Excruciatingly boring, and you know it is. It is not often that a book makes me angry, but this had me practically gibbering. I thought that after 60 years of reading I was ready for a second attempt: what did not appeal in my youth could be appreciated in my maturity. Wrong! In my maturity I see that it has been promoted far beyond it’s intrinsic merit. Some merit I do indeed acknowledge, but it is far outweighed by the turgid and pretentious …. I can’t go on. I refuse to spend a second more of my time on Moby Dick, and urge you to do likewise.