Showing posts with label American Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Literature. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 28, 2026

Quote of the Day (John Steinbeck, on Good and Evil)

“We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the neverending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.” —American novelist and Nobel Literature laureate John Steinbeck (1902-1968), East of Eden (1952)

Four years ago, I wrote this post on Steinbeck’s flawed but compulsively compelling saga of good and evil. Now comes a Netflix adaptation penned by Zoe Kazan (granddaughter of the director of the 1955 film version, Elia Kazan).

Network TV mini-series of the Seventies and Eighties tend to plunge down a rabbit hole of popular memory, and unfortunately the 1981 adaptation of the novel is no exception. I have not seen the new version starring Florence Pugh as Cathy Ames, but it is hard to think of her topping Jane Seymour (pictured) in the role.

I understand that Zoe Kazan has added a scene (not in Steinbeck’s novel) to explain Cathy’s villainy. I’m not against such changes if employed logically and sparingly. But in some cases, evil is so radical that it may be beyond the ability of a “science” like psychiatry to explain it.

 It’s what poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in remarks about Shakespeare’s villain Iago from Othello, termed “motiveless malignity”—the most chilling kind of evil.

Saturday, October 17, 2026

Quote of the Day (Henry David Thoreau, on What ‘All Men Want’)

“All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be."— American essayist, naturalist and poet Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), Walden (1854)

Friday, October 9, 2026

Quote of the Day (Ring Lardner, With a Father and Child on an Early 20th-Century Road Trip)

“Are you lost daddy? I arsked tenderly.
 
"Shut up he explained.” —American sportswriter, short-story writer, and playwright Ring Lardner (1885-1933), “The Young Immigrunts,” Saturday Evening Post, Jan. 31, 1920, reprinted in Ring Lardner: Stories and Other Writings, edited by Ian Frazier (2013)
 
I don’t know if, as an American, you’ve heard of, let alone read, The Young Visiters, a 1919 novella written by an Englishwoman, Daisy Ashford, when she reportedly was only nine years old.
 
One writer who looked at it dubiously was Ring Lardner, who parodied it in The Young Immigrunts—first as a long magazine article, then as a stand-alone book.
 
I suspect, even if you’re unaware of the targets of Lardner’s satire, that you will laugh like mad at his consistently surprising and hilarious use of American slang.

Thursday, October 8, 2026

Quote of the Day (Bernard Malamud, on ‘A Sick Country’)

“In a sick country every step to health is an insult to those who live on its sickness.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist and short-story writer Bernard Malamud (1914-1986), The Fixer (1966)

Thursday, September 24, 2026

Quote of the Day (Jessamyn West, on What Heals or Festers)

“A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever.”— American novelist Jessamyn West (1902-1984), The Life I Really Lived (1979)

Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Quote of the Day (Edna St. Vincent Millay, on How Autumn ‘Shudders’ and ‘Clambers’)

“Now the autumn shudders
In the rose's root.
Far and wide the ladders
Lean among the fruit.
 
“Now the autumn clambers
Up the trellised frame,
And the rose remembers
The dust from which it came.” —Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), “Autumn Chant,” in Edna St. Vincent Millay: Selected Poems, edited by J. D. McClatchy (Library of America edition, 2003)

Tuesday, August 25, 2026

Quote of the Day (John Cheever, on a Mid-Century Duchess in Rome)

“If you should happen to be the son of a coal miner or were brought up (as I was) in a small town in Massachusetts, the company of a ranking duchess might excite some of those vulgar sentiments that have no place in fiction, but she was beautiful, after all, and beauty has nothing to do with rank. She was slender, but not thin. And rather tall. Her hair was ash blond, and her fine, clear brow belonged against that grandiose and shabby backdrop of limestone and marble, the Roman palace where she lived. It was hers, and, stepping from the shadows of her palace to walk along the river to early Mass, she never quite seemed to leave the grainy light. One would have been surprised but not alarmed to see her join the company of the stone saints and angels on the roof of Sant' Andrea della Valle. This was not the guidebook city but the Rome of today…Donna Carla lived, like you and me, with one foot in the past.” —Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist and short-story writer John Cheever (1912-1982), "The Duchess,” originally published in The New Yorker, Dec. 13, 1958, reprinted in Some People, Places, and Things That Will Not Appear in My Next Novel (1958)

