January 17, 2008

• Timshel

  Before finishing East of Eden tonight, the last time that I’d read a book that’s changed me was high school. I’m talking about a book that articulates specific things inside me, things about the world that I’d been craving names for.

  In my high school, the only training in philosophy that we ever received was in English class, through novels by the likes of Fitzgerald and Hemmingway. These macho members of the Lost Generation taught us about the existential crisis, about the fallacy of the American Dream. I have a special place in my heart for each book on my high school’s summer reading list. When I think of work by Faulkner, Camus, Miller, Sartre, Beckett, and Pound, I feel like I’m remembering an old flame; they articulated my feelings about the world and because of this, in the true style of high school fanaticism, these authors embodied what I wanted in a man. Freaky, eh? 

  I think I just wanted someone who understood my dissatisfaction with the suburban status quo and the only  voice of dissent that I felt I had access to in my small Midwestern hometown came from the authors on the required reading list. I wanted someone to see the world as a place of choice, as a place where social conventions and religion are oftentimes absurd constraints used to control and manipulate people. I wanted someone who would laugh in the face of convention with me, who would delight in living a life that felt nothing less than authentic. These authors were chalk full of all of that. Who wants a homecoming corsage when you could have the burden of existential freedom? Its a good thing I met Shaun when I did – I lucked out to have met someone who gave me both.

  Anyhow, my high school crushes on these literary figures, in large part, may be the sad result of high school curriculum’s sickening disregard for females in the cannon. Perhaps if we studied ladies as well as men, I would have understood that Camus didn’t totally *get* me, that Miller and I weren’t completely meant for each other. I would have been awestruck, not lovestruck. I would not have associated intellectual/philosophical compatibility to sexual chemistry. I guess I’m just hopelessly hetero like that.

  I hope that my hometown English department has evolved a  bit since I left, but while a lot has happened to me in 8 years, I doubt the same is true for the school. When I was there, the English department thought that they could get away with beating Room of One’s Own like a dead horse for a month and that would safely cover the female literary perspective. The funny thing is, Virginia Wolf writes at great length about how ladies with the urge to write need to ditch the housework and babies for a while and get their authoring on. She urges the literary world to take people with vaginas seriously as writers. And just imagine how much her message might resonate if only it weren’t the ONLY female on the public high school required reading list. Sheesh! It makes you even more furious to think of how underrepresented authors of color are, how the homo-erotic pull of many, many works of fiction is rarely discussed in the classroom.

  Anyhow, I’m getting pretty off topic here. I meant to write about East of Eden and how I hadn’t felt this wrapped up in a book since high school, when I had crushes on authors and, like a groupie, wanted the books to change me, wanted to agree with everything they had to say. Instead I’ve written a weird psycho-sexual confession/rant about the state of public education. Ha!

  Back to East of Eden…

  I’ve loved Steinbeck before: Of Mice and Men, Grapes of Wrath, Travels With Charley (okay – so I wasn’t really crazy about that last one). But once Oprah made East of Eden a part of her book club, I delayed reading it. Call me a snob, but there’s nothing more cringe worthy to me than having a big ‘ole Oprah seal on your book. It just makes my blood boil that the American public is so dumb that they need Oprah to put a literal seal of approval on things before they purchase them. But then again, at least they are reading – why should I get a bug up my butt about how they found out about the book, as long as they found out about it. I certainly can’t expect that all people like the library as much as I do. ANYHOW, the pretty Steinbeck Centential Edition of the book came out sans seal, reminding assholish elitists like me that they’ve been meaning to get around to it.

  I won’t snore my readers to death with a lengthy discussion about the book here (plus, I don’t want to spoil anything for those of you who’ve not read it yet), but I want to read it again and again. I want to join some sort of discussion club about it. I want Shaun to hurry up and read it already so that I can talk endlessly about what I believe to be a distinctly American preoccupation with “being good” and how this preoccupation has infiltrated a whole slew of our cultural, social, and political actions. I want to talk about the pages I’ve dog eared. I want to talk about brotherhood and how much of my brothers I see in Cal and Aron. I want to talk about the meaning of Timshel and how it just might have the power to change the world. I want to know about forgiveness. My copy needs to make its way to the library this weekend, but before I return it I want to buy a copy for myself. I finished tonight, but I’m not done. Not by a long shot.

  Before I sign off for the evening, I wanted to put here a quote from the book. This isn’t an excerpt that is integral to the book, or even one of my favorites, but it defines something I’ve been seeking definition to for a while. Last year in Scotland, I noticed the nuances of my nationality for the first time, just by the very fact that I was not Scottish. I came to realize many things about what it means to be an American, many of which Steinbeck’s wise character Lee explains in Chapter 51:
  
  All colors and breeds of Americans have somewhat the same tendencies. It’s a breed–selected out by accident. And so we’re overbrave and overfearful–we’re kind and cruel as children. We’re overfriendly and at the same time frightened of strangers. We boast and are impressed. We’re oversentimental and realistic. We are mundane and materialistic–and do you know any other nation that acts for ideas? We eat too much. We have no taste, no sense of proportion. We throw our energy about like waste. In the old lands they say of us that we go from barbarism to decadence without intervening culture. Can it be that our critics have not the key or the language of our culture? That’s what we are, Cal–all of us. you aren’t very different.

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  Who else is in love with East of Eden? Also, I’m thinking of compiling my ideal required reading for high school students. Any suggestions?

  ::Random Tangent::
  Xanga peeps! Just wanted you to know that I’m reading blogs spurratically, but not having the time to comment as I’d like to. The winter term is just kicking off at work, and it is hard to start a new job at the busiest possible time. Next week things should slow down significantly, which I’m really looking forward to. Just wanted to say: keep up the thoughtful posts!

  • 11:28 pm
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