I wish I could say otherwise, but after spending months trying to get through Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, I can only say, unless you are determined to read it, choose something else. Each year I incorporate a few classics among my reading selections. I approach each as a work of art, rather than as a masterpiece to emulate in my own writing mainly because publishing standards and peoples’ tastes have changed over time. In 2025, I reread Jane Eyre, which I loved again, and I read Moby Dick for the first time. My own work-in-progress is about a boy who wants to catch a fish, so I thought reading about the great white whale would be influential, and in some ways, it was. Captain Ahab’s obsession with the whale and his perseverance in finding him by sailing around the world was certainly compelling reading. Unfortunately, this was only a small portion of the book. Much of the book was about the ship itself, the equipment, depictions of whales in works of art, and Ishmael’s observations as narrator. Like The Great Gatsby, the main character (Gatsby) does not tell the story; his neighbor, Nick Carraway tells it. In Moby Dick, Ishmael, an observer aboard the Pequod, tells the story. In the interest of time and sanity, I skipped large sections of narrative that were not about the whale or Ahab. And then I made great progress and finished rather quickly. While I wouldn’t discourage someone who was intent on reading it, I would say that if you are looking for a classic, any classic, to consider, I’d consider something else. My apologies to Herman Melville.