I began reading Moby Dick seven times before I ever finished it. When I finally turned the last page, I felt like I’d accomplished something grand. It seemed important, and I somehow wanted people to know about it. I called my mother and my old college roommate and my brother who once vacationed in Massachusetts. I found ways to bring up whaling at parties, just so I could say, “Why, yes, actually, I have read Moby Dick.” Oh, my hardcover copy still sits on my coffee table.