Herman Melville's novel "The Whale" (renamed "Moby-Dick" for its American release) was published in London 163 years ago on October 18, 1851. The book has always stubbornly defied classification. In places, it is a dry catalogue of contemporary zoological knowledge; in others, an epic exploration of topics no less vexing than the nature of good and evil, the existence of God, and the encroachment of madness. One scholarly observation notes that the only constant in the odd seafaring book is its skillful use of language: "nautical, biblical, Homeric, Shakespearean, Miltonic, cetological, alliterative, fanciful, colloquial, archaic, and unceasingly allusive.”

Regarded today as one of the English language's crowning novels, "Moby-Dick" was a failure during Melville's life. He only saw 3,200 copies sold, and the book was out of print when he died in 1891. The book's reputation only recovered in the 20th century, when Melville's eclectic style found more sympathy. After World War I, faith in the old consensus was shaken and artists were more willing to experiment with unorthodox approaches, which fit the long dead Melville perfectly. Today any serious discussion of contenders for "Great American Novel" has to mention Melville's strange volume.

Ahab's quest to slay the white whale is dramatic enough to have been adapted into a handful of movies (most notably with John Huston in 1956), but film isn't well suited to capturing the madness of a man who believes that all the world's evil from Adam's sin on lives in a whale's hump…and comes close to making a convincing case. Simply put, this story was made to be read. Make time for it one day if you haven't already.

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