Pearls: Is Moby-Dick worth the read?

EDITORIAL MUG: Matt Pearl

I want you to feel my shame as I make a confession to you, one that’s probably about 26 or 27 years overdue:

When one of my college American Literature professors assigned the class to read Moby-Dick, I never read it.

I tried. I did. I bought it. I started it. I tried starting it again when I was better rested, just to see if the book improved after a night’s sleep.

It did not.

I tried. Truly. I read all kinds of works in college, novels and plays and short stories and poems, but Moby-Dick couldn’t draw me in if it hit me with a harpoon.

But now, I feel differently. Not about the book, mind you: it’s a stretch even to suggest that I’d give Herman Melville another chance at my time. No, I don’t hope to read the book now, but I do sincerely wish I had finished it back then.

Why? Because performing tasks like reading Moby-Dick is precisely what youth is designed to allow us to do: we struggle through things we’ll never need to tackle again, but it’s good to learn hard work and adversity while we’re still young.

You can swing an ax better when you’re young, and you can travel with fewer constraints, and you can live on less money than you’ll be willing to live on when you’re older.

And you can read ridiculously long, overly metaphor-laden American novels about whaling and the seemingly insane crew of characters who choose to chase the white whale for hundreds of pages. You can do these things better when you’re young, because – like it or not – your mind is more malleable, making you more suited to learn with less difficulty.

It’s why you get kids started playing musical instruments when they’re younger, right? They learn better the earlier you get them started. And that’s why 19-year-olds need to read Moby-Dick right now, or else just forget about it.

My teacher back then gave us a date by which we were expected to finish the novel. When that date rolled around, he spoke about the book. He asked questions for us to answer, but then answered them himself. He asked for our reactions, for our analysis of the novel’s characters and events, but when we were silent, he gave us his own.

(This fellow hasn’t taught at the university for many years now, so any of my previous professors who might be reading this in Maryville – I’m not talking about you.)

Anyway, the whole exercise taught me a handful of lessons, a few which I’ll share with you today:

First off, the Moby-Dick incident reminds me that I robbed myself of an important experience as a literature student. I failed to read a novel that has been a standard for English majors for well over a century, and my ignorance of its theme makes me ashamed of myself.

Secondly, I learned a less positive lesson, which is that sometimes it pays to pick and choose which readings are important. I guessed correctly in this particular instance becaue our professor never tested us over the novel at all.

This brings me to the third revelation: that teacher held no interest in fostering his love for the novel Moby-Dick in his students’ minds. He simply wanted to stand up and talk about his favorite book in front of a captive audience.

So many of the books I read in my studies wee worth reading, and so many of my classes worth taking, my papers worth writing and book’s themes worth discussing. Education has value, and that’s the plain truth.

But that book on that date being discussed by that teacher didn’t speak to me in any meaningful way. So what now? Do I declare myself a Moby-Dick dropout? Or do I take up a few of thos good intentions and give the novel another chance?

I’ll take the dropout option. I just can’t. I tried to read it – really. Sorry. Matt Pearl owns and operates The Tri-County Ledger.