A while ago, I mentioned in a column that I consider myself an “avid reader.” Since then I’ve received many emails with suggestions of books I might enjoy. I appreciate the information, and I hope to read many of these books soon, but the backlog is getting kind of large, so for some of these titles I might not get a chance until the summer. (Summer of which year? Hmm, not sure.)
One of the books I read very recently was Moby-Dick. I heard it is often referred to as the most important American novel, so I figured I should read it. Well, I read it; the whole thing. And the entire time I was reading, one word kept popping into my head: “tedious.”
One of the books I read very recently was Moby-Dick. I heard it is often referred to as the most important American novel, so I figured I should read it. Well, I read it; the whole thing. And the entire time I was reading, one word kept popping into my head: “tedious.”
As I read, I kept thinking to myself, “How can this be considered such a classic? It’s disjointed and boring, and frankly, Herman Melville’s prose is kind of, um, meh.”
An online search found quotations from many scholars who gushed over the book, calling it the greatest thing since sliced pepperoni. (No, that’s not true. Distinguished scholars of Literature are too classy to compare anything to sliced pepperoni. Sliced provolone, on the other hand, is a quite common comparison in the ivy-covered halls of academe.)
But finally, I found one review that said the novel is a 100-page exciting adventure stuck inside a 400-page manuscript. Thank you! I was so glad at least one person agreed with me that the book is 25% stimulating and 75% tiresome.
About two weeks after finishing Moby-Dick, I saw an online article with this headline: “Actor Sam Waterston to kick off annual Moby-Dick Marathon in New Bedford.”
It seems every January, the New Bedford Whaling Museum hosts a public reading of the entire book. It takes about 25 hours to complete, with 200 different people reciting approximately two pages each.
An online search found quotations from many scholars who gushed over the book, calling it the greatest thing since sliced pepperoni. (No, that’s not true. Distinguished scholars of Literature are too classy to compare anything to sliced pepperoni. Sliced provolone, on the other hand, is a quite common comparison in the ivy-covered halls of academe.)
But finally, I found one review that said the novel is a 100-page exciting adventure stuck inside a 400-page manuscript. Thank you! I was so glad at least one person agreed with me that the book is 25% stimulating and 75% tiresome.
About two weeks after finishing Moby-Dick, I saw an online article with this headline: “Actor Sam Waterston to kick off annual Moby-Dick Marathon in New Bedford.”
It seems every January, the New Bedford Whaling Museum hosts a public reading of the entire book. It takes about 25 hours to complete, with 200 different people reciting approximately two pages each.
The CEO of the museum, Amanda McMullen, said, “We are thrilled to have the participation of all our readers, and know that their passion for Melville and heartfelt commitment to New Bedford will help make the 2022 marathon the most exciting and engaging yet.”
Um, okay. I’m sure it will be the most exciting and engaging marathon to date — IF they decide to recite a different book. Anything really. Try The Godfather, or The Right Stuff, or even the New Bedford phone book.
I suspect Sam Waterston will proclaim, “Call me Ishmael,” and then head back to Logan Airport. It’s unlikely the museum has a large enough budget to pay the fee Sam’s agent would demand if he has to hang around for the entire 25 hours.
Even though I consider myself an “avid reader,” I freely admit my opinions about classic novels are worth even less than unsliced pepperoni. I’m the last person who should be offering reviews on the classics. No doubt this column will prompt many email notes lamenting my proletarian ignorance toward Melville’s brilliantly symbolic and timeless tome — or something like that.
Um, okay. I’m sure it will be the most exciting and engaging marathon to date — IF they decide to recite a different book. Anything really. Try The Godfather, or The Right Stuff, or even the New Bedford phone book.
I suspect Sam Waterston will proclaim, “Call me Ishmael,” and then head back to Logan Airport. It’s unlikely the museum has a large enough budget to pay the fee Sam’s agent would demand if he has to hang around for the entire 25 hours.
Even though I consider myself an “avid reader,” I freely admit my opinions about classic novels are worth even less than unsliced pepperoni. I’m the last person who should be offering reviews on the classics. No doubt this column will prompt many email notes lamenting my proletarian ignorance toward Melville’s brilliantly symbolic and timeless tome — or something like that.
You see, even though I like to read, and for the past 21 years I’ve been stringing together 600 semi-coherent words each week for this newspaper column, the fact is, I was an engineering major in school. I took exactly one English class in four years, the requisite Freshman Composition course. And in that class, the professor gave me a quite generous C-minus final grade. One essay I submitted was returned with this note: “Stick to numbers, son. Words are not your strong suit.”
Many decades later, I still remember my erudite and pithy comment upon reading the professor’s note. I said, “Huh?”
Many decades later, I still remember my erudite and pithy comment upon reading the professor’s note. I said, “Huh?”
I may not be a literature expert, but I know what I like: exciting stories, compelling prose, and sliced pepperoni.
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