Have you ever been down Salinas way, where Steinbeck found the valley?

I think Steinbeck is our most humanistic writer, and if he were alive I might write to him and ask him to mentor me. His heroes aren’t astronauts or CEOs or generals: he writes of shop keepers, farmhands and, most famously, the displaced. And when he has to let them down, when he has to poke somebody, he does it with such grace that you barely notice what’s happening. And that makes the tragedy all the more poignant.

And yow! What a writer. From The Pastures of Heaven:

“The place was quiet, the kind of humming quiet that flies and bees and crickets make. The whole hillside sang softly in the sun. Molly approached on tiptoe. Her heart was beating violently.”

“No, Miss Martin, he should be allowed to go free. He is not dangerous. No one can make a garden as he can. No one can milk so swiftly or so gently. He is a good boy. He can break a mad horse without riding it; he can train a dog without whipping it., but the law says he must sit in the first grade repeating ‘C-A-T- cat’ for seven years. If he had been dangerous he could have killed me when I whipped him.”

And this, which could be a proud motto for any writer (or reader): “Oh, well, it’s almost impossible to read a fine thing without wanting to do a fine thing.”

There you go. The Pastures of Heaven was Steinbeck’s 2^nd book, I guess. It’s not really a novel, like Of Mice and Men or Winter of Our Discontent is a novel. It’s a collection of stories about the residents of Las Pasturas del Cielo, somewhere in California, near Monterrey and Salinas. The main character in one story may turn up as a supporting character in another (the only ones who don’t are the Lopez sisters, whose story is among the most interesting). None end well; some end tragically. The pastures, the valley, is a character, the main one.

The people live in paradise, but have sad, glad and mundane lives like everyone else. Blah, blah. And blah. That’s not the point. The point is the kindness Steinbeck feels for them, the artistry of the story telling.

You should find it. You should read it. Because, um, you know: it’s almost impossible to read a fine thing without wanting to do a fine thing.

(BTW the title of this entry comes from the third part of the tripartite "California Saga" on Holland, the Beach Boys fine disjointed 1973 past-their-prime album. Great song, nice harmonies on the "water, water"chorus.)

(Perhaps I should sometime share more of my profound insightful criticism of that stuff with the notes and clefs. You know. That music thing. )

Like the moon and the stars and the sun...

One nice thing about this time of year in Omaha, Nebraska, is that the sun is rising right around the time I'm standing on the corner waiting for the bus. Dawn with a few clouds in the sky is probably the most beautiful sight within 500 miles. Well, okay - sometimes the sunset's just as nice.

I thought I had mentioned this before, but maybe not. Some mornings we have the moon bright and hopeful, the stars being mysterious and shy, and the sun rising through soft colors -- all at once, all visible at the same time. Nice.

Something like that almost justifies standing on a street corner on a gusty day with snow soaking your shoes and dangerous wind chills rattling your bones.

Coming soon: The Pastures of Heaven by John Steinbeck.

Agatha

Ordeal by Innocence by Agatha Christie: I figured it out about half way through. The murder being solved is two years old when the book begins, kind of a sedate, mannered and linear Cold Case (Sundays on CBS - time fluid because the Sunday afternoon football game always {always!} goes long and CBS never lets us know by how long or how late it's prime time shows wil start).

I won't give away the ending, but be aware that not all the characters make it through. I do believe most Agatha books end up with at least two murders, and this one actually kind of demands it. It kind of needs it, too: most of the book is people going around and talking to each other. Then they think -- offstage, while others talk. Is it borderline boring? Well, three-quarters of the way in, a deus-ex-machina little boy shows up, and I got excited - something happens! Turns out he just talks, but, cool!

So I've decided the genius of Agatha is to be found in the Poirot books and, to a little extent, Miss Marple. Poirot always amuses me. The books without him or Marple have not amused me, not a bit. This one wasn't awful, but it was sure, um, unexciting.