Two men, one young and the other old, came out of the tent. They welcomed the writer and invited him to breakfast. They looked very happy and contented with their lot. They said they were happy because they had got a cotton-picking job. They had been working in the cotton fields for the past twelve days. As they sat down to breakfast they told the writer how happy they were with their honest labor.
They offered the writer a job in the cotton fields. He was deeply impressed by the simple, honest living and hospitality of cotton-pickers. The sudden meeting with the simple, honest family of cotton pickers became an everlasting sweet memory for the writer. It was a surprise for him because he did not know that such sincere and hospitable people existed in this society. The nice behavior and devout faith of these poor uneducated people impressed him.
They greeted the writer and invited him to breakfast. They told him how happy they were because they had a job to do and enough to eat. Before breakfast they thanked God for His blessings and prayed to him for further blessings. Note: Many of us have a myth in our heads that once we have made the choice of a profession, we will remain forever in it. It is possible and necessary to change the nature of its activities.
Quipped New York Times critic Lewis Gannett, there is, in Sea of Cortez, more "of the whole man, John Steinbeck, than any of his novels": Steinbeck the keen observer of life, Steinbeck the scientist, the seeker of truth, the historian and journalist, the writer. Steinbeck was determined to participate in the war effort, first doing patriotic work The Moon Is Down, , a play-novelette about an occupied Northern European country, and Bombs Away, , a portrait of bomber trainees and then going overseas for the New York Herald Tribune as a war correspondent.
In his war dispatches he wrote about the neglected corners of war that many journalists missed - life at a British bomber station, the allure of Bob Hope, the song "Lili Marlene," and a diversionary mission off the Italian coast. These columns were later collected in Once There Was a War Immediately after returning to the States, a shattered Steinbeck wrote a nostalgic and lively account of his days on Cannery Row, Cannery Row In , however, few reviewers recognized that the book's central metaphor, the tide pool, suggested a way to read this non-teleological novel that examined the "specimens" who lived on Monterey's Cannery Row, the street Steinbeck knew so well.
Steinbeck often felt misunderstood by book reviewers and critics, and their barbs rankled the sensitive writer, and would throughout his career. A book resulting from a post-war trip to the Soviet Union with Robert Capa in , A Russian Journal , seemed to many superficial. Reviewers seemed doggedly either to misunderstand his biological naturalism or to expect him to compose another strident social critique like The Grapes of Wrath.
Commonplace phrases echoed in reviews of books of the s and other "experimental" books of the s and s: "complete departure," "unexpected. Reviews noted this as another slim volume by a major author of whom more was expected. The Wayward Bus , a "cosmic Bus," sputtered as well. Steinbeck faltered both professionally and personally in the s.
He divorced the loyal but volatile Carol in That same year he moved east with his second wife, Gwyndolen Conger, a lovely and talented woman nearly twenty years his junior who ultimately came to resent his growing stature and feel that her own creativity - she was a singer - had been stifled. With Gwyn, Steinbeck had two sons, Thom and John, but the marriage started falling apart shortly after the second son's birth, ending in divorce in That same year Steinbeck was numbed by Ed Ricketts's death.
In he met and in married his third wife, Elaine Scott, and with her he moved again to New York City, where he lived for the rest of his life.
Much of the pain and reconciliation of those late years of the s were worked out in two subsequent novels: his third play-novelette Burning Bright , a boldly experimental parable about a man's acceptance of his wife's child fathered by another man, and in the largely autobiographical work he'd contemplated since the early s, East of Eden Always I had this book waiting to be written.
The detached perspective of the scientist gives way to a certain warmth; the ubiquitous "self-character" that he claimed appeared in all his novels to comment and observe is modeled less on Ed Ricketts, more on John Steinbeck himself.
Certainly with his divorce from Gwyn, Steinbeck had endured dark nights of the soul, and East of Eden contains those turbulent emotions surrounding the subject of wife, children, family, and fatherhood.
