I write as a hobby. Last month I finished my biggest milestone as a writer, completing my second novel length story. I hope it’ll get published but have no idea if it will, but either way having passed this, I’m taking a break from reading… fun things that I enjoy. Instead, I’m going to read through a huge collection of classic texts whose style I didn’t want polluting my writing. May god have mercy on my soul.
Moby Dick is the first on my list here. I’ve avoided reading it for ages because by reputation I thought it was dry and faux-scientific. It’s definitely the latter, with Melville arguing at length that whales are fish, then later commenting on their giving live birth and nursing their young. My dude, what exactly did they think mammalian life required in the 19th century?
One thing I’m shocked to say it isn’t is boring. The text moves far more and far faster than I expected. The characters are reasonably well-developed, there’s a little preaching though nowhere near what I thought awaited me. I wouldn’t say the character motivations are strong, apart from Ahab, in particular Ishmael seems to just be messing around sowing his wild oats. I think my favorite character may be Starbuck, as he’s believable in the cautious first mate who will one day make a wonderful captain.
As with pretty much any American text from this era, there’s a lot of casual racism. Queequag is treated as a savage in all things, with things that should be celebratory being instead treated as fascination, and with his other customs being dismissed because again, “he’s a savage.” Melville stops just short of asking if he can touch Queequag’s hair.
As classics go, Moby Dick was a pleasant surprise. May all the plodding Dickensian prose that awaits me be as pleasant.