And Now for a Much Deserved Moment of Insanity

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After finishing with Fitzhugh, I'm going to need a bath. I chose a return to the waters of Melville for Moby Dick. I know the reading list doesn't quite make sense, but believe or not, it's all still tied to slavery, the Civil War and a bound society.

Anyway I downloaded Moby Dick today (for free!) and re-read the opening paragraph. Somehow, some way, I forgot the beauty of the opening paragraph:

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago -- never mind how long precisely -- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. 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. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

This is the greatest paragraph in any work of fiction, at any point, in all of history. And not just human history, but galactic and extra-terrestrial history too. 

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation.

Melville disrupts Romulans! 

Whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul..

Melville blinds Uatu!

Whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet...

Melville is brief with Galactus, and leaves him nameless! 

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

Melville eats Klingons like part of a complete breakfast!!

Melville! Melville! Melville!!!!

Do not come to me with your drab and sorry works which I have not read. Melville desecrates their temples, steals their horses, and howls among the lamentation!

Do not come to me with your lectures on the tyranny of Dead, Straight White Male Writers. They're great! I love them all! Even Henry James's boring-ass!! 

This is my substitute for pistol and ball...

Damn right. Melville! Melville! Melville!!!!
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Ta-Nehisi Coates is a national correspondent at The Atlantic, where he writes about culture, politics, and social issues. He is the author of the memoir The Beautiful Struggle.

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