Moby Dick; or, The Whale by Herman Melville

To say something is boring implies that nothing happens, when in fact, something is always happening. It is the ultimate grade-school criticism: subjective vague and expressing annoyance at having been forced to experience the thing at all. Now, I hate to use that word, the b-word. So, what’s the point of Moby Dick? Is it about obsession? The things that drive each of us in our ambitions, whether they be wealth, hate, prejudice or love? Is it a deconstruction of Puritan culture in colonial America? Is it a Joseph Campbell-style hero’s journey? Is it a good ol' yarn of men against the sea? Is it all of these things? It is, after all, “classic” literature, and must be experienced on multiple levels, if at all. I suppose any discussion about Moby Dick must start with thematic considerations. But in many ways, it’s like 3-D movies or Mount Rushmore: it’s tough to figure out why it’s such a big deal. Even if you get through it, you may be desperately asking yourself things like “why didn’t I like this” or 'am I totally missing something” or 'how long have I been sleeping?' See, Moby Dick is the most famous novel in American history. Your dog will still be loyal (your cat, though, will remain indifferent). Your family and friends will still love you (or at least stand you). You will not be shunned (except by English majors they will shun you). You won’t be arrested, incarcerated, or exiled. You will still be invited to Thanksgiving dinner.

You didn’t like Herman Melville’s Moby Dick? You didn't even finish it? I’m here to tell you, that’s okay. The Simpsons, Season 15, Episode 5, “The Fat and the Furriest” HOMER: Oh Lisa, the point of Moby Dick is 'be yourself.'

LISA: Dad, you can't take revenge on an animal.

Moby Dick; or, The Whale by Herman Melville