"Moby-Dick" by Herman Melville: "Call me Ishmael."

It's perhaps the most famous opening line in literature, introducing not only a memorable character but one of the staggering achievements of American letters. Oddly enough, I sometimes ask people to call me Ishmael. Although, I only use that name when dealing with credit card companies, government officials, and lonely, lonely women.

Upon introducing himself, Ishmael serves as the book's narrator, providing the reader with a detailed, if divergent, chronicling of events aboard a decidedly doomed whaling vessel called the Pequod. A junior member of the crew, Ishmael is hardly an active participant in the action, often assuming the roles of diligent reporter, impassioned historian, and energetic tour guide, while his mates get all the glory.

The Pequod's crew is a motley mix of characters, each bringing something unique to the salty seas. Ishmael's best friend is Queequeg, an island cannibal who, despite worshiping an idol god named Yojo, boasts impeccable character and remarkable courage. Such a heroic depiction of a heathen "savage" was quite controversial for Melville's time. Queequeg also pitches a wicked good harpoon, making him indispensable during the hunt. Tashtego is an American Indian with enviable sailing skills and a pirate's taste for rum. Daggoo is a gigantic African of imposing strength and stature. Pip is the cabin boy who turns prophetic Shakespearean fool after falling overboard and being left behind in the desolate, unforgiving ocean. And Trixie is the hooker with a heart of gold. Oh, wait, that's a completely different "Moby-Dick." Never mind.

Much of the Pequod's duties are delegated to its three mates, Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask. Starbuck, the first mate and eventual coffee tycoon, is a devoutly religious man, who acts as a calming influence on the perilous journey. Stubb and Flask are both far more easygoing, each providing brief moments of comedic relief. All three share one common quality: a fierce loyalty to their leader, Captain Ahab.

Yes, even though he doesn't appear until a good 130 pages into the novel, Captain Ahab is definitely the star of the show. A grizzled old whaler, Ahab is obsessed with destroying Moby- Dick, a fearsome leviathan that conquered Ahab in their previous meeting, ransacking his boats and devouring his right leg. With an ivory limb carved from the jawbone of a sperm whale as a constant reminder of his failure, Ahab burns with vengeance, entirely consumed in his quest for blood.

The Pequod's crew believes its embarking on a standard commercial whaling expedition. It's not until the ship is already at sea that Ahab reveals his true intentions, dedicating everyone on board to the single-minded pursuit of his mortal enemy. At first, the crew is taken aback, but Ahab's passionate exhortations soon win them over. And it certainly doesn't hurt that he pins a gold doubloon to the mast, promising it to the first man who spots Moby-Dick.

Now, finding one particular whale in the vast oceans would seem like a daunting task, but Moby- Dick isn't your typical whale. Not only is he of extraordinary girth and singular disposition, but he's also as white as new-fallen snow. And Ahab ain't no joke when it comes to tracking whales. He'll take "Sperm Whale Migration Patterns" for $500, Alex. It's only a matter of time before the two foes meet. It's destiny, pure and simple. The result of their titanic clash, however, will be left for you, the valued reader, to experience on your own.

Published in 1851, "Moby-Dick" actually marked a downturn in Mr. Melville's literary career. The work was too complex and enigmatic for its time, and its profound depth was lost on the public at large, which had grown accustomed to Mr. Melville's enjoyable little adventure yarns. The poor sales had a dramatic effect on Mr. Melville's finances, eventually costing him his fame, fortune, and very way of life. It wasn't until 1921, some 30 years after his death, that modern critics discovered Mr. Melville's genius, leading many to cite "Moby-Dick" as the greatest novel in American literature.

And make no mistake, "Moby-Dick" is a breathtaking accomplishment. I'm a big fan of Mr. Melville's prose. He's kind of like the literary equivalent of grunge music. Everything he does has incredible weight. It just feels thick and heavy, kind of like molasses poured over a distortion pedal. There are any number of memorable passages, all oozing with the same sparkling viscosity. Few paragraphs have ever moved me as much as the book's opening page, as Ishmael introduces himself and explains his love for the sea.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can."

How good is that? It's enough to make me want to learn how to swim. But there's plenty of substance to go along with that style. If you want philosophy, you've come to the right place. "Moby-Dick" is all about religious and moral ambiguities. This isn't just man vs. nature; it's man vs. God. The whale is God. Much as Moby-Dick marred Ahab, so did God flaw man, bestowing the burden of free will. Ahab isn't merely out for revenge, he's out for truth. He's demanding an answer to the only question... "Why?"

Ahab knows his pursuit is hopeless. He's no match for Moby-Dick. He knows he'll never be able to conquer the monstrous beast, nor fathom its true nature, but he sails on towards certain doom. Every man, woman, and child who takes breath on this planet knows their fate is already sealed, yet they continue. The willingness to soldier on in the face of hopeless odds is what makes us human. No one gets out of life alive. No one. But we continue. We breathe. We love. We live. And, in the end, we face the whale.

The only problem I had with "Moby-Dick" is that it's simply too long. The version I read checks in at 589 pages, comprised of 135 chapters. That's a lot of chapters, kid. I realize a great book is never too long, and a bad book is never too short, but there are parts of "Moby-Dick" that will challenge even a dead man's patience. Personally, I just felt there were a few too many needless discussions of whales and the history of whaling. Ishmael isn't scared to get all tutorial. While some of the information is interesting and goes to setting atmosphere, large chunks of it feel completely indulgent. I guarantee at some point in the course of Ishmael's narrative you'll be screaming, "Hurry up already!" It's not really that those portions of the book are horrible, it's just that they pale in comparison to the sections focusing on Ahab's fevered mania. Every page featuring Ahab crackles with intensity. I'm particularly fond of Chapter 113, "The Forge," in which the crippled captain creates a God-slaying harpoon.

I'm still giving "Moby-Dick" four shots and the highest possible recommendation. This book must be experienced. Read it immediately. But the greatest American novel? Maybe at 400 pages, but not at 589. I'd still put my money on Gatsby.

RATING: