East of Eden by John Steinbeck

My northern California sojourn became even more valuable to me as I read the opening passages of East of Eden. Steinbeck euphorically enumerates the flora of the Salinas Valley: “The tules and grasses . . . lupins and poppies . . . black-centered yellow violets . . . red and yellow stands of Indian paintbrush . . . live oaks . . . five-fingered ferns.” I could see his description because I had seen all of these in real life. One line I took especially as my own: “When June came, the grasses headed out and turned brown, and the hills turned a brown which was not brown but a gold and saffron and red—an indescribable color.” I was with him in the indescribability.

Steinbeck traces the major events of the lives of multiple families that populated the Salinas Valley in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The novel culminates in a fascinating reprisal of the story of Cain and Abel, carrying the metaphorical implications that the title promises.

I’ve read some Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men and The Red Pony, and I could appreciate him, but not to the point that I ever thought I’d actually get around to this one. But it really must be his greatest novel. I was captivated from the beginning. The narrative spans so much so skillfully and expansively. Steinbeck’s characterizations are deep and acute. His enraptured descriptions continue, fleshing out a rooted affinity for his native area that encompasses both its virtues and faults with a steady novelist’s eye. And it was here that I came across the first Steinbeck passage that I’ve ever wanted to copy down and share with anyone who will read it. I'll post it tomorrow.