I'm right back in the maritime blood, guts, and obsession with Ahab, Ishmael, Starbuck, Stubb, Flask and Queequeg in
Moby Dick. It must be the ninth or tenth time I've read it and like Tolstoy or Joyce, it gives up a new experience each time. £7.99 for the Penguin Classics Edition in 1988 and I still have it - some value for money.
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For a long read heavily influenced by the styles of Homer, Shakespeare, Milton and the old testament, it's a real tribute to Melville that he keeps the reader gripped throughout the 135 chapters. A true epic.
Meanwhile, I was on a job last month up near Gardiner's Hill and called into the local institution that is McSweeny's shop for a cup of tea. Sat outside, they had a few old books on the table where you sup your beverage. I pulled this one out of the heap, read a few pages and bought it off of Mrs McSweeny for €1. A grand old read - a page-turner with a lot more sophistication than your usual "Cowboy" books. Meyer is no Cormac McCarthy, but this one has me now definitely looking out for his other one - "American Rust"
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