Near the beginning of Tim Severin's account of his search for a great white whale, he tells the story of a marine biologist who joined a 1980 expedition of his to spot whales. Riding in a bosun's chair high up on the mast of an Arab sailing vessel, the biologist scanned the ocean with binoculars. He spotted whales--

"but not nearly as many as did two members of the crew far below him on the deck. Again and again one or other would call up to the masthead and draw the lookout's attention to a whale he had not yet noticed ... When the time came for him to leave the ship ... he confessed with a wry smile that the one thing he had really learned was [to] be more sceptical of the observations of marine biologists."

Severin's search takes him around the Pacific and particularly to the Marquesas, where the technique of hunting whales by hand armed only with home-made bill- hooks has not yet been entirely forgotten. Conversations with old whalers bring him closer to true whale lore than any biological treatise. Not that Severin is interested in scoring cheap points. Rather, In Search of Moby Dick is an eloquent demonstration of how much valuable knowledge is locked up in the practices and stories of indigenous people--working people whose very lives and livelihoods, after all, depend upon it.

Melville's Moby Dick was fashioned from the stories and reports of whalers of his day. Severin begins his own hunt in the belief that there is no smoke without fire. He is not disappointed. --Simon Ings