Trampling Out the Vintage (Read: Grapes of Wrath)

I finished reading John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath a few weeks ago. I'd intended to write about it a lot sooner, but long hours at work and the usual Holiday Madness torpedoed my good intentions until now.

Plus, the darn thing is just so weighty, I needed some time to think about it.

Spoiler alert: I'm going to talk a little about some plot points in the novel, so if you haven't read it, don't read further unless you mind a little revelation. 


I probably won't add any amazing new insights on The Grapes of Wrath here -- it is one of the most acclaimed and book-reported novels of all time, after all. But there a few things I'd like to talk about in terms of how it impacted me.

First, I think I was surprised by how political the novel was. I know that Steinbeck was a fairly vocal author on the Big Issues of his day, but knowing that and reading that were two different things. The interstitial chapters and their folksy monologues were just about the most damning essays I've ever read on the essential truths of the American way of life. Yet they also seemed --to me at least-- celebrations of the very thing they condemned: the small but deep ways in which Americans show their compassion to their fellow human being or look out for their loved ones. What a tangled web we weave!

Of course, much of the celebration (and criticism) of the book concerns the gloomy picture Steinbeck painted of Depression-era America. Some critics accused him of playing up the bad stuff, and Steinbeck says he underplayed it, not wanting to reveal how truly horrible the Hoovervilles and working conditions in California were at the time. I can say there were definitely parts of the book I didn't want to read because it was just so bleak. I felt like I was in an audience for a horror movie: 

"Turn back, Tom, don't get in the car!"
 or
"Aw Tom, don't talk to that deputy, you know he just wants to rile you up so he can arrest you!"

Ma Joad was the character I most identified with --  hands balled up in my lap, I sat in the cab of the Joad's Hudson Super-Six, just hoping we'd make it across the desert with the family intact. But deep down, I knew it wasn't to be, no matter how many times I told everyone it was going to be okay.

Speaking of the desert -- as usual, Steinbeck nails sense-of-place. I felt the dust under my tattered shoes, in my eyes, choking my lungs. I smelled the gasoline on the highway and the rotting metal of the scrapyard. Held my nose against the stench of the latrines in the camps and the rotting fruit in the orchards. The people they meet along the way are described in the vivid detail I expect from Steinbeck. I truly lived the journey west with the Joads. 

Finally, the image at the end of the book is one of the most talked about images at the end of ANY book -- and I was not expecting it. I'd managed to avoid any spoilers until about a week before when a friend said to me: "all I remember is there were breasts at the end."

Excuse me?!
Of course, it wasn't quite what I'd envisioned...

Rose of Sharon, barely recovered from her miscarriage, breastfeeds a starving man in the ultimate act of human compassion. It's not really clear whether the man lives or dies because of her act -- because the book ends immediately, branding that image indelibly into our minds forever.

Rose of Sharon spends most of the book a (somewhat understandably) selfish ass, so her sudden turn of compassion to me felt at first more like the author's hand than anything motivated by her growth as a human being. The scene would be perfect on a poster for the Socialist Party or in the editorial pages. (Perhaps it has been used in both places?)

Steinbeck and I probably share some of the same socio-political views, but the image felt a little forced to me -- a sudden collision between the interstitial essays and the main narrative -- or a superimposition of the final title card as the credits roll. It didn't help that I was on a marathon read at 3am, determined not to sleep until I read the final chapters and learned the final fate of the Joads.

Of course, we never do learn what happens next. They are transfigured into powerful symbols of progress and hope as John Steinbeck saw them. And as I wonder what further roads they traveled after Rose of Sharon's compassionate act, that final image has remained with me. That's what you hope for when you sit down to read a book.

The Joad Less Traveled (Reading: The Grapes of Wrath)

Here I am, untold years out of high school and finally getting around to reading The Grapes of Wrath. (Sorry for the pun in the title. I just couldn't resist.)

It's been high on my "to read" list for quite some time, but kept dropping to the perpetual back of the line like some Jean Claude Van Damme movie on my Netflix Queue everytime something new came along. And in case you think I'm a total jerk for comparing one of the Greatest Novels Ever Written to JCVD,  I should point out that my favorite book is East of Eden. (I don't know whether that absolves my sin or compounds it...)

I just started reading, so I don't have a lot of well-formed opinions on the novel yet -- other than as usual, Steinbeck does a wonderful job of evoking character through place. Few worlds are as vivid to me as Dust Bowl Oklahoma or Salinas, CA during the early 20th Century thanks to his masterful prose. I also appreciate the way Steinbeck warms up to a good story, and brings the reader in at the speed of a fierce summer afternoon and a down-home drawl. Which is to say -- he takes his time to unfold his tales. I think it's a style I have unconsciously emulated as I've explored my own worlds; though I'm aware it isn't a popular style these days. Slow beginnings are a tough inclination to fight. 

One of the other things that appeals to me about Grapes of Wrath is the promise of another great "Road Story." Some people love the hijinx of Capers. Others, the dark excitement of Thrillers. Or the War story. Me? I love being out on the Road.

It's a pretty basic conceit to take characters from their literal happy places and thrust them out into the wilderness, but it's one that resonates strongly with me. The mystery, danger, and opportunity that lurks upon the Dark Path Through the Wood promises untold excitement. The desolate road that snakes across the sun-baked desert strips the characters down to their core -- purifying them for the final test as surely as any sweat-lodge or baptism.

I moved around several times when I was growing up, and each move began with an equal measure of dread and excitement. Good-bye to old friends. What would the new place be like? Who would I meet? What would I see?

Summer vacations to the relatives always involved extended car trips as well. Plenty of time to gaze out the window and wonder "who lives in that house? what's the view like over that next mountain ridge? what's down that dark side-road we just drove past?"

It's a big topic, and one I'll explore more in other blogs, and probably even more so, in my fiction. In the meantime, though, here's a few Road Stories I've read and loved, and a few more I want to read. These are random samplings, and probably reveal some startling gaps in my literary education. Anyone have other suggestions?

Have Read:

The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (the ultimate fantasy road trip, even though the quest genre doesn't quite grab me like it used to)

Gentlemen of the Road: A Tale of Adventure, by Michael Chabon (a perfect homage to the old road/buddy genre with wonderful illustrations by Gary Gianni)

Moby Dick, By Herman Melville (Another classic. though the roads are a little wetter!)

Bridge of Birds, by Barry Hughart (the first of the wonderful chronicles of Master Li and Number Ten Ox)

Parable of the Sower, by Octavia Butler (haunting. it hit me in the gut.)

Have Yet to Read (some obvious ones here):


The Road, by Cormac McCarthy (is that too obvious?)

On the Road, by Jack Kerouac (even more obvious)

The Stand, by Stephen King (I have a feeling I'd love this one)

The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart, by Jesse Bullington.  (newly released and sounds like it's right up my alley)

Bonus! (one of my favorite Road Pics):

Duel, directed by Steven Spielberg (and written by Richard Matheson. I musta watched this movie a million times growing up)

Woefully incomplete lists on all counts, but the Road goes ever, ever on...