It could have been written as the Jaws of the 19th century. Strangest book I may have read - chapters where the entire storyline stops so the author can tell you everything there was known about each species of whale and whaling ships to an obsessed degree of minutiae, a bizarre chapter that is out of a Shakespeare play. Obvious that the author Melville was a Shakespeare devotee. He takes a page to say what could be said in a few sentences. His sentences are long, complicated and awkward.
Quiet Sunday, I've plodded through another 100 pages, feel like a prisoner crawling through a tunnel where freedom is the last word on the last page.
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