John Steinbeck Would Love This Recession

Or, alternatively, to really understand how Steinbeck would feel about the Great Recession, forget the 1930s books or postwar America. Go straight for the sea coral and Steinbeck's writings on his travels with marine biologist Ed Ricketts, a lifelong friend. That's what Susan Shillinglaw, professor of English at San Jose State University and a prolific Steinbeck scholar, suggests. I met her in 2004 when I was doing research for my college thesis at the university's Center for Steinbeck Studies. At that point, the questions I had for her -- about how deeply Steinbeck's impressions of the community born of devastating poverty in the 1930s primed him to disdain the scattered, competitive nature of life in postwar America -- were purely academic. In Silicon Valley at least, the country seemed pretty far from the kind of widespread economic distress that Steinbeck had written about in the 1930s.

But today, the connections are more immediate. Shillinglaw talks about Steinbeck's fascination, linked to his friend Ricketts' work, with marine species that are the most "survivable." He liked the ones that were "battered by waves." Even in the ocean, Steinbeck thought, if you are "too soft, if too much is given to you too easily, it leads to corruption," Shillinglaw says.

Steinbeck himself expressed that view in 1960, when he wrote to his friend and editor Pascal Covici from the road with Charley: "Over and over I thought we lack the pressures that make men strong and the anguish that makes men great."

Well, the pressure's on now.

It's on for the people in several communities north of Durham, N.C., who participated in a "Grapes" Big Read in October organized by Piedmont Community College librarian Lionell Parker. At the events last fall, Parker said, people were amazed that the timing was so perfect -- that just as the national economy was lurching toward previously unimaginable lows, they could gather to talk about the Depression, share stories about job losses and hold a food drive while they were at it. It's on for the Jackson County, Mich., library patrons who are snapping up the packets on avoiding foreclosure that were put together as part of this month's Steinbeck-related events. The pressure seems more immediate than it has ever been for the 11th-graders in Kimberly Rapert's class at Western High. Rapert is happy that the students are so engaged with "Grapes," but she's a little concerned that some of the connections are a little too easily made, the despair too fresh.

In class, her students share stories about college plans dashed, parents losing work and bleak uncertainty about the future. Student Sarah Hanson remembers a discussion the class had had about how young people had to grow up fast during the Depression. Others talked about how they, too, were shouldering more adult burdens in the current economy. One classmate's father had to move out of state for work. Many were trying to get a job but found themselves competing for low-wage work with adults who had families to support.

Since the students are spending so much time with Steinbeck, I checked out whether the author himself had ever made it there. Based on "Travels with Charley," it doesn't look as though he did. At the part of the text that roughly corresponds to Jackson County's coordinates, the landscape seems to go by in a blur: "As I passed through or near the great hives of production -- Youngstown, Cleveland, Akron, Toledo, Pontiac, Flint, and later South Bend and Gary -- my eyes and mind were battered by the fantastic hugeness and energy of production."

Now, not even 50 years after his journey with Charley, those great hives of production are mostly silent. And if any reasonable person were to use the term "fantastic hugeness" to describe anything related to our current economy, it would be the stimulus bill or the deficit.

So I wondered what Steinbeck would think if, in Quixote-like fashion, he were to pack up a second-generation (possibly hybrid?) Rocinante -- what he named the camper he drove across the country in 1960 -- and retrace his route today, seeking once again to "listen to what the country is about."

David Kipen, director of the NEA's "Big Read" programming, including the Steinbeck events, thinks that the author wouldn't feel completely disoriented. He'd find both the nation's economic predicament and the resilience of its people familiar.

"There are enough Joad-like families here in America that I don't think he'd throw in the towel," Kipen says.

He wouldn't give up on us, that's true. He'd give us a lecture. So maybe it's best to recycle one. My favorite Steinbeck scolding comes from "America and Americans." It describes the domino effect of materialism, the way "having many things seems to create a desire for more things." And it culminates in the disaster that Santa hath wrought: "Think of the pure horror of our Christmases when our children tear open package after package and, when the floor is heaped with wrappings and presents, say, 'Is that all?'" Steinbeck surveys the country and concludes: "We are trapped and entangled in things."

Yes, he's right. I don't know about then, but we certainly are now. And even if his rage makes him seem too curmudgeonly to take advice from, Steinbeck's observations are worth listening to at this moment. Untangle yourself from things.

But first, pick up a copy of "Travels With Charley." It's a road-trip book -- like "Grapes of Wrath" -- but on balance, I think it makes better Great Recession reading.

dryr@washpost.com

Rachel Dry is an assistant editor in Outlook.