My Favorite Classic - The Classics Club Monthly Meme (May 2018)

My Favorite Classic – The Classics Club Monthly Meme (May 2018)

I’m very happy The Classics Club is reviving the monthly meme and I have to admit that the topic makes sense – it’s an obvious starting place to reboot the meme – But seriously?

What is your favorite classic book? Why?

You might as well ask which of my children is my favorite. Yes, I know that is not a very original phrase. I’m just reusing it because it makes the point so perfectly.

I just can’t.

But I want to support the return of the Monthly Meme, so I’m going to make an honest effort. For starters, I’ve given nine novels 5 Stars: The Grapes of Wrath, Lord of the Flies, The Lord of the Rings, To Kill a Mockingbird, Gone With the Wind, David Copperfield, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Little Prince. 

I don’t give out 5 Stars easily, so I thought all these deserve mentioning. However, in my opinion, THE BEST of these Best are:

The Grapes of Wrath

Lord of the Flies

To Kill a Mockingbird

Gone With the Wind

Now it gets very hard. If asked, I might name any one of these at any given moment, but I think the one that would most often come to mind – To Kill a Mockingbird.

Why? It made me cry; it made me laugh. It filled me with rage; it filled me with hope. It moved my emotions to every extreme and it made me think. More than that – you may read my review. It isn't necessary to point out that in the review, I name The Lord of the Rings as my favorite; I’ve already confessed to being somewhat fickle on this subject.

So I did it. Now what is your favorite classic?

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6 Degrees - Fever Pitch to Death Comes for the Archbishop

6 Degrees is a monthly meme hosted by Kate @ Books Are My Favorite and Best.

I first found this meme @ Brona’s Books so she deserves a shout out as well.

I haven’t read the starting book, so I relied upon a synopsis, but the rest are from my own reading experience, and linked to my reviews.

The starting book for March is Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby

Hmmm – a football (soccer) story, sports fanatics, an underdog team, those were a bit hard, but a coming of age story – Eureka! But honestly, that’s too easy. So, I’m circling back to football – reminds me of Swede Levov, the main character from American Pastoral. Swede was a three-sport hero in High School (yeah, it was American Football, but I’m sticking with it anyway).

It is also the story of the disintegration of the American Dream, which led me to The Grapes of Wrath.  My hero from this tale is Ma Joad - desperately fighting to save her family.

Another heroic mother: Lady Jessica from Dune, mother of the main character, Paul, and mistress to Duke Atreides. Apologies to Brona, this is just where it took me, I wasn’t trying to follow your path :) I wasn't always especially fond of Paul, but I did like Lady Jessica.

Desert – sand – oppressive environment, reminded me of North Africa and the Sahara in The Sheltering Sky.

Desert – send – oppressive environment, now reminded me of The American Southwest, specifically 19^th century New Mexico territory and the two gentle, noble priests, Bishop Latour and Father Vaillant who were NOT overcome by the rugged territory in Death Comes for the Archbishop.

There you have it. From Fever Pitch to Death Comes for the Archbishop. A bit different than where the #6degrees host ended up :)

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (novel #105)

As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.

(update: July 13, 2018)

I reread this for the Back to the Classics Challenge 2018 – a classic reread.

I lot of people hate this tale, but Oh how I love it. It is desperately sad – and beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you different – it is about unconditional, sacrificial love. Misguided in its action, but love nonetheless.

George came quietly out of the brush and the rabbit scuttled back into Lennie’s brain.

I still give it 4 stars

(review from March 11, 2016)

This is the second time I’ve read Of Mice and Men and the third work I’ve read by John Steinbeck. The book is a novella, and the third-person narrative of George and Lennie, two migrant workers trying to make their way in California during the great depression. This book is not part of my 100 Greatest Novels Quest.

George and Lennie are a bit different from most of the migrant workers, because they travel together; they have each other. This distinction is noted by themselves as well as others. George is the brains of the operation. Lennie is a powerful, childlike, giant who always seems to get in trouble, due to his innocence, and George has to get him out – usually by taking it on the lam. The two were probably childhood friends, and George was entrusted with watching out for Lennie, by Lennie’s aunt Clara. The two do the best they can, which isn’t very good, but dream of owning a small farm and 

livin off the fatta the lan

SPOILER ALERT: This review contains spoilers

A very wise man once said: sorrow holds a beauty that joy will never know.

Of Mice and Men is miserably sorrowful, and poignantly beautiful.

This is not the only paradox. There are two murderers in this tale: one of them is the embodiment of innocence, while the other offers a display of unconditional, sacrificial love.

At a moment when George and Lennie seem to be closer to getting their little farm than ever, Lennie commits his greatest blunder, he accidentally kills a young woman. Out of desperation, and seeing no way out this time, George shoots Lennie to spare him the confused terror he will certainly face when brought to justice.

Let me be clear, George’s terrible, desperate act is morally and legally wrong. I don’t condone it. But George loved Lennie. His action was misguided, but to his simple intellect, and hard worldly wisdom, it was the only course of action to save his friend.

