Melville always gets to me. I can only speak for myself, but the pages will start slowly and then build to an all-consuming fire. No, don't disturb me when I have Melville in my hands, for god's sake! Don't talk to me, don't touch me, don't breathe on the book. For when I am reading Melville, I am in the South Seas, and all I can hear are the disgorged waves against the flapping sails.

These are four short masterpieces, ones which I have re-read to get a better feel for the 19th century and the age of clipper ships. The poetic prose just rolls away like whitecaps in the middle of the Pacific.

Book Season = Spring (book passage)

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