The Grapes of Wrath

C'est le capital de marx mais sous forme de roman en gros, j'ai passé un bon moment mais bon rien d'exeptionnel et je trouves que le message qu'il veut faire passé l'est sans aucune subtilité. Quand ils arrivent dans les camps autogérés t'as l'impression qu'il te décrit le paradis sur terre. Je reste aussi sur ma fin, je m'attendais a avoir plus d'intensité sur le thème de la grève

Op zoek naar informatie over The grapes of wrath (1939) van John Steinbeck dook de term Great American Novel opmerkelijk vaak op. Tegenwoordig lijkt elk nieuw verschenen boek uit de Verenigde Staten dat etiket te krijgen, maar in dit geval kon het niet raker treffen: het boek voerde me naar de prairie van de jaren dertig, waar het platteland van Oklahoma en omliggende staten was getroffen door de Dust Bowl en duizenden ‘Okies’ westwaarts trokken op zoek naar werk.

66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert’s slow northwand invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there. From all of these the people are in flight, and they come into 66 from the tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight.

Well, Okie use’ ta mean you was from Oklahoma. Now it means you’re a dirty son-of-a-bitch. Okie means you’re scum. Don’t mean nothing itself, it’s the way they say it.

Minnie or Susy or Mae, middle-aging behind the counter, hair curled and rouge and powder on a sweating face. Taking orders in a soft low voice, calling them to the cook with a screech like a peacock. Mopping the counter with circular strokes, polishing the big shining coffee urns. The cook is Joe or Carl or Al, hot in a white coat and apron, beady sweat on white forehead, below the white cook’s cap; moody, rarely speaking, looking up for a moment at each new entry. Wiping the griddle, slapping down the hamburger. He repeats May’s orders gently, scrapes the griddle, wipes it down with burlap. Moody and silent.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

It has been a long time since I read a novel that made me cry at multiple places. Considered by many to be the author's masterpiece, the book is a searing portrayal of the flight of sharecroppers from the Dust Bowl to California during the Great Depression. Last year was the novel's seventy-fifth anniversary and the pain, anger, and heart-break of the novel is just as raw as it was then.

As described in the introduction of the Penguin Classics edition, the novel presents the narrative in a point-counterpoint fashion, with alternating chapters describing the journey of the Joad Family to California and the story of the refugees in soaring, lyrical prose. Lyricism is the trademark of Steinbeck - the ability to be able to be poetic and philosophical without overwhelming the reader with the author's own voice.

Steinbeck captures the inherent contradictions in American society and the American economy which created the conditions of the Great Depression. He shines a glaring light into inequality, poverty, and violence that were both features of the time and of the American character generally. The best element of the book would have to be its fearless witness to suffering - its willingness to lay bare this dark chapter of American history. It calls everyone to realize that in times of trial, we are not alone but need to struggle together. For it is only in uniting that we can fully live.

This is one of those books that will change you and how you see the world. It is a rousing call for action against inequality, poverty, and for the dignity of every individual.