@mathmom, that Salinas landscape looks like another planet!
When I found out Steinbeck was a Hamilton (I’d forgotten that part of the book), I went back to the first spot where I’d felt he was a “mind-reader.” It wasn’t even Hamilton family lore that he could theoretically have been passing down; it was about the suicide of Adam’s mother:
From that point on, he’s inside the minds of everyone. He writes in the first person as a minor character in the story, yet at the same time, he’s a third person omniscient narrator. It’s disconcerting. I wonder if there are any other literary examples of this.
Yes! The Hamilton family seemed very real to me. Maybe it’s because I have six siblings, each with his or her own “niche,” or maybe it’s the Irish in me, but I loved this passage in particular:
I loved the omniscient third person narrator who sometimes zoomed into Steinbeck’s own head as a character in the book. LOVED it. I would say it is an early example of a post-modern playfulness with point of view, but I think many of the Victorians did similar things, with the omniscient third person narrator suddenly breaking out an “I” who comments on the action. I can’t think of another example where the “I” is actually appears briefly as a character but I will have to dig up my James Wood and my EM Forster to see if they have any examples of this in their books on the novel (both are / were obsessed with shifts in point of view).
William Thackeray does this frequently in Vanity Fair. Although not a character in the book, he is very present. I remember my English teacher telling our class to watch how he blurs the traditional lines of narration by falling in love with his own (anti-) heroine, Becky Sharp. I like your “post-modern playfulness” description.
I think it was probably Charles. Kate is hoping to wound Adam with this information, but he quickly realizes that it makes no difference to him. It doesn’t affect how he feels about his children. This was one of the (rare) times I admired Adam–I was glad that the boys’ paternity didn’t become something he dwelled upon.
Needless to say Vanity Fair was my least favorite book in high school! I can admire, but I rarely enjoy books where I start noticing these sort of games. The narrator is often present in Victorian novels, but generally just as an author voice, not as a participant AND an omniscient narrator. At some point in the Journal Steinbeck talks about this, and how the critics are going to hate it, but he did know exactly what he was doing.
As soon as we are told that the twins are not identical, I was sure they had different fathers. Cal looks like Charles and Aron like Adam. They have the same personality traits too.
Biological father? Probably Charles. (Steinbeck never address the “whom” in his letters - a non-issue.)
I am just grateful that Kate never throws that particular tidbit of knowledge at Cal and Aron - and she could have. What a misfire the attempt to wound Aron would have been on Cal’s part! Granted Aron doesn’t recover from learning the who/what of his mother. However, I honestly don’t think Cal could recover from learning that Adam may not be his father. So a minor kudos to Kate there.
@mathmom: I think the twins have one father - Charles - as Kate begs off sex with Adam and it would have to have been fairly concurrent. Right? Anyway, Cal looks like Charles but Aron looks like Kate.
You are probably right! She must have had sex with Adam at some point since he doesn’t question that the twins are his.
Fraternal twins are caused by two eggs, so if sperm from two fathers are present it would be technically possible. Obviously most women aren’t sleeping with two guys and trying to get pregnant, so odds are tiny!
I wondered about the possibility of the twins having different fathers. It popped into my head as soon as there were separate amniotic sacs at birth. If not both of them, then I pick Charles.
Thank you to the person who suggested this one; I absolutely loved this book. I think it will stay with me a long time.
I’ll start with question
The book has a lot of talk about money: who has it, how much, the effect of wills, etc. But the narrator says that’s all just a proxy for wanting love:
I think that’s what made the ending so satisfying. Kate dies alone, wealthy, but knowing her children have rejected her (I think giving the money to Aron was her attempt at redemption). Samuel has no monetary success, and is broken by his son’s death, but is surrounded by family and love at the end of his life. Lee knows he is loved; that’s part of why he returns. He wants to reconcile Adam and Cal as Adam is dying. And Abra tells Cal she loves him.
But who’s counting, right? Once is all it takes. As far as I can tell, it was also only once with Charles.
I think the concept of wealth in the novel is also closely tied to inheritance. Can we be tainted by what we inherit, be it material possessions or genetic makeup? Charles doesn’t want to touch the stolen money he inherited from Cyrus; Cal is afraid that he has too much of Kate in his character. Lee wonders about his own (metaphorical) inheritance:
In the end though, he concludes that whatever is handed down does not have to be an obstacle, telling Cal, “Maybe you’ll come to know that every man in every generation is refired” (p. 598).
I’m glad you brought that up; I wondered about Kate’s motive. I have trouble believing that it was an attempt at redemption – she never seems human enough for that. But it does seem to be a message of some sort. I’m curious – what do the rest of you think?
I happen to be in the Monterey Bay area this weekend, and I happened to have a couple of free hours, so I decided to go to the Steinbeck Museum in Salinas. I’m here now. Nice museum – but frankly lots of better things to do in the Monterey Bay/ Carmel / Big Sur / Santa Cruz area. Will be driving by his house soon.
Kate always thinks of herself as smarter/stronger than others; she finds them lacking. After she talks with Cal and learns of Aron, Kate sneaks into church - incognito - to watch Aron, who sings in the choir. I think his goodness touches her in some way. On that fateful night, I think Cal hurts not only Aron but himself and, surprisingly, Kate.
Kate remembers Aron’s face when he learns she’s his mother. She thinks of her sons and realizes they have something she lacks. I think she leaves the money to Aron as apology/redemption/remorse/realization of what she lost.
Let’s talk about the women. @buenavista and @ignatius already addressed the last part of question 5, but I’m posting it for the first sentence, “Women in the novel are not always as fully realized as the main male characters.”
Do you agree with that? I don’t think a character has to be the main protagonist in order to be “fully realized.” I found the women in East of Eden to be drawn quite vividly, even minor players such as Alice, Liza and Dessie. (I especially liked the story of Adam witnessing Alice’s secret smile, and of her believing that it was Charles who brought her the gifts.)
Many of the women, though perhaps admirable (like Liza), aren’t particularly likeable. Abra is the closest thing to a female counterpart for a Samuel/Lee calibre human being. I liked Abra and her independent spirit. I wish her relationship with Cal had been fleshed out a little bit more—they seemed to move too quickly into the love stage.
For me, East of Eden wasn’t a tearjerker book—somehow, it seems to demand stoicism on the part of the reader—but I confess I was deeply moved by the scene between Abra and Lee, when she tells him she wishes he were her father and he gives her his mother’s green jade button.
I thought Kate/Cathy had been shown in such a two dimensional manner I had a hard time believing that it could be anything, but spite that had her leaving money to Aron. I like the idea that she was somehow been redeemed by seeing Aron, but Steinbeck has been so insistent on calling her a “monster” from her first introduction that I find it hard to be persuaded.
I thought the other women in the novel were much more interesting if only sketched in lightly. I liked Abra. While I might have liked to seen more of her with Cal, really they had know each other for 7+ years that Steinbeck has chosen to skip over. I did love the scene with Lee and Abra - I think it really showed that she’d been part of the family for years, even if we haven’t been shown those scenes. I also appreciated that Steinbeck doesn’t tell us what to think about Abra the way he does about Cathy.
Steinbeck does a lot of telling in this book vs showing. Another thing he talks about in the journal!
Thank God for Abra. I found most of the other women disappointingly one-dimensional. They were either stoic, moralist, and reserved, or prostitutes, it seemed. Well, actually, not the Hamilton sisters; they were wonderful. I loved Dessie. I wish we could have seen more of her.