Perhaps it was the scale of Moby-Dick—the most ambitious novel ever written in America to that point, a rollicking ocean of maritime adventure, Christian allegory, metaphysical disquisition, natural history, literary escapade, and social criticism—that scared off readers of the time, because no modern reader of Moby-Dick can fail to be impressed by its astounding intensity. On board the Pequod, a ship that sets off from Nantucket, our narrator Ishmael and his fellow crewmen think they are in the business of hunting whales for oil. But Captain Ahab, the ship’s grim, peg-legged skipper, has other ideas: He is out for revenge on the white whale who bit off his limb. His obsessive hunt for Moby-Dick will occupy him and the rest of the crew until the novel’s end—but not before Melville takes us on an imaginative voyage that is at once a seafaring thriller, a workplace comedy (complete with scenes of grizzled sailors harvesting whale sperm), and an almost Shakespearean dramatization of man’s fate.
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