Moby-Dick

Лучшая книга всех времен и народов. Продублирую сюда свой обзор из ЖЖ:

«Киты.

Зовите меня Измаил.

Киты.

Ахуенная книга.

Киты.

Но я ее, сука, ненавижу.

Киты.

И как же я ее, сука, обажаю.

Киты.

Вот идут страницы сюжета. Вот они ни с того ни с сего прерываются описанием ВСЕГО что есть в китах. А давайте о нервной системе. А давайте об окраске. А давайте о спаривании. А давайте, сука, об одиночестве.

Киты.

Вы возненавидете эту книгу. Но что-то невероятно глубокое в вас, что-то метафизическое будет толкать дочитать ее. Главное ощущение от этой книги у меня сформировалось только сейчас, спустя несколько месяцев (сразу после прочтения я чувствовал ничего и все одновременно. Я просто не мог сказать чего-либо). Эта книга как-будто вовсе и не претендует на то, чтобы ее читали. Она не пытается увлечь вас. Ей плевать, стоит она у вас на полке или нет. Автору плевать, знаете вы о ней, или нет. Если все книги на земле сожгут — останется только она. Не в результате какого-то чуда или всеобщего голосования, а потому что она так решила. Она вне времени и пространства.

Киты.

Сюжет странный. Ее чтение как путешествие по пещере. По странной пещере. По пещере, которая знает все тайны вселенной, но не хочет рассказывать. Не из-за злого умысла. Не чтобы мы сами догадались. Ей просто это не интересно.

Киты.

Книга магическая.

Киты.

Ну и “Проклятие Моби Дика” сработало на мне. Теперь иногда, уже перед сном, на меня нападает аномальное желание срочно ее перечитать.


История безумного Ахава надолго в моей голове.».

‰ЫПAs I sat there at my ease, cross-legged on the deck; after the bitter exertion at the windlass; under a blue tranquil sky; the ship under indolent sail, and gliding so serenely along; as I bathed my hands among those soft, gentle globules of infiltrated tissues, woven almost within the hour; as they richly broke to my fingers, and discharged all their opulence, like fully ripe grapes their wine; as I snuffed up that uncontaminated aroma, ‰ЫУ literally and truly, like the smell of spring violets; I declare to you, that for the time I lived as in a musky meadow; I forgot all about our horrible oath; in that inexpressible sperm, I washed my hands and my heart of it; I almost began to credit the old Paracelsan superstition that sperm is of rare virtue in allaying the heat of anger: while bathing in that bath, I felt divinely free from all ill-will, or petulence, or malice, of any sort whatsoever.

‰ЫПSqueeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers‰ЫЄ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say, ‰ЫУ Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

‰ЫПWould that I could keep squeezing that sperm for ever! For now, since by many prolonged, repeated experiences, I have perceived that in all cases man must eventually lower, or at least shift, his conceit of attainable felicity; not placing it anywhere in the intellect or the fancy; but in the wife, the heart, the bed, the table, the saddle, the fire-side, the country; now that I have perceived all this, I am ready to squeeze case eternally. In thoughts of the visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti.‰Ыќ

—

‰ЫПIt does seem to me, that herein we see the rare virtue of a strong individual vitality, and the rare virtue of thick walls, and the rare virtue of interior spaciousness. Oh, man! admire and model thyself after the whale! Do thou, too, remain warm among ice. Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it. Be cool at the equator, keep thy blood fluid at the Pole. Like the great dome of St. Peter‰ЫЄs, and like the great whale, retain, O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own.

‰ЫПBut how easy and how hopeless to each these fine things! Of erections, how few are domed like St. Peter‰ЫЄs! of creatures, how few vast as the whale!‰Ыќ

Spent about 3 months listening to the audio version of Moby Dick done by the Moby Dick Big Read group. Lots of English actors/artists read the chapters, some well-done, some somewhat less-so. But certainly this was the only way I was going to get through the classic novel. The language is difficult to get around. Lots of terms that require consulting the Internet. I'm glad I read it but I'm happy that I'm now through with it.

Wow this had a lot of depth to it. The story about a young author joining a whaling expedition quickly turns into a metaphor for the extent man is whiling to go to settle a score and prove a point. Melville does a great job layering great characters, places and imagery along the way. It's a long read but a great one for the next time you're on a cruise or boat trip ;)