I am technically halfway through Moby-Dick - a title I suspected I would struggle through; but in all honesty, the reading is not as difficult as I anticipated. On the other hand: Melville is immersed in the deep of his great mind, and I probably could not sit in the same room with him, let alone have a conversation with him. I consider myself more of a surface thinker, which is one of the reasons I started this project in the first place: in hopes of expanding my comprehension skills. I sure hope reading Melville is working.
In the meantime, here is my copy of Moby-Dick, which I picked up at my library last year for twenty-five cents. The book was donated by a local high school, and its cover and pages were crisp and clean and, in my estimation, unread and untouched. So I brought it home with the intent to read it, which I am now.
On the first day of reading Moby-Dick, I took it into the pool with me, sat in my little floating chair, and immediately consumed the first ten chapters. In fact, I have done this a few times now during lifeguard duty while my kids swim nearby splashing and soaking each other. But over the time I have sat reading in the pool, my copy has taken on water here and there and has begun to show signs of being waterlogged.
Kind of how I feel about now. Moby-Dick can be frustrating at times, as I am yearning for more information about people and their stories, instead of that which has been presented as scientific facts on whaling ships, whaling equipment, and whales. Often, I feel like I have lost touch with Ishmael, although he is supposed to be my narrator. Is he still with me? Or did he leave me here on the Pequod alone? And who is Ahab? I hardly know about him. Why does it sometimes feel like I am reading poetry when it should be dialogue between human beings? Did whalemen really speak this way?
Maybe I just need to be more patient. I hope to stay afloat before I get to the end.