VIEWPOINT: The Great American Novel

By Ellen Meyers

In the same way that I get a kick out of small-world stories, I like convergence. Rationally, I know it’s usually serendipitous, but there is something in me that would like to be believe that there is a reason.

In the days and weeks following the pandemic, I often spoke to Gina, a woman we met last February on an expedition to Antarctica. In a conversation occurring just moments before the world would shut down, I started referring to the voyage as our “last hurrah.”

Just a couple of weeks later, on Friday, March 13, my boyfriend, Andy, and I came out to Water Mill for the weekend — and never left. Feeling trapped in her house in Manhattan, I began a campaign to get Gina to join me in what is hardly the wilds of nature but is at least a place to easily access it. Beach walks had become my salvation.

When Gina ventured out to meet with a real estate agent, I joined them. We looked at one rental on the bay in Sag Harbor. While Gina and the agent toured the property, I talked with the owner of the house.

It turned out he was one of several owners of the property, along with other family members. It had belonged to his grandfather, and when this man was a boy he knew the dog Charley, as in John Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley.” Charley, and Steinbeck, lived nearby, so, before we left, Gina and I took a short walk to get a peek at the author’s writing studio.

Many years ago, as a young adult, I had read “Travels with Charley.” I had also read “The Pearl” and “Of Mice and Men,” both required reading at my high school back in the day. And I am sure I must have seen the movie “The Grapes of Wrath,” or at least clips of it, because that is my memory: of the actor, Henry Fonda, who starred in it.

Several months later, my reading group was seeking an engrossing novel for winter reading immersion. I was really hoping for a great one, having spent the preceding few months primarily absorbed in nonfiction, trying desperately to make sense of our country’s political moment.

When I asked Gina for a recommendation, she said “East of Eden,” but with some hesitation. She’s a Californian and was wondering if the book would be as powerful for someone devoid of those roots.

It often takes me a second time to hear about a work of art before it registers. One of my favorite New York Times columns is “By the Book,” which appears weekly in the newspaper’s Book Review section. A typical question concerns an unread or recently read classic book.

And there it was, in an article featuring the journalist Fareed Zakaria. He had just read “East of Eden,” recommended by his son.

I devoured that book, blown away by having “discovered” The Great American Novel.

How had I not known this? It’s America, in all its cruelty, as sadistic as the Bible, and in all its possibilities, as optimistic as the dogged, troubled people who manage to survive these very bloody shores.

I couldn’t stop talking about it, so much so that Stefan, my Berlin friend, read it. Stefan lived for three decades in the United States, but, as an artist, headed back to Berlin when the only artists who could afford to live in New York City were those who were lucky in real estate.

Also captured completely by “East of Eden,” he has worked his way through all of Steinbeck’s books. He, in turn, said that I had to read “Winter of Our Discontent,” written, along with “Travels with Charley,” in Sag Harbor. Hey, am I the last to know that Steinbeck discovered in Sag Harbor a town reminiscent of Salinas, his setting for “East of Eden”?

So now I am halfway through “Winter of Our Discontent” and clearly not as yet completely devouring it, because I have taken time out to write this piece. But Stefan says that in order to appreciate it, you have to read it twice!

After Andy read “East of Eden,” we watched the movie. I couldn’t wait to watch it but first wanted to give him time to finish the book. Other than the pleasure of getting to see the actor James Dean, in one his few movie roles — he died tragically young — the movie was infuriating. I know that Hollywood tends to turn every story into a love story, but also this was so dated. Every woman in the movie was depicted horribly. Ironically, Cathy, Steinbeck’s central female protagonist, who is evil incarnate, actually is portrayed with some sympathy.

I say, don’t watch it. Read the book!

Here is the final convergence: Just recently, John Steinbeck’s Sag Harbor home has become available, for $17.9 million. A John Steinbeck Park is being constructed along the waterfront, and the best hope seems to be that money can be raised to buy his writing studio and perhaps move it to the park. Ideally, the entire property would be converted to a writers’ residence.

Now, that would be a Great American Story.

Ellen Meyers is a writer living in Water Mill.