Oh, I’ve read most of his books (I’m pretty sure only the lengthy East of Eden is unread by me). What I mean to say is that I don’t remember sitting in a classroom or library or whatever and thinking, “I’m going to read John Steinbeck.”
My reading of Steinbeck likely started with an excerpt from The Red Pony, as I clearly remember thinking it was particularly gruesome that the poor pony died and was being eaten by buzzards when the boy who owned him found him.
Moralistically, I’m certain I know why this book was included in the anthologies we read in elementary school: Take care of what you own and listen to those wiser than you. And maybe that was Steinbeck’s intention when he wrote that particular tale.
Now that I’ve read what is likely my first bit of Steinbeck commentary and criticism, in the form of Stephen George’s “John Steinbeck: A Centennial Tribute,” I understand a bit more of why Steinbeck wrote as he did.
His wife Elaine summed it up nicely for me:
John believed in man. That’s what his Nobel Prize speech says. He said, “You believe in the perfectibility of man. Man will never be perfect, but he has to strive for it.” That’s the whole point. That was religious. He didn’t believe in any church creeds, but he said to me when he was dying,” Don’t you let a bunch of people get together and tell yarns about me. Make sure it’s the Episcopal burial service.” And I said to him, “Do you believe?” And he said “I’m like Socrates before he drank the hemlock: I don’t know if there are gods or not, but in case there are . . . “
The more I reflect on what I’ve read of Steinbeck, the more I agree what Elaine Steinbeck says here is true. He wrote about Man with the capital M, while concentrating on the little stories that, to mankind, to government, to the media, to man’s neighbors, mean little or nothing. And by that he pointed out the imperfectability of Man.
I believe Steinbeck stands with two other authors – Mark Twain and Sinclair Lewis – and to a lesser extent, humorist James Thurber, as the authors who best capture America. I won’t say at its best or at its worst, because all of these writers focus on the good and bad, but whether it’s best or worts I don’t care to comment. What all have in common is their ability to look at the man vs Man, and see how the man – George Babbitt, Tom Sawyer, Tom Joad, or Walter Mitty – fit into the mold of an American man, or into a mold of America itself. Some of these men are treated poorly by America. Some of them treat America poorly. Some are wise. Some are innocent. Some are selfish. But all are Man in the big sense of the world, trying to figure out how to fit into it or make it fit them, for better or for worse. That’s where I can use that phrase.
If you’re curious about Steinbeck, or already know him, I can’t recommend George’s book enough. It’s got touching tributes, and scholarship – even criticism, all in about 190 pages.
And there's also this:
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