Steinbeck
Ever since I have begun my surge of family history work, I have been kicking myself in the pants for not utilizing my time with my Grandmother Ellsworth when I had the chance. She is 93 years old and lives half of the year in Oregon with my Aunt Beth's family and half the year with my parents in Logan. This arrangement started when I was a Senior in high school and I would rush in and out of the house, barely asking her how her day was, while she sat there smiling with a treasure of knowledge and experiences that I am now dying to record. I wish I had taken the time to sit and visit with her more and I am praying for more time to finish her history before her time is up on this earth.
The more I realize how much could be lost if we do not get her memories written down, the more concerned I become about not only recording my own history, but ensuring everyone in my family does as well. Which leads me to what I really wanted to write about today - an experience I had in trying to know my father better.
I suppose with this new passion of mine to know my progenitors so I can better know myself, I have realized how much I don't know about my own parents. Why are they the way they are? What makes them tick? You think you know your parents and all about their lives until you ask yourself, could I write their personal history? And then you suddenly realize how very little you know at all.
I made this realization a few weeks ago and while we were in Logan, I learned that my Dad's favorite author is John Steinbeck. How did I, an English major, not know that? And how is it that the only Steinbeck I have ever read is "Of Mice and Men" if he is my Dad's fav? So, I borrowed a book from him of a collection of Steinbeck's novels and decided to read "East of Eden" first, as Pop said that is his favorite piece Steinbeck ever wrote.
It isn't hard to see why he loves him. Steinbeck writes with an attention to detail that is mesmerizing, while spanning the passing of years in mere paragraphs without the reader feeling they missed a single significant detail. His characters are complicated and so real you can feel their breath on your face, fanning out from the pages in your hands.
But, Steinbeck is also incredibly fixated on human evils. Within a hundred pages I had already trudged through prostitution, abuse, intricate lies, murder, war, genital disease, infidelity and suicide. And I felt yucky about it.
Has anyone else ever noticed that in order for a work to be considered "great" it generally contains one, if not all, of the above human atrocities?
I felt conflicted. On the one hand, here is an astoundingly well written piece of literature, but it is so full of filth that I could feel a heaviness pressing on my spirit as I turned the pages. On the other hand, the English Major in me encourages me to wade on as the results of discomfort and pain are usually growth.
And at the root of it all, I realize, I want to read to know my father better. Why does this book speak to him? What about it made him list it among his favorites? At the back of my mind, this lingering fear lies in the most pressing question; what if Dad's cancer comes back and he is taken from us? What if I never had the chance to discuss his favorite book with him and fit one more piece of the puzzle into that great confusion that is one human relationship with another? What if I miss a moment?
This might seem silly to many of you. Just put the book down, some are thinking. While others just shrug and say, it's only a bit of fiction - why are you letting it affect your mind when none of it is real?
But for me, literature has never been that way. It affects me - deeply. Once I've read a particularly poignant or disturbing passage, it never leaves me. So I am careful with what I take into my mind and especially what then becomes a part of my heart.
So I made it a matter of prayer. When I have a conflict, that's what I do. Should I continue to read to understand, I asked?
And then I went to bed. And right before I drifted off I had an answer as clear as a bell in my head. If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things. (Article of Faith #13) It was as though I could hear myself reciting this well known theme of my faith to my Young Women class or my Primary children and I felt an immense sense of peace.
With no doubt in my heart, I decided that I didn't have to continue reading. There is so much goodness and beauty in this world and our time to take it all in is so limited. I decided that although I wanted to have this connection with my father and something more to talk with him about, it is more important for me to fill my life with things that invite the spirit to be a constant presence in our home and lives.
I felt like I had won a small battle in my heart even if in the end all I did was cease to read a "bit of fiction."
The more I realize how much could be lost if we do not get her memories written down, the more concerned I become about not only recording my own history, but ensuring everyone in my family does as well. Which leads me to what I really wanted to write about today - an experience I had in trying to know my father better.
I suppose with this new passion of mine to know my progenitors so I can better know myself, I have realized how much I don't know about my own parents. Why are they the way they are? What makes them tick? You think you know your parents and all about their lives until you ask yourself, could I write their personal history? And then you suddenly realize how very little you know at all.
I made this realization a few weeks ago and while we were in Logan, I learned that my Dad's favorite author is John Steinbeck. How did I, an English major, not know that? And how is it that the only Steinbeck I have ever read is "Of Mice and Men" if he is my Dad's fav? So, I borrowed a book from him of a collection of Steinbeck's novels and decided to read "East of Eden" first, as Pop said that is his favorite piece Steinbeck ever wrote.
It isn't hard to see why he loves him. Steinbeck writes with an attention to detail that is mesmerizing, while spanning the passing of years in mere paragraphs without the reader feeling they missed a single significant detail. His characters are complicated and so real you can feel their breath on your face, fanning out from the pages in your hands.
But, Steinbeck is also incredibly fixated on human evils. Within a hundred pages I had already trudged through prostitution, abuse, intricate lies, murder, war, genital disease, infidelity and suicide. And I felt yucky about it.
Has anyone else ever noticed that in order for a work to be considered "great" it generally contains one, if not all, of the above human atrocities?
I felt conflicted. On the one hand, here is an astoundingly well written piece of literature, but it is so full of filth that I could feel a heaviness pressing on my spirit as I turned the pages. On the other hand, the English Major in me encourages me to wade on as the results of discomfort and pain are usually growth.
And at the root of it all, I realize, I want to read to know my father better. Why does this book speak to him? What about it made him list it among his favorites? At the back of my mind, this lingering fear lies in the most pressing question; what if Dad's cancer comes back and he is taken from us? What if I never had the chance to discuss his favorite book with him and fit one more piece of the puzzle into that great confusion that is one human relationship with another? What if I miss a moment?
This might seem silly to many of you. Just put the book down, some are thinking. While others just shrug and say, it's only a bit of fiction - why are you letting it affect your mind when none of it is real?
But for me, literature has never been that way. It affects me - deeply. Once I've read a particularly poignant or disturbing passage, it never leaves me. So I am careful with what I take into my mind and especially what then becomes a part of my heart.
So I made it a matter of prayer. When I have a conflict, that's what I do. Should I continue to read to understand, I asked?
And then I went to bed. And right before I drifted off I had an answer as clear as a bell in my head. If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things. (Article of Faith #13) It was as though I could hear myself reciting this well known theme of my faith to my Young Women class or my Primary children and I felt an immense sense of peace.
With no doubt in my heart, I decided that I didn't have to continue reading. There is so much goodness and beauty in this world and our time to take it all in is so limited. I decided that although I wanted to have this connection with my father and something more to talk with him about, it is more important for me to fill my life with things that invite the spirit to be a constant presence in our home and lives.
I felt like I had won a small battle in my heart even if in the end all I did was cease to read a "bit of fiction."
Comments
I have a hard time with Steinbeck (and Hemingway!), so I've never read more than a handful of either of their novels.
I bet your dad would love to talk to you about the book, even if you didn't complete it. That way, you can get a glimpse into him, and not have to suffer through it. :)