Michael Strelow shook the very ground I walk on. Proposed that the original manuscript for Moby Dick, lost for countless years had resurfaced. What a find that would be. Discovered tucked away in an old house by a young man, Arvin Kraft. A sad young man. Undeserved contempt had been leveled at him throughout his God forsaken life. Shared an up close and personal relationship with abandonment. All based solely on his being just a little slow. Not retarded - a slow thinker. Slow reactor. Sad. This character-driven narrative guided me through the sorrowful failings of a family that seemed to find pleasure from discarding one of its own. This well-written storyline of blatant deceit concluded with a brilliant metaphor that danced in the dark with the ghost ship - Pequod.

No other family members knew that youngest brother Arvin spent considerable time sandwiched between the walls of their ancient home. His home away from home. His sanctuary. The only place where he could take refuge to escape his family's disdain. Free to covertly slither throughout the house and eavesdrop on conversations. One day, quite by accident, he discovered the original manuscript for the classic Moby Dick hidden deep inside the wall. At the time, its value to him, to the world - unknown.

To Arvin, the hidden treasure represented a new life. A new beginning. Anywhere else would do just so long as it took him away from his daily abuse. The further, the better. Knew he'd never be missed. Better to be alone than treated like a contagious disease. All he ever wanted was to be accepted. My stomach ached for him. Little did he know that its discovery would lead down a darkened road to a path of ruin. With a vengeance, the quest of fortune and fame had reared its ugly head with razor sharp fangs. For Arvin, it was too late to turn back. Wherever it took him, no matter what, he had to see his journey through.