I used the adjectives unconditional and sacrificial; let me explain. Early in the narrative, George is often stern with Lennie. He is like a parent hoping to correct childish foolishness. Again, I would say misguided. His words were too hard, too cruel, too insulting, but I believe he was trying to teach Lennie. And Lennie was after all, exasperating. The unconditional love is evident when Lennie commits his greatest blunder. There is no chiding from George – not a harsh word – just words of comfort. Words to let Lennie’s final moments be happy ones. And sacrificial: The agony it causes George is nearly unbearable. He wasn’t acting for himself. He knew if the mob found Lennie first, Lennie’s final moments would be ones of confused terror. If somehow he survived, he knew the gallows would be more terror, and if somehow the law spared him the death penalty, George knew prison would be slow, unending agony for Lennie.

George loved Lennie. He loved him in a simple, misguided, desperate way. It was heartbreaking and beautiful.

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The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (8 down, 92 to go)

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.


This is the second time I’ve read The Grapes of Wrath. It is a realist novel, third-person narrative, telling the tale of Joad family as they flee the dustbowl of Oklahoma for the land of plenty in California. The book won a Pulitzer Prize for fiction, and was probably the greatest factor leading to Steinbeck’s Nobel Prize.

My rating: 4 1/2 of 5 stars

 

At last a hero. For me, it was not Tom or the Preacher Casey, it was Ma. Her tireless devotion to one thing, her family, is monumentally heroic. I am tempted to “rant” about modern society, but I will resist and offer only a mini-rant. There is a notion, most often implied but at times uttered blatant and explicit, that if a woman can offer nothing greater to society, it’s OK, to be “just a mom”. What a lie! What an ignorant, stupid, evil lie. There is no greater calling. Abraham Lincoln said, “All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” How many doctors, entrepreneurs, or inventors affected the world so much?

But I digress. Ma is the hero. The novel ends without a very cheery outlook for the Joad family, which has already lost both grandparents, two sons, a son-in-law, and a babe, but Ma is undefeated. She is my hero.

I'd forgotten the ending, the poignant, terrible, beautiful ending.

I read The Grapes of Wrath once before, required reading in High School. I thought it was compelling and well written but having not yet known responsibility, I didn’t really appreciate the full affect. This time, to say I enjoyed it, is not quite right. I read with a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, or rage in my heart. It was not enjoyable, but it is the “greatest” work I have read thus far.

As such, I feel inclined to say a little more about the author. It struck me as odd that Steinbeck would follow Orwell, the communist follow the socialist, and that they should be two of my favorites. So, for the record, I am not now, nor have I ever been a communist.

I’m not certain Steinbeck was either. He was labeled at a time, when few people could give a very lucid definition of communism (actually, I think that’s still true). Yes, I know he belonged to organizations with the word communist right there as part of their name, so I’m not saying he wasn’t either. It seems to me as though Steinbeck was critical of the excess and coldness of capitalism, and if you stand opposed to capitalism, you are going to be called and may very well call yourself, a communist. Again, I’m not a communist, but I’m not an apologist for capitalism, which is not without its own disgraces. I believe Steinbeck wrote at a time, about a time, of such disgrace.

Excerpts:

Then the women knew that they were safe and that there was no break. Then they asked, What’ll we do? And the men replied, I don’t know. But it was all right. The women knew it was all right, and the watching children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep in themselves that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were whole.

Ma sees Tom for the first time in years, when he shows up unexpectedly released from prison: 

She moved toward him lithely, soundlessly in her bare feet, and her face was full of wonder. Her small hand felt his arm, felt the soundness of his muscles. And then her fingers went up to his cheek as a blind man’s fingers might. And her joy was nearly like sorrow.

 

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.

 

And the great owners, who must lose their land in an upheaval, the great owners with access to history, with eyes to read history and to know the great fact: when property accumulates in too few hands it is taken away. And that companion fact: when a majority of the people are hungry and cold they will take by force what they need. And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed. The great owners ignored the three cries of history. The land fell into fewer hands, the number of the dispossessed increased, and every effort of the great owners was directed at repression. The money was spent for arms, for gas to protect the great holdings, and spies were sent to catch the murmuring of revolt so that it might be stamped out. The changing economy was ignored, plans for the change ignored; and only means to destroy revolt were considered, while the causes of revolt went on.

 

The tractors which throw men out of work, the belt lines which carry loads, the machines which produce, all were increased; and more and more families scampered on the highways, looking for crumbs from the great holdings, lusting after the land beside the roads. The great owners formed associations for protection and they met to discuss ways to intimidate, to kill, to gas. And always they were in fear of a principal—three-hundred-thousand—if they ever move under a leader—the end. Three-hundred-thousand, hungry and miserable; if they ever know themselves, the land will be theirs and all the gas, all the rifles in the world won’t stop them. And the great owners, who had become through the might of their holdings both more and less than men, ran to their destruction, and used every means that in the long run would destroy them. Every little means, every violence, every raid on a Hooverville, every deputy swaggering through a ragged camp put off the day a little and cemented the inevitability of the day.

Film Rendition: 1940 starring Henry Fonda. I thought this was a pretty decent portrayal, though they didn't attempt the poignant ending from the novel. Admittedly, that would have been difficult to do in 1940. I thought Fonda was very believable as Tom Joad. John Carradine (father of David Carradine btw) was superb as the preacher Casey, and the rest of the casting was good, with the exception of Ma portrayed by Jane Darwell. I don't think Ma was supposed to be quite so stout. I pictured her more like Patricia Neal from The Homecoming a Christmas Story. Neal would have been far too young at the time to play Ma. That's just how I pictured her. If you like The Grapes of Wrath or at least feel it is an important piece of literature, I'd recommend the movie.

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