|
Comment on this
article
East of Eden
by Julia Callahan
I feel like there are these certain books that we look at and hem
and haw over because we know that we are supposed to read them, but
don't want to really delve into them. Maybe they're classics, so
they've been built up over time. Maybe they're long and we don't want
to do that to ourselves at the moment. Maybe we just don't want to read
them, even though we, as seasoned readers, feel an obligation to read
them to be 'well read.'
I felt all of this, and more, about reading East of Eden.
I grew up extremely close to Salinas, California, and John Steinbeck is
a kind of legend, a hero of the central coast whose descriptions of the
mountains and valleys and rivers and farmland is still unparalleled by
any other writer. To me, Steinbeck always felt like a burden. We were
forced to read his books in school, making our way through The Pearl and The Red Pony, Of Mice and Men and The Grapes of Wrath. I hated him in a way it's only possible for a school-age child to hate an author that they are forced to read.
A few years ago I went on a road trip from L.A. to Seattle. I had recently re-read The Grapes of Wrath and loved it and had decided to give the tome that is East of Eden
another go. My grandmother had been trying to get me to read this book
for years, declaring it the best book about my homeland that I could
ever hope to get my hands on. She'd given me an old worn copy years ago
that had sat, untouched on my bookshelf as I made my way through high
school and then college.
But finally, as I delved into the first chapter of East of Eden,
I saw it. I saw the mountains and valleys, the rivers and farmlands of
my youth vividly in my head. And as I got into the meat of the story, I
fell in love with each and every character. Despite their flaws and
their misgivings, their successes and failures, I loved them deeply.
From the mother turned madame, to the cold, distant father, and the
sons forced to commit the sins of the father again and again for all
time, East of Eden finally
brought Steinbeck to me. Once and for all, he was my writer, writing of
my home. And though he is just as powerful and just as eloquent whether
or not you've visited the much changed Salinas Valley or have only had
a look around in your mind, East of Eden was worth digging through the indifference of the classic because I found the perfect novel.
Return to:
|