ode to john steinbeck

In the year 1997 I bought many used books. At one point, I was reading four books at a time, spending at least three hours a day soaking in the written word. I was reading Homer, Plato, Calvin, Lewis, Tolkien, Salinger, and I was doing my best to get into modern classics. Many of the books I bought went straight to the shelf never to be cracked open again. Well, that isn't entirely true, I did try most of them - Ayn Rand, Norse myths, Henderson the Rain King, Lucretius, Crime and Punishment, Robert Graves, Rabelais, The Song of Roland, A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, etc. but lost interest fast. Many Classics and Modern Classics didn't cut the mustard for the sophisticated tastes of George Edema. Eventually, I burned out.

But...

I remember standing in the Book House one day, in the literature section, wondering if I ought to give ol' John Steinbeck a try. I looked for a short one, but not too short, and found one called The Wayward Bus that looked like a winner. At that time, and still to an extent even today, I had a prejudice against any author we were forced to read in high school. These author's, by virtue of their canonicity in the mainstream American education world, were resigned to a reputation of stuffy, boringness. The "goodness" of these works was a standard of "goodness" we were inadvertently taught not to share in the attempt to have us share it. It is a sad thing that so often our educators and the culture of education take the joy out of discovery. The point being, I was skeptical of Steinbeck, and I certainly wasn't going to read one of his well known books.

The Wayward Bus was great. One of the more interesting, entertaining, and artistically inspiring books I had read. It was full of life, and also full of darkness. I have since often described Steinbeck's gift as illuminating the glory of humanity and its depravity at the same time.

I thought I had gotten lucky, that I had stumbled upon a hidden treasure of literature gold. I didn't give the credit to Steinbeck, but rather to my accidental selection of his one truly great achievement. A couple of years later I thought I'd try my luck again and selected another short one called Tortilla Flat. six chapters in I thought I had a dud on my hands. But the chapters were short so it made it easier to go a little further. I'm glad I did. I was so excited about this story that I downloaded a trial version of screen writing software and tried to write a movie script for it. I discovered that writing a movie script is not fun. But I still think it would make a great movie and maybe I'll try again some day (incidentally it was made into a movie back in the 50s or 60s but it isn't anything close to what the book is about).

After this I began to think that maybe John Steinbeck was a master. Maybe he had gotten an unfair shake by being canonized and thereby alienating all the folks that would truly appreciate his genius. Maybe Steinbeck should have gotten his books banned like Salinger and won the true following he deserved. So the next year I tried again. This time it was The Winter of Our Discontent - another winner. Then the next year it was Pastures of Heaven - maybe my favorite book ever. Then Cannery Row - brilliant. Then I finally decided to try a truly famous one. Often described as his masterwork, and weighing in at 600 pages, East of Eden was up to bat. It was very good, and there is much that sticks with me, scenes and characters that stay fresh in my mind. But it wasn't as good as some of his others in my opinion.

On Wednesday I bought a two-in-one book with The Pearl and The Red Pony in it. I finished the Pearl yesterday (it is only 90 pages). It is a downer, in the same way many of his books are, but this one was more downerish. But what a great story. This dude can weave a story and pack it full of rich insight, humor, beauty, and sadness. Every time I read one of his books I am both inspired to write in the footsteps of the master and shamed into not writing because his footsteps are so large.

Why in the world am I posting this? you ask. For one, when you see or experience something truly good and beautiful you must name it. So, John Steinbeck, I name you and your art beautiful. Two, I hope to convince some that the dry and lifeless Steinbeck portrayed in the cold halls of our secondary educations is an unfortunate misplacement of his reputation. His guilt by association with the world of the irrelevant thought-controllers and his subsequent banishment into the halls of honor that are best described by Mark Twain as "something that everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read," is a tragic injustice. And three, to recommend his works to those, in particular, who like literature that makes you see the world differently. Steinbeck opens eyes to the beauty of the destitute, the broken, the impoverished, the simple. He glorifies the smallest of missions and motivations. And he exposes the darkness of the heart - the simple thoughts and decisions that can destroy worlds and murder families. He makes you love the powerless and see the danger of even the smallest share of power. And he does it all with engaging and masterful artistry.

If you are new to John Steinbeck I'd suggest...

Good starter books
Cannery Row
Tortilla Flat

If you are a frequent novel reader these should treat you right
East of Eden
The Winter of Our Discontent

For those who like something more sophisticated
Pastures of Heaven
The Wayward Bus
The Pearl

Obvious classics, but I haven't read them yet
Of Mice and Men
The Grapes of Wrath