I was reading the latest Vanity Fair (Canadian. I only say that because our issues seem to run a month behind the US issues. You might think Graydon Carter could pull a few strings, eh?) and there's an article about Herman Melville's Moby Dick. It recalled to my mind how much I loved this book.
I keep looking for something worthy to read and instead of looking at best seller shelves I should be looking at classics. I had started to read all the classics I could find a few years ago. I never studied literature in school. Just tech subjects relating to drafting. I had missed out. I wanted to catch myself up.
The Vanity Fair article said
"The book is so encyclopedic that space aliens could use it to re-create the whale fishery as it once existed on planet earth in the 19th century"So true! I felt like I was there. You learned something reading that book. Actual whaling information and there was that Ahab thing too. Herman Melville was a whaler. He was an interesting man and captured the industry at the time in a lively, earthy style.
Of course we know whales are big. But can you imagine how big big is?
Two sperm whales washed up on the north shore of the island on which I lived growing up. They were about fifty feet long. Big. We took a drive up to see them and as a teen I remember feeling a great sense of loss that something this enormous could just wash up, dead and unsung, on an unpopulated stretch of beach. It was a waste. I had to look way up to the top of the whale because lying down it was still so much taller than I was. It was such a big creature and now such a big carcass. It was quiet also. Naturally. But I felt that a sad, melancholy sound should have accompanied this scene. I suppose the relentless surf could suffice.
I have a reading quest. What could be better? I can't wait.