Saturday, June 27, 2026

Quote of the Day (Philip Roth, on the End of a Summer Love)

“What was it inside me that had turned pursuit and clutching into love, and then turned it inside out again? What was it that had turned winning into losing, and losing—who knows—into winning? I was sure I had loved Brenda, though standing there, I knew I couldn't any longer."— Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist Philip Roth (1933-2018), Goodbye, Columbus and Other Stories (1959)

(The image accompanying this post shows Richard Benjamin and Ali MacGraw in the 1969 adaptation of Goodbye, Columbus.)

Saturday, June 13, 2026

Quote of the Day (Philip Roth, on Loneliness)

“There is no protest to be lodged against loneliness—not all the bombing campaigns in history have made a dent in it. The most lethal of manmade explosives can't touch it.”— Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist Philip Roth (1933-2018), American Pastoral (1997)

Wednesday, June 10, 2026

Quote of the Day (Jayne Anne Phillips, on How ‘Writers Defy Time’)

“Do writers hate to write? I don’t think so. The sense of difficulty arises from the fact that writers defy time, writing words against the erasure of things and lives. We stand in an avalanche of forgetfulness, resisting the sway of disappearance. Faced with mortality, we mourn what we might have understood and communicated, not in opinion or advice but in the delivery of an invented world we might have saved. Writing, we cross the divide between self and others word by word. In the very act of completing the work, we are separated from it. One way or another, the writer loses writing: the writer loses the book. Opposing oblivion, we begin to understand: language is the way in and the way out.”—American Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist and short story writer Jayne Anne Phillips, Small Town Girls: A Writer’s Memoir (2026)

The image accompanying this post, of Jayne Anne Phillips reading at the 2024 Gaithersburg Book Festival, was taken May 18, 2024, by Frypie.

Thursday, June 4, 2026

Quote of the Day (F. Scott Fitzgerald, on an Invitation to an Early June Wedding)

“There was the usual insincere little note saying: ‘I wanted you to be the first to know.’ It was a double shock to Michael, announcing, as it did, both the engagement and the imminent marriage; which, moreover, was to be held, not in New York, decently and far away, but here in Paris under his very nose, if that could be said to extend over the Protestant Episcopal Church of the Holy Trinity, Avenue George-Cinq. The date was two weeks off, early in June.”—American novelist and short-story writer F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), “The Bridal Party,” originally printed in Saturday Evening Post (August 9, 1930), reprinted in The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald, edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli (1989)

F. Scott Fitzgerald and a June wedding—how could I resist blogging about this? Well, as you see, I couldn’t.

But “The Bridal Party” is of interest for another reason: it was Fitzgerald’s first piece of fiction to take into account the Great Crash of the prior autumn. Though the bridegroom in the story, we are told, is “heavily involved” in the stock market, nobody knows how much he had lost on Wall Street: “Anyhow, nobody ever tells you the truth.”

Fitzgerald would later address this financial and cultural cataclysm more fully and piercingly in several essays that form the heart of his posthumous collection The Crack-Up.

