Moby Dick is, thankfully, interesting (albeit not quite as page-turning as Lee Child’s latest), and I am inspired to continue reading.
I’m very glad, as I was feeling a bit disheartened about the whole enterprise after a couple of misfields. I set out on this adventure under the impression that, with a list of very popular/highly literary works, they should all be readable, if not enjoyable. It seems this assumption was naive (so there you go, I’ve learned something already); one can appreciate the skill in a piece of work – be it writing, painting, film-making, whatever – separately from one’s enjoyment of said work. I guess that makes sense, given that there is a category of works affectionately known as “So Bad It’s Good“.
Despite not having set sail yet (though he has taken the ferry to Nantucket – a small island off the coast of Massachusetts), the I-want-to-say-eponymous-but-that’s-not-technically-correct Ishmael has met and befriended an unusual former-cannibal, heard an actually-rather-good sermon (on Jonah, naturally), and reminded readers of the Pythagorean Maxim (which I’m sure my uncle would appreciate).
Bon voyage, for now. More when it happens.