Most deliciously and entirely excellent, none better
Embellished and imbued with light yet piercing thought, and rolling in the opiate waves where all things man wants most swim fated never to be caught, you catch sight of moby dick just before it disappears--a wondrous marvel, a collection of prose poems pounding out with brilliant sparks some chain of eerily, obscurely, indisputably connected (with much a symbol and a never-prior-scented smell from lands close and unexpected that will never bear a human foot) themes and necklaced on a plot that through a whirlwind to a whirlpool runs through words that flex like honey, pound like guns, challenging as bravely as words have ever dared the whiteness that all words abhor and where, no matter what a quantity of brilliance mad captain melville spends, all words and (hark, you critics!), words about words meet their end! and it'll turn your conversations with your friends into this for a long time after you read it: "arr! come over here, mate. hast seen the whale?" "what?" "lo--listen close, now, 'what?' is all he says! now hear this, sailor, art thou the dust that settles in the shadow of an ape? what ears hast thou been lent by long and crude progressions of a wretched birth? has ever man spoken more clearly than in the plain and english syllables i have cast thy way? to the pleasant and monotonous heavens i declare again: hast seen the whale?" he he he.