The Condensed Moby Dick: Abridged for the Modern Reader
()
About this ebook
Moby Dick is one of the greatest American novels ever wrote. If you've always wanted to read the classic, but just don't have the time, this abridged version can help. At just 20,000 words long, this version of the classic novel will let you read Melville's classic in just hours, and provide you with an excellent overview of the enti
Herman Melville
Herman Melville was an American novelist, essayist, short story writer and poet. His most notable work, Moby Dick, is regarded as a masterpiece of American literature.
Read more from Herman Melville
Moby Dick (Complete Unabridged Edition) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Consulting Interview Case Preparation: Frameworks and Practice Cases Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGreat Short Works of Herman Melville Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Greatest American Short Stories: 50+ Classics of American Literature Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSketch-Books - The Collection Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Moby Dick Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Melville Herman: The Complete works (Oregan Classics) (The Greatest Writers of All Time) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Happy Failure: Stories Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Paradise of Bachelors and The Tartarus of Maids Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Billy Budd, Bartleby, and Other Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Divine Magnet: Herman Melville's Letters to Nathaniel Hawthorne Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Condensed Moby Dick: Abridged for the Modern Reader Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMoby Dick - classic Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAmerican Classics (Omnibus Edition) (Diversion Classics) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to The Condensed Moby Dick
Related ebooks
Moby Dick Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Condensed Moby Dick: Abridged for the Modern Reader Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNightbirds on Nantucket Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Doctor Dolittle's Circus Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wonder Confronts Certainty: Russian Writers on the Timeless Questions and Why Their Answers Matter Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsOliver Twist Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Christmas Carol Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Interrogative Mood: A Novel? Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsCharles Dickens Christmas Stories Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Secret Garden Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWhite Fang Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsOdyssey: Young Charles Darwin, The Beagle, and The Voyage that Changed the World Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGreat Stories by Chekhov Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Wonder Book and Tanglewood Tales for Girls and Boys Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Kidnapped Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Gulliver's travels Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Aeschylus I: The Persians, The Seven Against Thebes, The Suppliant Maidens, Prometheus Bound Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Red-Headed League Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Treasure Island Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne (The Girl, the Dog and the Writer, #3) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsJack London The Dover Reader Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Moon and Sixpence Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Passage to India Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGreat Expectations Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPeter Pan Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Sea Stories Fiction For You
Life of Pi: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Tress of the Emerald Sea: Secret Projects, #1 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Don Quixote Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Pod: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi: A new fantasy series set a thousand years before The City of Brass Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Old Man and the Sea: The Hemingway Library Edition Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5We, the Drowned Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Island: A heart-stopping psychological thriller that will keep you hooked Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Good Shepherd Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5My Oxford Year: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Wreck of the Titan Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Daughter In Law: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist you won't see coming Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Blue Descent: Dane Maddock Adventures, #1 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Titanic's Last Secret Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5King of Libertines Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cinnamon and Gunpowder: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Deep Black Sea Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Open Boat Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsEast Coast Girls: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Stuck On You: The perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from bestseller Portia MacIntosh Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Ghost Trap Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5They Drown Our Daughters Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Benito Cereno Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for The Condensed Moby Dick
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
The Condensed Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Chapter 1
Loomings
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.
Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger.
No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. But what of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks?
But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago.
I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
My mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me.
Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold and cheerless. I knew no one in the place.
With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of The Crossed Harpoons
—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. By instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns.
At last I came to a dim sort of light not far from the docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words underneath—The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.
Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connection, thought I. But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this Peter here is an emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.
Upon entering the place I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full—not a bed unoccupied. But avast,
he added, tapping his forehead, you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer's blanket, have ye? I s'pose you are goin' a-whalin', so you'd better get used to that sort of thing.
I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man's blanket.
I thought so. All right; take a seat. Supper?—you want supper? Supper'll be ready directly.
The fare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! One young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner.
Landlord,
I whispered, that ain't the harpooneer is it?
Oh, no,
said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, the harpooneer is a dark complexioned chap. He never eats dumplings, he don't—he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes 'em rare.
The devil he does,
says I. "Where is