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Carol
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Jan 13, 2010 07:58PM

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Oddly, The Old Man et the Sea is one of my least favorite Hemingstein's. Me, I prefer the short stories, A Farewell to Arms, The Sun Also Rises, and A Moveable (Sic) Feast.






Lincoln, they say, was an autodidact.
Steinbeck plays second fiddle to Hemingway, imo. Faulkner's not even in the band.
Steinbeck plays second fiddle to Hemingway, imo. Faulkner's not even in the band.

Best Hemingway novel vs. best Steinbeck novel?
Let the music play . . .
Best Hem novel is The Sun Also Rises (A Farewell to Arms arguable).
But what would be Steinbeck's best? I defer to you, Scout.
But what would be Steinbeck's best? I defer to you, Scout.

No, I have to heartily disagree. Steinbeck is the better novelist, Hemingway is the world´s preeminent short story writer.
I've read all of the above except Tortilla Flat and The Winter of Our Discontent. Truth be told, I thought The Pearl was a plodder and The Grapes of Wrath was overwrought. East of Eden? Little more than a prolix soap. I do think Of Mice and Men is a little gem.
None of them holds a candle to the aforementioned Farewell to Arms or The Sun Also Rises. The characters are real to me with Hemingway. Steinbeck... I don't know. There's something staged and "novelly" about his stuff, like you can sense the planning, the execution, and the midnight oil.
None of them holds a candle to the aforementioned Farewell to Arms or The Sun Also Rises. The characters are real to me with Hemingway. Steinbeck... I don't know. There's something staged and "novelly" about his stuff, like you can sense the planning, the execution, and the midnight oil.

But what would be Steinbeck's best? I defer to you, Scout."
I've tried to reply twice and lost both (my laptop mouse has a mind of its own, it seems). So, here goes, again. I've been thinking about your opinion that "you can sense the planning, the execution, and the midnight oil" in Steinbeck's writing. After looking back at some of my favorite passages, I have to agree, but I don't think that's a bad thing. Much better, I think, than something unexamined, self-centered, or stream-of-consciousness, anyway. When Steinbeck writes, it seems to me that he's trying to express something more than his own point of view. His writing sometimes reminds me of Emerson's in that I recognize something I already knew. This quotation from Sweet Thursday is, I think, a good example:
Where does discontent start? You are warm
enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet
hunger gnaws at you. You have been loved,
but your yearning wanders in new fields.
And to prod all these there's time, the
bastard time. The end of life is now not
so terribly far away - you can see it the
way you see the finish line when you come
into the stretch - and your mind says,
"Have I worked enough? Have I eaten enough?
Have I loved enough?" All of these of course,
are the foundation of man's greatest curse,
and perhaps his greatest glory. "What has
my life meant so far, and what can it mean
in the time left to me?" And now we're coming
to the wicked poisoned dart: "What have I
contributed to the Great Ledger? What am I
worth?" Men seem to be born with a debt they
can never pay no matter how hard they try. It
piles up ahead of them. Man owes something
to man. If he ignores the debt it poisons him,
and if he tries to make payments the debt only
increases, and the quality of the gift is the
measure of the man.
As for his best, I guess I'll go with the Nobel committee and say The Grapes of Wrath, but I most enjoyed reading Cannery Row and Travels with Charley.
Here's a treat I found while reading excerpts. This is from Steinbeck's Nobel acceptance speech:
"Faulkner, more than most men, was aware of human strength as well as of human weakness. He knew that the understanding and the resolution of fear are a large part of the writer's reason for being."
Hmmm.


"It was early spring. The steppe was a vast ocean of mud. Sadness dripped out of an endless leaden sky. In the early morning, just before dawn, a peasant nursing a huge hangover trudged wearily along the road, followed by a ragged little girl, who held a rope tied to a muddy, bedraggled lamb. Every now and then the peasant would stumble, take a swig of vodka, curse, and rain blows on the little girl and her pet . . . "

u·el (dl, dy-)
n.
1. A prearranged, formal combat between two persons, usually fought to settle a point of honor.
2. A struggle for domination between two contending persons, groups, or ideas.
v. du·eled or du·elled, du·el·ing or du·el·ling, du·els
v.tr.
1. To engage (another) in or as if in formal combat.
2. To oppose actively and forcefully.
v.intr.
To engage in or as if in formal combat.
[Middle English duelle, from Medieval Latin duellum, from Latin, war, archaic variant of bellum.:]
duel·er, duel·ist n.

I was going for irony.
Have you heard about the guy who said that women wear white when they marry because that is the colour all household appliances come in......

Sorry!"
No worries. I agree that the Internet doesn't allow for nuance - or maybe it's just that short messages don't allow us to know each other well enough to get it without explanation.
I thought it was ironic that I appreciate Steinbeck, who appreciated Faulkner, whom I don't appreciate.
quixotic
Not pronounced like its eponymous namesake, Quixote, but pleasingly odd nonetheless, like this meandering conversation.
Not pronounced like its eponymous namesake, Quixote, but pleasingly odd nonetheless, like this meandering conversation.
Books mentioned in this topic
Shrubbery Skulduggery (other topics)The Grapes of Wrath (other topics)
The Old Man and the Sea (other topics)