I don't usually take to works of literature that are considered "classics"--maybe because I don't like to go with the flow just because others keep telling me how great the flow is, or maybe because "classics" are what I was forced to read all throughout school until I felt like it would be worth inventing a time machine just to go back and punch Shakespeare in the nose. Whatever my reasoning may be, it wasn't until I read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein that I realized some books are classics because they truly speak to the innermost soul of the reader. For me, Herman Melville's Moby Dick is one of those true classics. It took me quite some time (135 chapters and an epilogue's worth of time) to decide whether I even liked the book. At the beginning, I loved it. Halfway through, I wasn't so sure, but I read on anyway and it started to grow on me. By the time I got to the end, I realized that I had become so consumed by this novel that I had to love it. But before I reached the point of discovering my true feelings, I analyzed the hell out of this novel and I feel like sharing that analysis. So if you have a lot of time on your hands, or just want to see what someone else thinks of this mind-boggling book, then sit back and enjoy.
**Spoilers abound (mainly for the very end)**