. Then I skimmed it as an undergrad for a class. I skipped all of the nautical chapters. Then as a grad student I read it again with an excellent teacher who lifted blinders from my eyes and increased my appreciation. I have not attempted it again on my own, but I’m glad it exists, even if very few people attempt it. It stands as a testament to the creative genius of Melville and his age.
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As yes, that whale below the surface of all is lurking still.
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