Tuesday, June 2, 2026

Quote of the Day (William James, on Pragmatists)

“A pragmatist turns his back resolutely and once for all upon a lot of inveterate habits dear to professional philosophers. He turns away from abstraction and insufficiency, from verbal solutions, from bad a priori reasons, from fixed principles, closed systems, and pretended absolutes and origins. He turns towards concreteness and adequacy, towards facts, towards action, and towards power. That means the empiricist temper regnant, and the rationalist temper sincerely given up. It means the open air and possibilities of nature, as against dogma, artificiality and the pretence of finality in truth.”— American philosopher and psychologist William James (1842-1910), Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking (1907)

Tuesday, May 26, 2026

Quote of the Day (Mary McCarthy, on Making 'A Realistic Decision')

“If someone tells you he is going to make 'a realistic decision,' you immediately understand that he has resolved to do something bad.”—American novelist and essayist Mary McCarthy (1912-1989), “American Realist Playwrights,” in On the Contrary: Articles of Belief, 1946-1961 (1961)

Monday, May 25, 2026

Quote of the Day (Louisa May Alcott, on Volunteering as a Civil War Nurse)

“The sight of several stretchers, each with its legless, armless, or desperately wounded occupant, entering my ward, admonished me that I was there to work, not to wonder or weep; so I corked up my feelings, and returned to the path of duty, which was rather ‘a hard road to travel’ just then. The house had been a hotel before hospitals were needed, and many of the doors still bore their old names; some not so inappropriate as might be imagined, for my ward was in truth a ball-room, if gun-shot wounds could christen it. Forty beds were prepared, many already tenanted by tired men who fell down anywhere, and drowsed till the smell of food roused them. Round the great stove was gathered the dreariest group I ever saw–ragged, gaunt and pale, mud to the knees, with bloody bandages untouched since put on days before; many bundled up in blankets, coats being lost or useless; and all wearing that disheartened look which proclaimed defeat,  more plainly than any telegram of the [General Ambrose] Burnside blunder. I pitied them so much, I dared not speak to them, though, remembering all they had been through since the route at Fredericksburg, I yearned to serve the dreariest of them all.”— American fiction writer—and Civil War volunteer nurse— Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), “Hospital Sketches,” first published in 1863, reprinted in A Strange Life: Selected Essays, edited by Liz Rosenberg (2023)

The image accompanying this post shows where Little Women author Alcott served as a nurse: United States Hospital (formerly the Union Hotel) in Georgetown. Though her service only amounted to several weeks starting in December 1862, she became in her way as much of a casualty of the conflict as the men she tended.

Bad ventilation, unhealthy food, and 12-hour shifts undermined her health, as did the medication she was given: calomel, which we now know was a poisonous mercury. According to Rachel Williams’ February 2016 blog post for the National Museum of Civil War Medicine, the writer “was never fully well thereafter.”

Memorial Day originated following the Civil War as a communal remembrance for those who fell during that conflict. Today is an appropriate time to recall not only the sacrifice of those who suffered and perished in these and other American wars, but the nurses like Alcott who endured their own traumas in tending to them.

Wednesday, May 20, 2026

Quote of the Day (Willa Cather, on the Past)

“Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist Willa Cather (1873-1947), My Antonia (1918)

Saturday, May 9, 2026

Quote of the Day (Alice McDermott, on a ‘Contrarian’ Approach to Writing Historical Fiction)

“I think many of us who write fiction are contrarians at heart. You know, the world says, ‘This is the this is the way the world is’ and we say, ‘Oh, no. No, we're going to make up our own world, even if it feels like the real world. We're going to correct it. We're going to tell it better. We're going to tell the story of history in a more interesting way.”—American novelist Alice McDermott, in conversation with David Rubenstein on “America’s Book Club,” C-SPAN, original air date Apr 19, 2026

The image accompanying this post was taken by Slowking4, showing Alice McDermott reading at the 2018 Gaithersburg Book Festival, May 19, 2018.

Monday, May 4, 2026

Flashback, May 1926: Miffed Sinclair Lewis Nixes Pulitzer for ‘Arrowsmith’

After bypassing Sinclair Lewis twice in the past half-dozen years, the Pulitzer Prize board –whether in recognition of present merit or compensation for past mistakes—awarded him the fiction prize for Arrowsmith in early May 1926.

Whether out of genuine principle or annoyance over his Main Street being passed over in 1920 for Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence or, in 1922, his Babbitt for Willa Cather’s One of Ours, Lewis rejected the citation. It may have been the most resounding rebuke of a cultural institution before George C. Scott and Marlon Brando refused to accept their Best Actor Oscars in the early 1970s.

