The Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath

First published on April 14, 1939, Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath marks its seventy-fifth anniversary this year with Penguin Book’s commemorative publication of a volume “modeled on the first edition, featuring the original cover illustration by Elmer Hader and specially designed endpapers by Michael Schwab” (web). The enduring appeal of this monumental novel stems not altogether from its powerful story, but also from Steinbeck’s creation of a relationship to his readers. Speaking with the authority of an American bard—a humane and moral figure of authority—Steinbeck evokes reader participation in the increasingly desperate experience of the migrants as they trek across the country from Oklahoma to California. He wants readers to know and feel what it is like to be dispossessed—a stranger in your own homeland, seeking in vain for respite from hunger, sickness, and homelessness in a land of plenty.

In a sense, therefore, Steinbeck himself is a participant in Grapes, held by the evocative power of his own story. Compelled to tell it, in turn he compels readers to hear and understand with heart as well as with mind. Perhaps it is this intimate closeness among reader/author/text that has led some critics to disparage this novel on the basis of its sentimentality, for its story does not permit cool detachment. Definitions for the word sentimental range from “affectionate” and “loving” to cloyingly “emotional” and “sappy”—the first two meanings implying a close relationship to the matter at hand; the second two, an inane, too-close involvement. Antonyms for sentimental include the terms “dispassionate” and “practical,” words that carry a great deal of connotative baggage, with both demanding non-involvement. To be dispassionate is to be cool, detached, uncaring. To be practical is to look out for number one, to keep your head down, to avoid making waves. If “sentimental” means caring for one’s fellow human beings, then, Steinbeck would probably embrace the label, for he cares a great deal. And his powerful authorial voice in the interchapters reveals graft, denounces corruption, and warns of consequences for misdeeds that contribute to human misery. Pityingly, sorrowfully, relentlessly, in the Joad narrative his tender, compassionate heart paints a portrait of human suffering resulting from human greed and exploitation.

In Stockholm on December 10, 1962, Steinbeck delivered his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize in Literature before the Swiss Academy at a banquet in his honor. In this address he speaks of a writer’s calling:

The ancient commission of the writer has not changed. He is charged with exposing our many grievous faults and failures, with dredging up to the light our dark and dangerous dreams for the purpose of improvement. Furthermore, the writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man’s proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit—for gallantry in defeat—for courage, compassion and love.

“Charged” and “delegated”—Steinbeck’s view of the writer’s “ancient commission” is high indeed, almost an obligation to fulfill, almost a holy mission. Given this task, he never swerves. Ken Swan’s “The Enduring Value of John Steinbeck’s Fiction: The University Student and The Grapes of Wrath” cites Taylor University student Juliana Menges’s insightful comments on Steinbeck’s attractions for today’s youth:

He seems to create puzzles in which there is not any one solution—the dimensions overlap and depend on each other. Each time I read one of Steinbeck’s books I understand more about the man himself and his intentions for the work. Steinbeck was not meant to be neatly defined; instead, he transcends and soars above conventional definitions. He is not neat and tidy.

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Thus, Steinbeck still draws readers into the circle of participation with author and text. And, as increasing interest in Steinbeck Review attests, this author’s appeal extends beyond The Grapes of Wrath to include the entire canon of his writings—piquing reader interest, invoking participation, and celebrating the human capacity “for courage, compassion and love.”

In the articles section of this issue, Mimi Reisel Gladstein...