So, I finished reading Moby Dick. What a load of whale oil. It didn't take quite as long as the Pequod's actual journey, but all in all I would rather have spent the time watching Star Trek: Nemesis over and over again until my eyes bled.
Maybe Melville was born a couple of hundred years too soon. In some ways, the book reads like a blog. The chapters are mostly a few pages long, loosely related but not what you would call a tight story. Spoiler Alert: the first time we see the whale is like page 485 of 500. It's not exactly an action yarn. Nor is it really the deep psychological character study of Ahab that I expected. He's obsessed with the whale that bit his leg off. We get it. The whole thing could have been a short story.
We will not speak of this again. But I will have my revenge on Herman Melville, if it's the last thing I do.