Privately, Lewis told publisher Alfred Harcourt that he intended to turn it down because of “the Main Street burglary.” While some observers suspected peevishness on his part, Lewis gave a more high-minded public justification.

The terms of the Pulitzer called for the award to go to work that represented “the wholesome atmosphere of American life, and the highest standard of American manners and manhood”—precisely the grounds on which Main Street and Babbitt, with their withering satire, had been bypassed before.

Those terms, Lewis wrote in his letter of rejection, “would appear to mean that the appraisal of the novels shall be made not according to their actual literary merit but in obedience to whatever code of Good Form may chance to be popular at the moment.”

With three bestselling, highly acclaimed novels to his credit, Lewis wielded a great deal of credibility, particularly when he framed his rejection in the context of his also declining election to the National Institute of Arts and Letters. His refusal of the Pulitzer and the $1,000 that went with it earned front-page notice in The New York Times.

As there always are in such cases, cynics wondered if there was more to the situation than Lewis explained, and their case was bolstered four years later, when he accepted the Nobel Prize for Literature—particularly because, in turning down the Pulitzer, he had stated that “All prizes, like all titles, are dangerous.” [emphasis added]

Arrowsmith may have been the most universally appealing of Lewis’ novels to this point, featuring a protagonist who, though flawed, was an idealistic, science-oriented doctor dedicated wholly to the pursuit of knowledge and truth.

While not dispensing with the author’s gift for satire (in this case, targeting medical quackery, public-health bureaucrats, and doctors who shamelessly pursuit financial success at the expense of patients), it gave readers a chance to admire a major character unreservedly.

As the son and brother of doctors, Lewis came by his interest in the medical profession naturally. But what many critics and ordinary readers may not have realized at the time is that the career of Martin Arrowsmith drew on Lewis’ recent friendship with 35-year-old microbiologist and pathologist Paul De Kruif—one that became so close that it evolved into a genuine working collaboration.

As James Tobin explains in this blog post, Lewis even suggested to De Kruif that he be listed as co-author, with the two splitting royalties 50-50. The doctor, as much stunned by the generous offer as aware that Lewis’ name constituted the proposed project’s main selling point, thought that the split should be 75% to 25% in Lewis’ favor.

In the end, either Lewis’s publisher or the author himself rejected the microbiologist’s request for a single line on the title page: “In collaboration with Paul De Kruif.”

Instead, Lewis set out his debt to De Kruif in a different fashion, acknowledging his help “not only for most of the bacteriological and medical material in this tale but equally for his suggestions in the planning of the fable itself  – for his realization of the characters as living people, for his philosophy as a scientist.”

In the end, it wasn’t insufficient acknowledgement of his creative input that fractured De Kruif’s relationship with Lewis, but at least several incidents of the latter’s erratic, often alcohol-fueled misbehavior that at last couldn’t be ignored.

Nevertheless, his association with the now-prizing author benefited De Kruif enough that he came to write a bestselling nonfiction account of medicine later that year, Microbe Hunters, launching a second career for him as a popular writer of medical histories, biographies, and public-health advocacy.

After winning the Nobel Prize, as his alcoholism worsened, most critics agreed that the quality of Lewis’ work suffered, and his reputation took a further hit with Mark Schorer’s 1961 biography. But periodically, readers who have returned to the novels written at his peak discover their continuing relevance, and Arrowsmith is no exception.

As I mentioned in this post from late last year, though not read as widely as two other novels published in 1925, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, it shared with them a searing criticism of American materialism at the height of the Roaring Twenties.

More than a few 21st-century patients will nod appreciatively at how, in med school, Arrowsmith listens to a professor who extols the value of salesmanship to his students—including the value of convincing patients of the need for dubious small but money-making operations.

