Moby-Dick

Nietzsche often refers to being immediately able to recognize his kindred spirit authors after just a few pages of reading them.

It sounds both impressive and worth aspiring to match in one’s own reading experience. But the fact of the matter is that I often need a few readings really to appreciate an author. I’m not saying that’s good or bad, just saying that’s the way it is with me.

There are plenty of exceptions. I immediately liked Latour after just a few pages, for instance.

In the case of Heidegger, it took three or four tries at Being and Time before I finally got it. But granted, those 3 or 4 tries were from ages 17-19, so it was partly just a matter of not quite understanding it yet.

But now I’m having a similar experience with Moby-Dick. I always thought it was pretty good, of course, but on this reading I’ve been in awe.

There are around 105 chapters in the book, you may recall, and they vary greatly in length. What I really love most is how some of the chapters, especially the shorter ones, do glaringly nothing at all to advance the plot. They are included simply because they are of inherent interest. For example, Ishmael and Queequeg spend one short chapter doing nothing but enjoy excellent bowls of clam and cod chowder at a Nantucket inn. Being a vegetarian I wouldn’t eat either, but it’s still a pleasure to read about them eating it. And it does, I repeat, absolutely nothing to advance the story, and I like it that way.