Steinbeck & the Art of Words

I’ve made it a personal mission (don’t hold me to this) to read my way through the top 100 classic novels…you know: Atlas Shrugged, 1984, Ulysses, To Kill a Mockingbird, etc. Like everyone else, I had to read many of these works while in school, but some of them have eluded me for whatever reasons — mostly laziness, I suppose. I think its somewhat of a social obligation to know these crucial, culturally-relevant works, so I’m playing a bit of catch-up. I decided that my first undertaking should be one that would hold my attention, so I chose East of Eden (Steinbeck, 1952.) John Steinbeck is one of my favorite writers because of his frank, accessible voice. (Read Cannery Row , I adore it.) He can say so much in the simplest line; with a handful of purposeful words, diction and syntax he finds the pulse of a poem. Too often we are bombarded with so many words that the intent becomes contrived or lost all together; not here.

East of Eden is one of the major, superstar classics that I never picked up. Last night I cracked it open and it starts out with a stunning dedication to Steinbeck’s friend and agent, Pascal Covici (aka, Pat.) I found it so simple and touching that I had to share it here:

Dear Pat,
You came upon me carving some kind of little figure out of wood and you said, “Why don’t you make something for me?”
I asked you what you wanted and you said, “A box.”
“What for?”
“To put things in.”
“What things?”
“Whatever you have,” you said.
Well, here is your box. Nearly everything I have is in it and it is not full. Pain and excitement are in it and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and good thoughts - the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation.
And on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you.
And still, the box is not full.

John