They will also detect the early baleful influence of Big Pharma in the Hunziker Company’s harassment of Arrowsmith’s mentor, the German scientist Max Gottlieb, for his reluctance to market an antitoxin he’s developed until he’s absolutely certain of its effectiveness—and, since COVID-19, they will shudder on the enormous pressures and responsibilities felt by Arrowsmith as he battles the outbreak of bubonic plague on an island in the West Indies.

Monday, March 30, 2026

Quote of the Day (Henry David Thoreau, on Knowing All Nature’s ‘Moods and Manners’)

“I seek acquaintance with nature to know all her moods and manners. Primitive nature is the most interesting to me. I take infinitive pains to know all the phenomena of the spring, for instance, thinking that I have here the entire poem, and, then, to my chagrin I hear that is but an imperfect copy that I possess and have read, that my ancestors have torn out many of the first leaves and grandest passages, and mutilated it in many places. I should not like to think that some demigod had come before me and picked out some of the best of the stars. I wish to know the entire heaven and an entire earth. All the great trees, and beasts, fishes and fowls are gone.” —American essayist, naturalist and poet Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), journal entry for Mar. 23, 1856, in The Journal of Henry David Thoreau, 1837-1861 (2009)

PBS is giving Thoreau the same treatment it gave Ernest Hemingway a few years ago: a three-part documentary by Ken Burns, starting tonight. It’s hard to overstate the importance of this Transcendentalist as naturalist and protest figure.

Hailed by youth in the 1960s, Thoreau may be experiencing an even greater groundswell of interest now. Let’s hope so.

Wednesday, January 21, 2026

Quote of the Day (Henry David Thoreau, on Irish Ice-Cutters in New England Winters)

“A hundred Irishmen, with Yankee overseers, came from Cambridge every day to get out the ice. They divided it into cakes by methods too well known to require description, and these, being sledded to the shore, were rapidly hauled off on to an ice platform, and raised by grappling irons and block and tackle, worked by horses, on to a stack, as surely as so many barrels of flour, and there placed evenly side by side, and row upon row, as if they formed the solid base of an obelisk designed to pierce the clouds. They told me that in a good day they could get out a thousand tons, which was the yield of about one acre. Deep ruts and ‘cradle–holes’ were worn in the ice, as on terra firma, by the passage of the sleds over the same track, and the horses invariably ate their oats out of cakes of ice hollowed out like buckets. They stacked up the cakes thus in the open air in a pile thirty–five feet high on one side and six or seven rods square, putting hay between the outside layers to exclude the air; for when the wind, though never so cold, finds a passage through, it will wear large cavities, leaving slight supports or studs only here and there, and finally topple it down. At first it looked like a vast blue fort or Valhalla; but when they began to tuck the coarse meadow hay into the crevices, and this became covered with rime and icicles, it looked like a venerable moss–grown and hoary ruin, built of azure–tinted marble, the abode of Winter, that old man we see in the almanac—his shanty, as if he had a design to estivate with us. They calculated that not twenty–five per cent of this would reach its destination, and that two or three per cent would be wasted in the cars.” — American essayist, naturalist and poet Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), Walden (1854)

One of those jobs that despised immigrants performed years ago...

The image accompanying this post, showing ice-harvesting in Massachusetts in the early 1850s, appeared first in Gleason's Drawing Room Companion (1852), p. 37.

Thursday, January 1, 2026

Quote of the Day (Mark Twain, on New Year’s Day, ‘A Harmless Annual Institution’)

“Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. Yesterday, everybody smoked his last cigar, took his last drink, and swore his last oath. Today, we are a pious and exemplary community. Thirty days from now, we shall have cast our reformation to the winds and gone to cutting our ancient shortcomings considerably shorter than ever. We shall also reflect pleasantly upon how we did the same old thing last year about this time. However, go in, community. New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls, and humbug resolutions, and we wish you to enjoy it with a looseness suited to the greatness of the occasion.”—American novelist, humorist, lecturer, and journalist Mark Twain (1835-1910), “New Year's Day,” Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, Jan. 1, 1863