And I shall keep these two separate. During the s and s the perpetually "restless" Steinbeck traveled extensively throughout the world with his third wife, Elaine. With her, he became more social. Perhaps his writing suffered as a result; some claim that even East of Eden, his most ambitious post-Grapes novel, cannot stand shoulder to shoulder with his searing social novels of the s.
In the fiction of his last two decades, however, Steinbeck never ceased to take risks, to stretch his conception of the novel's structure, to experiment with the sound and form of language. Sweet Thursday, sequel to Cannery Row, was written as a musical comedy that would resolve Ed Ricketts's loneliness by sending him off into the sunset with a true love, Suzy, a whore with a gilded heart.
The musical version by Rodgers and Hammerstein, Pipe Dream , was one of the team's few failures. And in , he published his last work of fiction, the ambitious The Winter of Our Discontent, a novel about contemporary America set in a fictionalized Sag Harbor where he and Elaine had a summer home.
Increasingly disillusioned with American greed, waste, and spongy morality - his own sons seemed textbook cases - he wrote his jeremiad, a lament for an ailing populace. But the writer John Steinbeck was not silenced. As always, he wrote reams of letters to his many friends and associates.
In the s and s he published scores of journalistic pieces: "Making of a New Yorker," "I Go Back to Ireland," columns about the national political conventions, and "Letters to Alicia," a controversial series about a White House-approved trip to Vietnam where his sons were stationed.
In the late s — and intermittently for the rest of his life — he worked diligently on a modern English translation of a book he had loved since childhood, Sir Thomas Malory's Morte d'Arthur; the unfinished project was published posthumously as The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights Immediately after completing Winter , the ailing novelist proposed "not a little trip of reporting," he wrote to his agent Elizabeth Otis, "but a frantic last attempt to save my life and the integrity of my creativity pulse.
His disenchantment with American waste, greed, immorality and racism ran deep. His last published book, America and Americans , reconsiders the American character, the land, the racial crisis, and the seemingly crumbling morality of the American people.
In these late years, in fact since his final move to New York in , many accused John Steinbeck of increasing conservatism. True enough that with greater wealth came the chance to spend money more freely. And with status came political opportunities that seemed out of step for a "radical" of the s: he initially defended Lyndon Johnson's views on the war with Vietnam dying before he could, as he wished, qualify his initial responses.
And true enough that the man who spent a lifetime "whipping" his sluggard will read Working Days: The Journals of "The Grapes of Wrath" [] for biting testimony of the struggle felt intolerance for s protesters whose zeal, in his eyes, was unfocused and whose anger was explosive, not turned to creative solutions. But it is far more accurate to say that the author who wrote The Grapes of Wrath never retreated into conservatism.
He lived in modest houses all his life, caring little for lavish displays of power or wealth. He always preferred talking to ordinary citizens wherever he traveled, sympathizing always with the disenfranchised.
He was a Stevenson Democrat in the s. Even in the s, he was never a communist, and after three trips to Russia , , he hated with increasing intensity Soviet repression of the individual. In fact, neither during his life nor after has the paradoxical Steinbeck been an easy author to pigeonhole personally, politically, or artistically.
As a man, he was an introvert and at the same time had a romantic streak, was impulsive, garrulous, a lover of jests and word play and practical jokes. As an artist, he was a ceaseless experimenter with words and form, and often critics did not "see" quite what he was up to. He claimed his books had "layers," yet many claimed his symbolic touch was cumbersome.
He loved humor and warmth, but some said he slopped over into sentimentalism. He was, and is now recognized as, an environmental writer.
He was an intellectual, passionately interested in his odd little inventions, in jazz, in politics, in philosophy, history, and myth - this range from an author sometimes labeled simplistic by academe. All said, Steinbeck remains one of America's most significant twentieth-century writers, whose popularity spans the world, whose range is impressive, whose output was prodigious: 16 novels, a collection of short stories, four screenplays The Forgotten Village, The Red Pony, Viva Zapata!
Whatever his "experiment" in fiction or journalistic prose, he wrote with empathy, clarity, perspicuity: "In every bit of honest writing in the world," he noted in a journal entry, " Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. Stanford University link is external. John Steinbeck, American Writer.
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