East of Eden (or, From the Pen of John Steinbeck, IV)

Friday, December 23, 2011. 12:57 AM

Again, John Steinbeck has shaken up everything in my small brain.

"Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight--the very rich are poor bunch of bastards. He wondered if that were true. They acted that way sometimes."
Chapter 53, part ii

Being rich can be not having anything, but having everything you ever need.

From the Pen of John Steinbeck, II

"And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost."

East of Eden, Chapter 13 part 1.

To be what I want to be. . .

There is so much between me, right here right now, and me, two and a half years from now on my graduation as a Journalist that anything can happen. I am currently procrastinating on two papers I have to write to write here, but I need this little break. With Jack Johnson on my earphones, I am writing really mellow papers anyway.

I love writing. In High School, I used to like writing essays--even though I said I didn't because no one else did. Now I look back and I know that I was lying. John Steinbeck puts it best in East of Eden when he notes that all writers are liars. We like to lie and hope we get something out of it. When I told this to my friend Brianna, she replied that (paraphrased) it wasn't true because things that we write have symbolism, which represent true things. I replied that we are master liars then, because the best type of lies are half-truths.

Apart from my ability to lie on paper, there is some truth to the lie that I disliked writing essays. Halfway through any essay and the play and two books I'm writing I get the feeling that I don't want to write anymore, that it's too much. Somehow I picture myself in fifty years or so filing for retirement with Huck Finn's closing words about writing books (applied to being a journalist): ". . . if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it and ain't agoing to no more."

On thoughts, Barnes & Noble, and John Steinbeck

If anyone were to ask me at any given time what goes on in my head, I can't tell them. I've tried many times to ask myself what is going on in my head, but to no avail. There's too much going on at one time, and all the thoughts sort of like combine and stuff--it's really weird. They only make sense in my head, but once I try to make a sentence out of them and say "I'm thinking this," my thoughts make no sense whatsoever. So, if the next paragraph or two don't make sense, I'm sorry.

This week I decided to go for a bike ride. Now, back in High School, I was in amazing shape, but ever since then I have been in the exact opposite. My legs keep trying to go at the same speed when I run or bike, but my heart and lungs can't keep up anymore. Then, I had the brilliant idea (happens to me all the time) to go to Barnes & Noble, which is about five miles away. I love that store, but between there and here there are many, MANY hills. So, when I got to BN, I was a hot tired mess, but I was happy. I spent quite some time there, and to my dismay, when I finished checking out the three books I bought the skies were dark with the sun already set. Not only did I have to make the journey back all tired from the trip there, but I was in the dark, with my backpack and three brand-new books. Not fun.

But it was all worth it. I bought a book containing six short novels from John Steinbeck, Huckleberry Finn, and another John Steinbeck book called East of Eden. I've already read two of the six John Steinbeck novels and Huck Finn, but all the others will be a brand new read. I started with East of Eden and so far I am in love. John Steinbeck seems to be keeping his place as my favorite author.

There have been so many quotable quotes in the first sixty pages alone, and it just keeps getting better. Many of my thoughts have to do with this book, but as I am writing this I know that if I try to make sense of these thoughts I will fail miserably. So. . . just read the book. You would love it. =D

From the Pen of John Steinbeck

"Results, not causes. The causes lie deep and simply--the causes are a hunger in a stomach, multiplied a million times; a hunger in the soul, hunger for joy and some security, multiplied a million times' muscles and mind aching to grow, to work, to create, multiplied a million times. The last clear definite function of man--muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need--this is man. To build a wall, to build a house, a dam, and the wall and hose and dam to put something of Manself, and to Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from the lifting, to take the clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man--when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only half a step, never the full step back. This you may say and know it and know it. This you may know when he bombs plummet out of the black planes on the market place, when prisoners are stuck like pigs, when the crushed bodies drain filthily in the dust. You may know it in this way. If the step were not being taken, if the stumbling-forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be cut. Fear the time when the bombs stop falling while the bombers live--for every bomb is proof that the spirit has not died. And fear the time when the strikes stop while the great owners live--for every little beaten strike is proof that the step is being taken. And this you can know--fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself, and this one quality is man, distinctive in the universe."

--The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 14.
He's my favorite author, and this is my favorite chapter in my favorite book. Everyone should read the book, and if not, read the entire chapter 14.