The reason most people don't talk about what the book is about is because it doesn't matter what the book is about. It is not supposed to make you think. The whole book is a sensory experience. It was grand and irresponsible and tragic and it made my entire life feel fake. That is a massive feat. This piece of fiction made my real life seem fake.
While I was sitting around thinking very seriously about whether or not I should peruse a masters degree, the people in this book were actually living. I did my nails and pondered taking a nap while the people in this book made mistakes and had regrets and never forget this moment until they died. My life is nothing in comparison, or perhaps it is. Perhaps even the smallest things make my life real. I don't know.
What a piece of art. I feel as though my ability to review this is limited by my failure to be an expert in literature. (Disclaimer: I'm not a literary expert). Cannery Row was a fishing community with people from all walks of life. While some people sat by the bar wondering what sort of hijinks his friends are getting him into, a child fails to understand grief over this father's suicide. And its not such a big deal. The moments of extreme happiness were punctuated by overtly simple tragedy.
All the characters had their moments. Even though Doc tolerated everyone so much, he still punched Mack when he was angry. Mack wasn't responsible enough to see through his actions, but he knew when he deserved a punch in the face. Eddie tap danced in the office alone because he was so excited about the party. The dog got tired of peeing on the floor and house broke himself. It was those little moments that built up a life.
I can't make any grand statements about recommending this book. All people could either read it or not read it. You would come away with something, though. People that read these stories share a collective history and reminisce in the same way. Reading Steinbeck is like remembering that you are apart of a family and a community where every person matters.
Other Notes
Everyone who found out I was reading Cannery Row this week asked me if I've been to the Steinbeck Museum up near Monterey. I think its odd that people are so interested in the real lives of authors. I personally am not. I figure that even if I met Steinbeck himself I wouldn't get the awe and grandeur of reading one of his novels. Certainly I wouldn't get this elated romanticism from looking at his desk. A novel is a condensed version of all the wonderful thoughts that authors have to contribute. And that's good enough for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment