1932 - The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck

Introduction

Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth takes place in a small village of China immediately before the Chinese Civil War. There were a few foreigners in the book, although they were not identified as American. Throughout the book I half expected the characters to leave and head to America, but this never occurred. This makes the book a curious choice for the Pulitzer Prize, as it does not directly address the requirement of representing the “wholesome atmosphere of American life” mentioned in my Arrowsmith essay.

The novel’s theme of money leading to corruption and destructive idleness could be equated to the risks of the American dream, but this idea is too universal. History is riddled with examples of a nation or a person losing their influence through such idleness. The only varying detail is whether it was their corruption or another’s that led to their downfall. The story of power's ruinous effect is one of the oldest and most repetitious of mankind.

Pearl S. Buck deals with the corruption of the existing social structure and the structure that would form following the civil war. Perhaps in 1931, the novel could have been seen as a portrait of Chinese culture. If read narrowly, the book could be seen as a condemnation of the roots of Communism. Maybe it was Buck’s understanding and sympathy with the poor farmer that elevated her book to the Pulitzer Prize Board’s standard of excellence.

America has a love of the farmer and a disdain for the leisurely rich, so conceivably, these themes helped the book win the award. Likely it was only because Pearl S. Buck was an American and the book was a success.

As with most Pulitzer Prize winners, a film was made from the novel. Despite the initial wishes of the director, no Chinese actors were used (due to the discriminating culture of Hollywood at the time). Instead, the American actors wore make-up to make them appear Chinese. The ending was also changed to include reconciliation and forgiveness, which was absent in the book.

A movie in 1937 with white actors made-up to appear a different race and an alternative happy ending seems to me to be more characteristically American than the novel. The movie won several Academy Awards, but is probably not as satisfying as the novel. Buck’s simple tale has enough moral ambiguity that the real world is truthfully represented, where the film was likely just passable entertainment.

Plot Summary

Wang Lung lived and worked on the family farm with his father. The farm had been in his family for countless generations. The land was always treasured, although never more than by Wang Lung.

His father purchased the slave of a wealthy family to be Wang Lung's wife. O-lan, the woman, was very adept at the many tasks of a farm, but she lacked any physical beauty. When pregnant with their first child, she continued to work the fields with Wang Lung, up to the minute of birth. She locked herself in her room until the child was delivered, exiting only once she and the child were clean.

Wang Lung had always put any money he earned back into the land, but only with the arrival of his first child did he begin to see the potential value and power of wealth.

Wang Lung sat smoking, thinking of the silver as it had lain upon the table. It had come out of the earth, this silver, out of his earth that he ploughed and turned and spent himself upon. He took his life from this earth; drop by drop by his sweat he wrung food from it and from the food, silver. Each time before this that he had taken the silver out to give to anyone, it had been like taking a piece of his life and giving it to someone carelessly. But now for the first time such giving was not pain. He saw, not the silver in the alien hand of a merchant in the town; he saw the silver transmuted into something worth even more than itself – clothes upon the body of his son. And this strange woman of his, who worked about, saying nothing, seemed to see nothing. She had first seen the child thus clothed!

Wang Lung and O-lan conceived four more children, including several daughters. At first Wang Lung took the birth of the girls as a sign of bad luck. Only over time did he grow to cherish them (perhaps more than his sons).

Bad luck eventually did come, first reaching the great house from which O-lan was purchased. The house was in such want (for opium) that Wang Lung purchased a portion of their good land at a cheap price. The profits from both fields allowed Wang Lung to easily provide for his ever-growing family.

The bad luck spread to the farmers when the rain they expected and relied upon did not come. The people of the town were starved and nourished themselves on everything from stray animals to insects to tree bark. Soil was eaten to feign a digestible mass in the stomach.

Wang Lung and his family were robbed by bandits, including his uncle, who did not know their wealth had been nearly exhausted on the now arid land. Without money or food, Wang Lung took his family to a distant city, where death was not a guarantee, as it was on his farm.

Wang Lung spent his last pieces of silver purchasing a train ticket for his family, who would not have survived the walk south.

In the city, Wang Lung and his family were able to survive. Rice was sold cheaply by several of the philanthropic great houses. O-lan assembled a small shelter using mats propped against a wall. While his father, wife, and children begged (and stole), Wang Lung pulled a jinrikisha around town, learning the streets and witnessing the uneasy political climate of the city.

His neighbors often spoke of what was to happen in China, although Wang Lung did not understand it.

He saw nothing of the way which the man spoke when he said, "There is a way, when the rich are too rich."

One of the few times Wang Lung attempted to challenge one of the street speakers, the conversation was turned against him.

"Sir, is there any way whereby the rich who oppress us can make it rain so that I can work on the land?"At this the young man turned on him with scorn and replied, "Now how ignorant you are, you who still wear your hair in a long tail! No one can make it rain when it will not, but what has this to do with us? If the rich would share with us what they have, rain or not would matter none, because we would all have money and food."

Even if unaware of the greater meaning, Wang Lung and O-lan participated in the beginnings of the civil war. One night there was a commotion in the great house their shelters were propped against. Wang Lung went to investigate, although O-lan silently knew what was occurring. People had gathered and were looting the house. Wang Lung and O-lan were swept up in the crowd until Wang Lung was finally able to escape, coming upon a terrified resident. Wang Lung used the resident’s fear to extract several pieces of gold from him. O-lan, knowing her way around a great house, recognized the meaning of a loose brick, and quickly and secretly took the hidden jewels inside. With this ill-gotten money they were able to travel back to the farm, purchase more land, and firmly establish their family’s wealth.

Wang Lung grew confident through his money and sent his oldest sons to a town school. He bought land from his starving neighbors, and then rented it land back to them. He hired many people from the town to work on his ever growing property.

Wang Lung could also to afford to let his sinister uncle and family stay on the land. The addition of his uncle was a duty to his family and also a form of protection, as his uncle belonged to a group of feared bandits. As long as his uncle was present, the land and house would not be plundered. His uncle caused Wang Lung so much grief and worry that a solution was devised by Wang Lung and his eldest son. His uncle and aunt were offered as much free opium as they desired. They were quickly devoured by the addiction. The successful bribe left them sickly, idle, and placid until the end of their days.

Wang Lung’s wealth also led him to believe he should dine at finer restaurants, which included a tea shop in town. At the tea shop were paintings of beautiful women. When he found out they were real women, he was astounded. He did not believe such women could exist. Not only were the women real, but they could be paid for. The price was not above Wang Lung's means, and he was soon visiting the tea shop to visit one particular woman named Lotus regularly. However, this luxury did not bring him any sort of lasting joy.

Now Wang Lung became sick with the sickness which greater than any a man can have. He suffered under labor in the sun and he suffered under the dry icy winds of the bitter desert and he suffered from the despair of laboring without hope upon the streets of a southern city. But under none of these did he suffer as he now did under this slight girl’s hand.

Every day he went to the tea shop; every evening he waited until she would receive him, and every night he went in to her. Each night he went in and each night again he was the country fellow who knew nothing, trembling at the door, sitting stiffly beside her, waiting for her signal of laughter, and then fevered, filled with a sickening hunger, he followed slavishly, bit by bit, her unfolding, until the moment of crisis, when, like a flower that is ripe for plucking, she was willing that he should grasp her wholly.

Yet he could never grasp her wholly, and this it was which kept him fevered and thirsty, even if she gave him his will of her. When O-lan had come to his house it was health to his flesh and he lusted for her robustly as a beast for its mate and he took her and was satisfied and he forgot her and did his work content. But there was no such content now in his love for this girl, and there was no health in her for him. At night when she would have no more of him, pushing him out of the door petulantly, with her small hands suddenly strong on his shoulders, his silver thrust into her bosom, he went away hungry as he came. It was as though a man, dying of thirst, drank the salt water of the sea which, though it is water, yet dries his blood into thirst and yet greater thirst so that in the end he dies, maddened by his very drinking. He went into her and he had his will of her again and again and he came away unsatisfied.

Wang Lung found a solution for his dissatisfaction. He purchased Lotus from the tea shop and built an addition on his house for her. O-lan was devastated by this, as the mother of Wang Lung’s children, his loyal wife, and a plain woman.

Not long after, O-lan fell ill and knew she was to die. Her only wish was to see her second son be wed, which she was able to. Otherwise, she passed in confusion and sadness.

With the passing of O-lan, Wang Lung and his family moved into the great house in town. They did not own the house, but rented it from the original family. The farm was left to be managed by the townspeople who Wang Lung trusted.

None of Wang Lung’s children were taught to farm. He felt that his high position was above this obligation. His oldest son was highly educated, but did not have any discernible or marketable skill. His days were passed spending his father’s money to make their house match the glory of the previous great house. His second son was trained as a merchant and was the only one of Wang Lung’s children to have a sustainable career. One daughter was married off to another successful family, and was not heard from again. The other daughter, whom Wang Lung referred to as his “Poor Fool,” only sat about, smiling and twisting a piece of cloth. The youngest son was always brooding and angry.

When the aging Wang Lung questioned his youngest son about his temperament, the boy spoke passionately of war and was irritated at his family’s idle wealth.

"There is to be a war such as we have never heard of –there is to be a revolution and fighting and war such as never was, and our land is to be free!"

Wang Lung did not understand him, as he still considered himself only a land owner, whose land was freely passed down through the generations.

Wang Lung aged as his father did, understanding less and less of the growing complexities of the world. His only thoughts were of his land.

The novel ends with Wang Lung overhearing his sons discussing the finances of the family. They were considering selling the land (their only source of income) to maintain their wealth.

The old man heard only these words, "sell the land," and he cried out and he could not keep his voice from breaking and trembling with anger,

"Now, evil, idle sons –sell the land!"

Notable Characters

Wang Lung’s wife O-lan was unendingly loyal and useful to him. Her introduction at the great house summarizes her unchanging character.

"This woman came into our house when she was a child of ten and here she has lived until now, when she is twenty years old. I bought her in a year of famine when her parents came south because they had nothing to eat. They were from the north in Shantung and there they returned, and I know nothing further of them. You see she has the strong body and the square cheeks of her kind. She will work well for you in the field and drawing water and all else that you wish. She is not beautiful but that you do not need. Only men of leisure have the need for beautiful women to divert them. Neither is she clever. But she does well what she is told and she has a good temper. So far as I know she is virgin. She has not beauty enough to tempt my sons and grandsons even if she had not been in the kitchen. If there has been anything it has been only a serving man. But with the innumerable and petty slaves running freely about the courts, I doubt if there has been anyone. Take her and use her well. She is a good slave, although somewhat slow and stupid, and had I not wished to acquire merit at the temple for my future existence by bringing more life into the world I should have kept her, for she is good enough for the kitchen. But I marry my slaves off if any will have them and the lords do not want them."

While O-lan excelled in usefulness, she completely lacked in beauty. This went unnoticed by Wang Lung until his infatuation with Lotus began.

And it seemed to Wang Lung that he looked upon O-lan for the first time in his life and he saw for the first time that she was a woman whom no man could call other than she was, a dull and common creature, who plodded in silence without thought of how she appeared to others. He saw for the first time that her hair was rough and brown and unoiled and that her face was large and flat and course-skinned, and her features too large altogether and without any sort of beauty or light. Her eyebrows were scattered and the hairs too few, and her lips were too wide, and her hands and feet were large and spreading.

Wang Lung only noticed O-lan's feet because Lotus’s feet were bound. O-lan was able to work in the fields, prepare meals in the kitchen, and look after her children because of her unbound feet. When Lotus grew older and fatter she could only move about with a pronounced waddle. Lotus also never conceived for Wang Lung, where O-lan provided five children for him, including 3 sons. However, even at her death, Wang Lung could only act out of duty towards O-lan.

When he took this stiff dying hand he did not love it, and even his pity was spoiled with repulsion towards it.

When O-lan found the jewels in the great house, she piteously begged Wang Lung that she may keep two of the pearls she found. Wang Lung was surprised at this, but he allowed her to keep the pearls, which were well hidden on her person.

O-lan never explained why she treasured the pearls. Her begging of Wang Lung was that of a child pleading to a parent for a needless treasure. She was raised a slave, and as a wife to a wealthy land owner she was still without property, much less anything beautiful. The pearls were a desire for a beautiful ownership, and a grasp of personal freedom. She, who never had anything in her entire life, wanted to have beauty, even if to just hold.

When Wang Lung began his tryst with Lotus, he callously demanded the pearls of her. Lotus made them into a set of earrings (one among many), never knowing or appreciating their true value.

In the film version, Wang Lung returns the pearls to O-lan on her deathbed and the two are reconciled. In the novel, his taking of her pearls is his largest regret.

O-lan dies a cheated woman. Whatever childhood she could have had was taken away when her parents sold her to slavery. Whatever joy as a wife and mother she could have was taken away by Lotus. She remained loyal to Wang Lung, but in the last of her life she was deeply wounded by losing the few joys she was permitted.

Favorite Passages

The Cultural Revolution of China was still 40 years away, but the overthrow of the corrupt wealthy was foreshadowed in the novel. This passage briefly tells of the reliance of the poor on the rich, the rich’s thoughtless abuse of the poor, and the poor’s satisfied sense of justice when the rich were punished.

The river to the north burst its dykes, its furthermost dykes first, and when men saw what had happened, they hurried from this place to that to collect money to mend it, and every man gave as he was able, for it was to the interest of each to keep the river within its bounds. The money they entrusted, then, to the magistrate in the district, a man new and just come. Now this magistrate was a poor man and had not seen so much money in his lifetime before, being only newly risen to his position through the bounty of his father, who had put all the money he had and could borrow to buy this place for his son, so that from it the family might acquire some wealth. When the river burst again the people went howling and clamoring to the magistrate’s house, because he had not done what he promised and mended the dykes, and he ran and hid himself because the money he had spent in his own house, even three thousand pieces of silver. And the common people burst into his house howling and demanding his life for what he had done, and when he saw he would be killed he ran and jumped into the water and drowned himself, and thus the people were appeased.

The Chinese Civil War and Cultural Revolution are alluded to but never realized in the novel. "The way when the rich become too rich" never comes to be on a grand scale. Small incidents, such as the one above and the robbery of the great house, portray a poor class beyond hope or reason. Their empty stomachs drove them to petty and life-sustaining robbery, but the arrogant injustice of the rich drove them to pine for murder.

Wang Lung began as the men in the above quote, but increased his affluence so that he was not unlike the ignorant magistrate’s father, and his sons as the greedy and crooked magistrate.

Conclusions

During his work using the jinrikisha, Wang Lung was given a Christian tract, depicting a crucified Jesus. Unable to read it, he was terrified at the image and his neighbors could offer no assistance. This scene could be contrasted to the moving scene of Amistad, where the prisoners figure out the Easter story by flipping through a pictorial version of the Bible. The missionary in China must have been unaware of the low literacy rates amongst the poor. It also may have helped to include more than one picture.

The novel often used asides, such as the magistrate’s death or the ineffective missionary, to portray subtle themes of cultural details and the rising revolution in China. The primary plot, involving Wang Lung, represented the larger, more universal theme, of corrupting wealth.

When Wang Lung’s sons were attending school they were given names which were rooted in “whose wealth is from the earth.” Although his wealth was expanded through the earth, the initial investment was stolen. Wang Lung had always tried to remain honest, up until the point when he faced a pleading and desperate resident at the great house in the city. He had chided his children for stealing corn from carts, and now he was in a position to take much more than survival rations. His family may have survived in the city, but it is doubtful they would have made enough money to return to his land.

The seeds of his wealth were not sewn in the earth. His stolen prosperity altered him. His position caused discontent, and he spent the remainder of his life searching for peace. This peace never came and restlessness only escalated. The troubles of wanting Lotus, providing for his uncle, and placating his emotional and idle sons only grew more complex.

The peace Wang Lung desired was the simplicity of a farmer. A farmer did not have time to grow restless or greedy. When Wang Lung was a poor farmer, his uncle did not trouble him. It was clear that there was only enough to provide for his immediate family. Only Wang Lung’s father did not work on the land. He enjoyed his earned retirement, demanding only hot water to soothe his morning coughs. As soon as the jewels were stolen, Wang Lung and his family entered an unearned retirement.

There was no peace for Wang Lung because honesty and justice were so quickly discarded. If his wealth had been obtained over time, he may not have lost his moral standing. The initial purchase of the small tract of land from the great house is an example of this gradual, non-corrupting growth. His swift and dishonest rise led to him abusing his neighbors, neglecting his wife, spoiling his children, and securing his family’s ruin by passing on few survival skills.

If Wang Lung were wise or thoughtful, then his corruption may have been avoided. O-lan was likely the wisest character in the novel. She was the one to secure the diamonds to help her family escape from the stagnant poverty of the city. However, even in riches her work never ceased. Wang Lung would occasionally work the fields and briefly discover the peace of his old life. This peace could not last, however, since the dishonest and demanding life he had built for himself could not be avoided.

In trying to improve his societal position, Wang Lung unknowingly lost the simple peace in his life and his family’s future life. He did not know the importance of such peace until he had irretrievably discarded it.

Coming up next - 1944 A Bell for Adano by John Hersey

1926 - Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis

Introduction

Sinclair Lewis’s Arrowsmith is not exactly the 1926 Pulitzer Prize winner. Sinclair was expected to win in 1921, but instead the award went to Edith Wharton for The Age of Innocence. His novel Babbitt was also recommended for the prize in 1923, but this time lost to Willa Cather for One of Ours. When his novel Arrowsmith was awarded the Pulitzer Prize, he made history by being the first and only author to refuse it.

In a letter to the Pulitzer Prize committee, he wrote:

I wish to acknowledge your choice of my novel Arrowsmith for the Pulitzer Prize. That prize I must refuse, and my refusal would be meaningless unless I explained the reasons.

All prizes, like all titles, are dangerous. The seekers for prizes tend to labor not for inherent excellence but for alien rewards; they tend to write this, or timorously to avoid writing that, in order to tickle the prejudices of a haphazard committee. And the Pulitzer Prize for Novels is peculiarly objectionable because the terms of it have been constantly and grievously misrepresented.

Those terms are that the prize shall be given "for the American novel published during the year which shall best present the wholesome atmosphere of American life, and the highest standard of American manners and manhood." This phrase, if it means anything whatsoever, 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.

His speech made me consider quitting this blog altogether. I will continue, however, for two reasons that I do not believe contradict his strong and agreeable statement. One is for the reasons stated in my opening post (as a guide of discovering more authors, learn about American past, etc.), and the other is that I would need some form of readership to achieve an alien reward, and there is no risk of that.

I imagine the phrase “the highest standard of American manners and manhood” could be easily misrepresented during wartime. It would take much effort to apply this criteria to poorly written propaganda, and perhaps this is what Lewis feared.

Lewis did accept a Nobel Prize in 1930. His reasons were that the Nobel Prize was based on a career effort, not for a single novel. He strongly disapproved of the Pulitzer Prize’s marketing and repackaging of novels, based on the prize.

His refusal of the Pulitzer Prize gave the novel even more publicity. The book will also always be associated with the 1926 Pulitzer Prize. Not being an official winner certainly did not stop me from reading it and writing my lengthiest essay yet.

Plot Summary

Nearly his entire adult life, Martin Arrowsmith struggled to find an outlet for his curious and focused mind. The plot explores his various positions in medicine, one job at a time, in an almost allegorical format.

As a boy, Martin was as an assistant to an old country doctor. The doctor recommended that the poor, but bookish, Martin attend medical school, in order to substantially extend his knowledge and income.

While attending medical school Martin was surprised to find so many versions of knowledge. Every student and teacher professed contrasting ideas and varied approaches to medicine. The myriad idealisms left the eager-to-follow Martin without a clear direction.

He joined a fraternity where he met several characters with their vocational paths already determined. Angus Duer smartly and coldly pursued medicine, delighting teachers, but he lacked compassion. Irvine Waters preached the gospel of profit, and Reverend Ira Hinkley preached the Gospel itself. The only roommate Martin could tolerate was Cliff Clawson, whose rough humor and unpredictability gave Martin relief amongst his strict peers and studies.

His professors were no less diverse. Whoever the latest teacher was, Martin would set himself up in an imagined apprenticeship, following their philosophies and imagining himself in their specific professions. Luckily for Martin, his focused mind gave him success in these ventures. However, the only teacher to make a striking and lasting impression was a German professor named Max Gottlieb.

Gottlieb was perceived as a strange old man around campus. He was short with everyone he came across and mysteriously rode around campus on a bicycle, as if haunting it. He left his small on-campus house only when teaching his class, although he did not seem to take any pleasure in this either. He was secretly mocked amongst his fellow teachers and his students. They mocked his martyr attitude and his devotion to a supposedly pure science. However, he was widely respected globally for his thorough and detailed work in biochemistry.

Gottlieb greeted his students on the first day with a very demanding work ethic:

Gentlemen, the most important part of living is not the living but the pondering upon it. And the most important part of the experimentation is not doing the experiment but making notes, ve-ry accurate quantitative notes – in ink. I am told that a great many clever people feel they can keep notes in their heads. I have often observed with pleasure that such persons do not have heads in which to keep their notes. This iss very good, because thus the world never sees their results and science is not encumbered with them.

Martin clung to Gottlieb’s ideal, always desiring to achieve his level of consuming dedication and focused perspective. Every career path Martin chose was tested against Gottlieb’s teaching. These intense principles lead to most of his life’s frustration. Most of the doctors Martin met seemed to care about everything except science.

Martin’s struggle against shoddy science was not the only source of frustration in his life. His socioeconomic class also determined his happiness throughout life. Martin did not grow up in wealth. In the high paying world of doctors, Martin found himself perpetually out of place.

The comfort he felt in the laboratory did not extend elsewhere. His first visit to high society, at a symphony, left him strongly uneasy.

Martin found himself in a confusion of little chairs and vas gilded arches, of polite but disapproving ladies with programs in their laps, unromantic musicians making unpleasant noises below, and, at last, incomprehensible beauty, which made for him pictures of hills and deep forests, then suddenly became achingly long-winded. He exulted, “I’m going to have ‘em all – the fame of Max Gottlieb – I mean his ability – and the lovely music and lovely women – Golly! I’m going to do big things. And see the world… Will this piece never quit?”

It was not the price of an activity that troubled him, but the wastefulness and hidden intentions. Martin trusted Gottlieb’s vision of science because it was a skill working towards perfection. The money earned or status obtained was of no consequence, and, in fact, would only serve as a distraction. His childhood poverty only magnified these ideals.

While working a summer job installing electrical poles, he has an epiphany concerning this skilled poverty.

He was atop a pole and suddenly, for no clear cause, his eyes opened and he saw; as though he had just awakened he saw that the prairie was vast, that the sun was kindly on rough pasture and ripening wheat, on the old horses, the easy, broad-beamed, friendly horses, and on his red-faced jocose companions; he saw that the meadow larks were jubilant, and blackbirds shining by little pools, and with the living sun all life was living. Suppose the Angus Duers and Irving Watterses were tight tradesmen. What of it? “I’m here!” he gloated.

The wire-gang we as healthy and as simple as the west wind; they had no pretentiousness; though they handled electrical equipment they did not, like medics, learn a confusion of scientific terms and pretend to the farmers that they were scientists. They laughed easily and were content to be themselves, and with them Martin was content to forget how noble he was. He had for them an affection such as he had for no one at the University save Max Gottlieb.

Martin briefly dated (and became affianced to) a young society woman named Madeline. Her initial interest quickly turned into desire for correction. He was frustrated, but he did not allow himself to treat her similarly condescending. Nor did he leave her. The relationship was set for a stalemate.

While running a medical errand to a nearby hospital, Martin had an argument with an insultingly informal nurse named Leora. Martin returned later to finalize and more articulately express his anger, but she quickly and disarmingly apologized. Through several more meetings, they found in each other a true soul mate. If Cliff Clawson served as a reminder of his lower-class history, then Leora provided him with a firm and growing foundation of an anti-pretentiousness.

Finding himself engaged to two women, he tells them both over lunch and finds himself with only Leora, who was dedicated as ever.

Martin spends the majority of adult life trying one career path after another. A common thread was his desire to be in a laboratory and dissatisfaction with fast and loose science.

The first job he found himself in was as a country doctor in Leora’s hometown. It was a promising location, since the local doctors were distant and there was little competition. However, the small town’s politics and fear of outsiders made it easy for the town to turn quickly against him. When Martin found the source of a typhoid outbreak to a poor, but beloved, old woman, the town turned on him. Once the typhoid subsided, the town allowed themselves a faint praise. This praise soon dissipated once they grew tired of his over-educated discourse, drinking, gambling, and his distracted manner. The town gossiped mercilessly and eventually Martin fled town to become an assistant to the director of health of a distant city.

The city’s director of health, named Pickerbaugh, spun a constant sermon, organizing and exciting the town against the latest disease. The terrible habits of spitting and drinking were demonized. After souls were saved during a church service, lives were saved with lectures by Pickerbaugh or Martin. Martin still preferred the slow and patient study of a laboratory and often clashed with the quick and shallow campaigns of Pickerbaugh. Their approaches to science also led to some personal conflicts between Martin and the propagandist Pickerbaugh.

He had the personal touchiness of most propagandists; he believed that because he was sincere, therefore his opinions must always be correct.

When Pickerbaugh left for an almost inevitable Senate position, Martin was left in charge. Once again, Martin was at odds with an entire population. Martin expanded the free clinics and quickly lost the already mild support of politically powerful doctors. While Martin excelled in medicine, he did not achieve much in the way of rallying the townspeople or avoiding offense. One set of lost relations led to many, and eventually to all. The mayor reacted by continually lowering his pay until the amount became unsustainable. Martin and Leora once again felt forced to leave and fled to work for Angus Duer.

Martin did not spend long at Duer’s practice. The fellow doctors, as well as the building itself, were as cold as Duer had always been. During his stay, Martin was able to spend some time in a laboratory. He wrote a brief paper on streptolysin for a scientific journal and achieved some notoriety. He was contacted by Gottlieb who was working at a laboratory in New York City. Martin used Gottlieb’s reference and was offered a job at the laboratory, which Martin quickly took.

The laboratory in New York was funded by a very wealthy family, and employed many great scientists. There was initially little pressure upon the scientists, and both Gottlieb and Martin found a bit of a home there. Martin’s pay was increased enough that Leora and he could enjoy some comfort and explore the city itself.

Martin felt slightly idle at the job, however, until the bacteria in a flask mysteriously disintegrated.

Now in Martin Arrowsmith there was no decorative heroisms, no genius for amours, no exotic wit, no edifying borne misfortunes. He presented neither picturesque elegance nor a moral message. He was full of hasty faults and of perverse honesty; a young man often unkindly, often impolite. But he had one gift: curiosity whereby he saw nothing as ordinary. Had he been an acceptable hero, like Major Rippleton Holabird, he would have chucked the contents of the flask into the sink, avowed with pretty modesty. But Martin, being Martin, walked prosaically up and down his laboratory, snarling. “Now there was some cause for that, and I’m going to find out what it was.

Martin worked sleeplessly in determining the reason. He suspected he had stumbled on a virus which had infected the bacteria. He was meticulous at eliminating all the possible external causes, to see if the implications were true. He dared not tell Gottlieb of his discovery until it was a fact. When all other possibilities were discounted, Martin named the effect "X-principle" and presented his results to Gottlieb. Gottlieb was impressed with his work, but made sure to tell Martin to keep his discovery quiet. However, the long hours and ever declining physical appearance of Martin alerted his bosses to his experiments.

He was unable to lie and they insisted on immediate publication of his discovery. He had not yet finished his experiments defining the X-principle, but they offered him a high position and a doubling of salary.

While struggling in preparing his paper, a scientist abroad had made a similar discovery and posted a very well written and detailed paper about it. The scientist called the bacteria-attacking virus bacteriophage (phage). The position and increased salary were lost. However, the pressure and stress of success were also eliminated.

Martin’s boss suggested that Martin continue to test the phage against various bacteria, in order to find a practical purpose. A large scale test soon presented itself when a small island called St. Hubert was affected by the plague. Martin was to go and do an experiment: to test half the population with the phage, and the other half without. The difficulty would lie in watching people die, but still refusing treatment. Leora insisted on accompanying him, although everyone urged otherwise.

Martin found great opposition on the island as well. The town’s leaders could not understand why the entire town could not be given the untested miracle cure. When those leaders died from the plague, there was not as much trouble. Martin conducted his test in a church which had served as a hospital. He had a laboratory where he created the phage, and also measured its affects on flasks containing the plague.

While away at the church, Leora grew impatient and wandered around his laboratory. She found one of Martin’s half-smoked cigarettes on the floor and smoked the rest, as a small reminder of her husband. She was unaware that an assistant had earlier spilled a flask of the plague on it.

When Martin returned she was already dead.

He was devastated and his experiment lapsed. A fellow doctor took over the church testing, but he meanwhile administered free phage for anyone on the island that came. Martin had met a young woman of wealth on the island, but avoided her after Leora’s tragic death.

His mourning turned into practical work, and he finished what he could of his experiment. The phage seemed to work on the plague. His bosses at the laboratory insisted he eliminate the doubt from his final report. When he returned to the US, he was given a hero’s welcome for curing the plague.

Perhaps seeking companionship, Martin married the young wealthy woman he met on the island. She was tolerant to his rough-necked ways, but slowly he found himself adapting to the luxury.

After an accidental meeting with his old friend Cliff Clawson, he had realized how far he had come from his roots, and how idle he had been about his passions.

Suddenly Martin hated the blue-and-gold velvet of the car, the cunningly hid gold box of cigarettes, all this soft and smothering poison. He wanted to be out besides the unseen chauffer-His Own Sort! – facing the winter.

Martin left, although did not divorce, his rich wife. He joined a fellow chemist in a woodsy cabin, where they sold serums for money, and were able to work in the laboratory in the manner they wanted. In the end, Martin had still not discovered the complete nature of the phage, but he could finally live the ascetic chemist life and hone his skill as a scientist.

The sureness to which Max Gottlieb seems to have been born came to Martin slowly, after many stumblings, but it came. He desired a perfection of technique in the quest for absolute and provable fact; he desired as greatly as any Pater to “burn with a hard gem-like flame,” and he desired not to have ease and repute in the market-place, but rather to keep free of those follies, lest they confuse him and make him soft.

Notable Characters

Martin’s first wife Leora was perfect for him. She kept him grounded when he became arrogant and noble, she joyfully moved from town to town with him, and she was able to see past his rough exterior to love and respect him. Through Leora, Martin was able to find a place in his obsessive heart for love. Their personalities and ideas were perfectly compatible.

The difference between Martin’s relations to Madeline and to Leora was the difference between a rousing duel and a serene comradeship. From their first evening, Leora and he depended on each other’s loyalty and liking, and certain things in his existence were settled forever.

Leora was from a poor background, similar to Martin's. She was refreshingly direct and unafraid when she spoke of important matters. She understood, much more than he, the importance of a secure foundation in life. Whenever his instinctive distaste of wealth waned, she would draw him back.

It’s fierce, being married. I did expect I’d have to follow you out on the road and be a hobo, but I never expected to be a Pillar of the Community. Well, I’m too lazy to look up a new husband. Only I warn you: when you become the Sunday School superintendant, you needn’t expect me to play organ and smile at the cute jokes you make about Willy’s not learning his Golden Text.

Leora was as comforting as she was confrontational. She understood how Martin needed to be treated in any circumstance. She was able to determine whether he needed nudging forward or was bounding forward himself. If it was the latter, she adopted an accommodating role.

Till Martin graduated they kept that room, their home, ever dearer. No one was so domestic as these birds of passage. At least two evenings a week Martin dashed in from Mohalis and studied there. She had a genius for keeping out of his way, for not demanding to be noticed, so that, while he plunged into his books as he never had done in Cliff’s rustling, grunting, expectorating company, he had ever the warm, half-conscious feeling of her presense. Sometimes, at midnight, just as he began to realize that he was hungry, he would find that a plate of sandwiches had by silent magic appeared at his elbow. He was none the less affectionate because he did not comment. She made him secure. She shut out the world that had pounded at him.

Leora was always a relief for Martin. She quickly accepted the importance of Martin’s work. She even assisted him in the laboratory several times.

This was later contrasted with the difficult apprehension of his later wife, when discussing joining his friend Terry in the laboratory cabin.

“Now, by God, let me tell you-“

“Martin, do you need to emphasize your arguments by a ‘by God’ in every sentence, or have you a few other expressions in your highly scientific vocabulary?”

“Well, I have enough vocabulary to express the idea that I’m thinking of joining Terry.”

“Look here, Mart. You feel so virtuous about wanting to go off and wear a flannel shirt and be peculiar and very, very pure. Suppose everybody argued that way. Suppose every father deserted his children whenever his nice little soul ached? Just what would become of the world? Suppose I were poor, and you left me, and I had to support John by taking in washing-“

"It’d probably be fine for you but fierce on the washing! No! I beg your pardon. That was an obvious answer. But- I imagine it’s just that argument that’s kept almost everybody, all these centuries, from being anything but a machine for digestion and propagation and obedience. The answer is that very few ever do, under any condition, willingly leave a soft bed for a shanty bunk in order to be pure, as you very properly call it, and those of us that are pioneers- Oh, this debate could go on forever! We could prove that I’m a hero or a fool or a deserter or anything you like, but the fact is I’ve suddenly seen I must go! I want my freedom to work, and I herewith quit whining about it and grab it. You’ve been generous with me. I’m grateful. But you’ve never been mine. Good-by!"

Leora’s death was one of several in the novel, but was certainly the most tragic. It is rare to find someone who will ground you when your idea of yourself gets too lofty and who will encourage you when you feel depleted.

Even the success of eliminating the plague was not enough to comfort him when she died.

What would be the worth of having all the world if he could not show it to her, if she was not there –

Favorite Passages

When Martin first joins the laboratory in New York, Gottlieb lectures him on the importance of his work:

To be a scientist – it is not just a different job, so that a man should choose between being a scientist and being an explorer or a bond-salesman or a physician or a king or a farmer. It is a tangle of ver-y obscure emotions, like mysticism, or wanting to write poetry; it makes its victims all different from the good normal man. The normal man, he does not care much what he does except that he should eat and sleep and make love. But the scientist is intensely religious – he is so religious that he will not accept quarter-truths, because they are an insult to his faith.

He wants that everything should be subject to inexorable laws. He is equal opposed to the capitalists who t’ink their silly money-grabbing is a system, and to the libarals who t’ink man is not a fighting animal; he takes both the American booster and the European aristocrat, and he ignores all their blithering. Ignores it! All of it! He hates the preachers who talk their fables, but he iss not too kindly to the anthropologists and the historians who can only make guesses, yet they have the nerf to call themselves scientists! Oh, yes, he is a man that all nice good-natured people should naturally hate!

He speaks no meaner of the ridiculous faith-healers and chiropractors than he does of the doctors that want to snatch our science before it is tested and rush around hoping they heal people, and spoiling all clues with their footsteps; and worse than the men like hogs, worse than the imbeciles who have not even heard of science, he hates pseudo-scientists, guess-scientists – like those psycho-analysts; and worse than those comic dream-scientists he hates the men that are allowed in a clean kingdom like biology but know only one text-book and how to lecture to nincompoops all so popular! He is the only real revolutionary, the authentic scientist, because he alone knows how liddle he knows.

He must be heartless. He lives in a cold, clear light. Yet dis is a funny t’ing: really, in private, he is not cold nor heartless – so much less cold than the Professional Optimists. The world has always been ruled by Philanthropists: by the doctors that want to use therapeutic methods they do not understand, by the soldiers that want something to defend their country against, by the preachers that yearn to make everybody listen to them, by the kind manufacturers that love their workers, by the eloquent statesmen and soft-hearted authors – and see once what a fine mess of hell they haf made of the world! Maybe not it is time for the scientist, who works and searches and never goes around howling how he loves everybody!

But once again always remember that not all men who work at science are scientists. So few! The rest –secretaries, press-agents, camp-followers! To be a scientist is like being a Goethe: it is born in you. Sometimes I t’ink you have a liddle of it born in you. If you haf, there is only one t’ing – no, there is two t’ings you must do: work twice as hard as you can, and keep people from using you. I will try to protect you from Success. It is all I can do. So…I should wish, Martin, that you will be very happy here. May Koch bless you!

The pure science I kept mentioning above is finally fully explained to the reader and to Martin. Gottlieb’s speech instills a sense of honor and duty. Martin had always been unfulfilled in the diluted science at his jobs. Perhaps he never had a full sense of why. Martin’s career takes a positive turn after hearing this speech. He is finally given a mission statement and a clear philosophy to follow. Martin would no longer suffer lazy science.

When tired of the shortcuts and greed of the half-science Martin was forced to work with, he prayed “the prayer of the scientist.”

God give me with unclouded eyes and freedom from haste. God give me a quiet and relentless anger against all pretense and pretentious work and all work left slack and unfinished. God give me a restlessness whereby I may neither sleep nor accept praise till my observed results equal my calculated results or in pious glee I discover and assault my error. God give me strength not to trust God!

No doubt Gottlieb prayed a similar prayer regularly.

Conclusions

Even though a few vacations and work-related absences delayed my completing the novel (it took 4 checkouts from the library), it is the Pulitzer winner (more-or-less) that I have enjoyed the most thus far. The main character was strong and dynamic, Leora was realistically ideal, and the plot’s style was engaging.

I also took pleasure to read language very specific to the time. Take, for instance, Leora’s first time in driving a car:

When she first sat at the steering wheel, when she moved the hand-throttle with her little finger and felt her own hands all this power, sorcery enabling her to go as fast as she might desire (within distinct limits), she transcended human strength, she felt that she could fly like the wild goose – and then in a stretch of sand she killed the engine.

The modern man’s emotional first time driving is already dulled by unending rides as a passenger in cars (and for some: video games and go karts). It was enlightening to hear the joy and terror of these true first experiences.

There was also a very particular vocabulary, which further enveloped me in the time and space of the story. Words like feetball (soccer), meteorlogicomania (astrology), pelf (short for pilfer, or to steal), and sacerdotally (priestly). I believe I will be the only website on the entire internet to feature the word meteorlogicomania, at least until the book is published online.

I am still at the point in the Pulitzers where I am not familiar with the books or authors. At one time Arrowsmith was popular amongst doctors and scientists. It showed them the many difficult or false paths that they could choose from, and what experiences they could expect from each.

Most of the paths are easy. The rewards of money or fame are tremendous. The only cost is to give up joy and excitement. Maybe some doctors did see themselves as Angus Duer’s or Pickerbaughs, and were able to convince themselves that such people were necessary for mankind overall. Perhaps some found the plague testing on St. Hubert to be inhumane (I certainly did).

I had great respect for Gottlieb and for Martin Arrowsmith’s work, as they dedicated what little lives they had to adding a small amount of knowledge to the world. In order for them to create lasting knowledge, they needed to work carefully and deliberately. Their impeccable work ethic was all they had, as the results of their experiments were rarely useful. It is understandable why the Pulitzer Prize committee found this book to contain a high standard of “American’s manners and manhood.”

Martin’s troubles with his vocation also resonated. The struggle to create a sustainable living while actively working on a dream is a universal struggle. Every person ends up in a job that seems like a good fit in almost every way, except that it may not match our true passion. Reluctance is reasoned away, the paychecks ease life’s relentless burdens, and dreams are continually deferred. If the dream later presents itself, the life developed may be too precious to risk losing. Martin Arrowsmith was able to completely give up his long-developed life, and he spends the remainder in poverty, but in complete joy.

Coming up next: 1932 - The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck

1923 - One of Ours by Willa Cather

Introduction

There is a significant distance between my previous post and this one. I actually had finished reading One of Ours at the end of March, but my other job got in the way of being able to complete this report.

I was not familiar with this novel or the author before checking out the book from the library. Her language is much more colorful than my previously read Pulizter Prize winners and that made the reading much more exciting and enjoyable. Enough so that the main character made it to my Notable Characters section, rather than some eccentric minor character. I do not expect this to be common.

Willa Cather wrote One of Ours based on letters written by her cousin, who was the first Nebraska officer killed in World War I. At the time she was criticized by Sinclair Lewis as showing the soldiers as "violinists in disguise." It would be difficult to find a modern war movie or novel that did not portray similarly. Whether this novel influenced the depictions of today or not, the "violinist" aspect of the soldiers being inaccurate was not something that even crossed my mind. I think especially of the film The Thin Red Line.

The exciting language, strong and sympathetic main character, and relatable themes of outgrowing debilitating circumstances made this book, so far, the best of the Pulitzer Prize winners I have read for this blog.

Plot Summary

Claude Wheeler is always discontented with his lot. He dislikes being sent to the religious school, he is unhappy to take over his father's farm, and even his own appearance causes him discomfort. In a world of confident brunettes, Claude alone stands as an awkward, freckly redhead.

Claude's mother worries herself over his separation from the rest of the town, and comes as close to anyone to understanding him. Perhaps second in this understanding is the servant Mahailey. Mahailey pities poor Claude in his difficulties, and supports him as far as she is able.

The first major event in Claude's life comes after a near-fatal injury forces him to rest in bed for weeks. During this time his friend Enid watches over him and nurses him to health. This carries with it the implication of engagement.

Enid's sister left Nebraska to do missionary work in China, and Enid always felt she should follow. Not without difficulty, Claude is able to convince her to marry him. In his whole life of disappointment and overbearing Fate, he is finally joyous to have a life for himself.

Sometimes when Enid sat unsuspecting beside him, a quick blush swept across his face and he felt guilty toward her, -meek and humble, as if he must beg her forgiveness for something. Often he was glad when she went away and left him alone to think about her. Her presence brought him sanity, and for that he ought to be grateful. When he was with her, he thought how she was to be the one who would put him right with the world and make him fit into the life about him. He had troubled his mother and disappointed his father. His marriage would be the first natural, dutiful, expected thing he had ever done. It would be the beginning of usefulness and content; as his mother's oft-repeated Psalm said, it would restore his soul.

Claude begins construction on a house for himself and Enid. He dedicates the entire top floor as a large bedroom for them to enjoy. Enid's humility won't allow this luxury, and decides the top floor will only be opened to her pastor (who has no issue humbly accepting). When he finds his wife's difficult personality and unwavering convictions at odds with the ideal wife he was hoping for, he further consoles himself with marriage's neutralizing properties.

Everything would be alright when they were married, Claude told himself. He believed in the transforming power of marriage, as his mother believed in the miraculous effects of conversion. Marriage reduced all women to a common denominator; changed a cool, self-satisfied girl into a loving and generous one. It was quite right that Enid should be unconscious now of everything that she was to be when she was his wife. He told himself he wouldn't want it otherwise.

Of course, this tragic setup leads to expected misery. As a wife, Enid is distant and cold to Claude. On the first night of marriage she keeps the train's honeymoon suite to herself and sends poor Claude to sleep in the smoking lounge. Less than a year into marriage, Claude finds himself feigning sleep in order to avoid a conversation with her. When Enid's sister falls ill in China, Enid leaves Nebraska immediately and indefinitely. No doubt, she is finally happy to fulfill her long-denied vocation.

During this time, World War I is raging its way across Europe. The Nebraskans follow the news closely, as many are only one or two generations removed from the warring nations. When America decides to step in, Claude is quick to volunteer.

Claude finds purpose and direction for his oppressing ideals in the Army. He is among men who he respects, in a position of power and true responsibility, and having a chance to affect the world on a global scale.

The miracle had happened; a miracle so wide in its amplitude that the Wheelers,-all the Wheelers and the rough-necks and the low-brows were caught up in it. Yes, it was the rough-necks' own miracle, all this; it was their golden chance. ...The feeling of purpose, of fateful purpose, was strong in his breast.

The purpose was hard-earned as the boat ride over to Eurpoe found half the men dead through a flu pandemic.

In France Claude befriends a fellow soldier named David (the aforementioned violinist). David seeks to distance himself from his previous life as a violinist. At first rivals, the pair grow close in respect and in the comfort of being fully understood. They each find their desired Destiny in the war and spend time bonding in the trenches as well as out.

During an especially intensive battle, David rushes off to assist his countrymen elsewhere while Claude inspires his men at the front. Some of David's party returns and Claude leads a rush to the front. While finally finding a moment of true purpose and meaning in his life, Claude is shot during the charge and dies smiling. His comrades are relieved that he did not learn of David's earlier death.

Notable Characters

As stated earlier, I don't imagine the main character will be typically be the most interesting. Claude was the most rounded and developed of the characters, and I empathized with his struggles and disenchantments with the world and his position.

Claude punishes himself in trying to right his personality and ideals with the world. A sort of (but not true) self-loathing drives him to physically push himself.

The usual hardships of country boyhood were not enough for Claude; he imposed
physical tests and penances upon himself. Whenever he burned his finger, he
followed Mahailey's advice and held his hand close to the stove to "draw out the
fire." One year he went to school all winter in his jacket, to make himself
tough. His mother would button him up in his overcoat and put his dinnerpail in
his hand and start him off. As soon as he got out of sight of the house, he
pulled off his coat, rolled it under his arm, and scudded along the edge of the
frozen fields, arriving at the frame school-house panting and shivering, but
very well pleased with himself.

Even when working hard and daily exhausting himself, Claude grows uncomfortable with the idleness of his life of farming. He finds no satisfaction in being too worn out at night to reflect upon life. Early on in the book, his friend Ernest discusses this with him. Ernest asks and Claude answers:

"But what do you expect? What can happen to you except in your own mind? If I
get through my work, and get an afternoon off to see my friends like this,
it's enough for me."

"Is it? Well, if we've only got once to live, it seems
like there ought to be something - well, something splendid about life,
sometimes."

Claude's father leaves him in charge of the farm, but even being completely in charge leaves him dissatisfied.

He often felt that he would rather go out into the world and earn his bread
among strangers than sweat under this half-responsibility for acres and crops
that were not his own.

Poor Claude had many influences in his life, most of them seemingly negative. The pastor who later dictated his wife's beliefs was also the head of the religious school where he was taught (though he preferred the secular university). I say poor Claude, because the following statement about him aligns my pity with his mother's or Mahailey's. Anyone who could hold such thoughts and beliefs has a long way to go before contentment.

Claude had come to believe that the things and people he most disliked were the
ones to shape his destiny.

This powerfully pessimistic viewpoint struck me and persisted enough that even the interesting minor characters were overshadowed. It made his later transformation all the more moving.

Favorite Passages

I do not typically favor descriptions of scenery. While I appreciate a description of the setting, the poetry and flowery language usually drones in my mind while awaiting the story to resume. However, after hundreds of pages of Claude's angst, the following passage was cold water on a parched throat:

Perfect bliss, Claude reflected, as the chill of the sheets grew warm around his body, and he sniffed in the pillow the old smell of lavender. To be so warm, so dry, so clean, so beloved! The journey down, reviewed from here, seemed beautiful. As soon as they got out of the region of martyred trees, they found the land of France turning gold. All along the river valleys the poplars and cottonwoods had changed from green to yellow, -evenly coloured along the horizon they ran, like torches passed from hand to hand, and all the willows by the little streams had become silver. The vineyards were green still, thickly spotted with curly, blood-red branches. It all flashed back beside his pillow in the dark: this beautiful land, this beautiful people, this beautiful
omelette; gold poplars, blue-green vineyards, wet, scarlet vine-leaves, rain dripping into the cour, fragrant darkness...sleep, stronger than all.

The description of France by a weary, on all fronts, Claude emphasizes the great relief found in his Army life. Although Nebraska has all the same trees,flowers, and relaxing scenery as this area of France, Claude is not internally ready to drink in the good things in life.

Typically, my favorite passage is a paragraph near the end of a novel, which summarizes with strong language the themes and tone of the book. The above was more of a treat, but the following passage covers my usual requirements:

The intervals of the distant artillery fire grew shorter, as if the big guns were tuning up, choking to get something out. Claude sat up in his bed and listened. The sound of the guns had from the first been pleasant to him, had given him a feeling of confidence and safety; tonight he knew why. What they said was, that men could still die for an idea; and would burn all they had made to keep their dreams. He knew the future of the world was safe; the careful planners would never be able to put it into a straight-jacket, -cunning and prudence would never have it to themselves. Why, that little boy downstairs, with the candlelight in his eyes, when it came to the last cry, as they said, could "carry on" for ever! Ideals were not archaic things, beautiful and
impotent; they were the real sources of power among men. As long as that was true, and now he knew it was true -he had come all this way to find out- he had no quarrel with Destiny. Nor did he envy David. He would give his own adventure for no man's. On the edge of sleep it seemed to glimmer, like the clear column of the fountain, like the new moon, -alluring, half-averted, the bright face of danger.

Claude finds a realistic romanticism in his life: of ideals becoming tangible. The power and insisting force of World War I gives him and countless others a chance to accomplish more than they could in their marriages, farms, schools, or churches. Of course, this accomplishment and applying of ideals is cut short for many.

Conclusions

There is an interesting chapter in the middle of the novel where the story is shown from the perspective of an early antagonist, Leonard Dawson. Throughout childhood and into adulthood, Leonard always found a biting remark to humiliate Claude. The chapter focusing on Leonard occurs during Claude's miserable marriage to Enid. Leonard expresses his pity for Claude and his frustration in Enid's obvious resistance toward married life. In this chapter, Leonard gains sympathy and shows he truly cares for Claude.

When the next chapter returns to exclusively focusing on Claude's life, we are left with a deep-felt understanding of Claude and all those around him. Whether taunting him, pitying him, or ignoring him, all of the people in Claude's life were trying to help him shake free of his discomfort with life.

It was also very telling when Claude thinks the following:

Every one was always saying it was a fine thing to be young; but it was a
painful thing, too.

I also found youth's painfulness stronger than its fineness. It gave me great pleasure to read about another life that enriches as it ages and finds a stronger focus. I find this a poignant and realistic reading than a dwelling on the probably false (if not then definitely not universal) romanticism and fancy-free nature of youth.

Claude found his focus by joining the Army and fighting in a great war. This is not an idea that I am completely comfortable with. I have the implicit knowledge that those without direction and discipline could join the armed forces to obtain both. However, my experience with those who enlisted, my growing distaste for violence, and the forced elasticity of the word "necessary" makes the Army seem less a compass for the lost than a haven for the perpetually aggressive.

The book avoids blind hawking by creating an intriguing character and by giving him direction and camaraderie in the Army that tradition suggests. The reader is treated to a hopeful ending when Claude finally finds his specific place in the world, and that he was able to advance above even his own ideals.

1921 - The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

Introduction

As I said last entry, I was unaware that the Prize for Fiction was once called The Prize for Novel and had started some 50 years earlier. The library didn't have the 1918 or 1919 winners, but I was able to find Edith Wharton's 1921 prize winner.

The cover had a classically-painted pale brunette woman staring distantly into a mirror and the painting is surrounded by a flowery border. What I imagined the book to be and what this image portrayed weren't too dissimilar, with the exception of a male main character. I did consider that perhaps the nosy book-cover lookers on the train (myself included) would take issue with this floral-themed book, but nevermind them! Today a woman who sits silently next to me nearly every day (we're in the quiet car) whispered that she had just finished The House of Mirth, which is the most popular and acclaimed novel by Wharton.

Even though I showed little enthusiasm in seeing the South Pacific play, in my searches about this book I discovered Martin Scorsese had made a film version of this novel. I believe at some point in my Netflix queue there is a section of Scorsese's filmography and I hope this one didn't slip by.

The book takes place in the late 1800s, but the time is mainly referred to as Old New York (no wonder Scorsese used it). I have little experience reading stories taking place in this time and place. However, I have understanding enough of the high-class 19th century European society the Old New Yorkers are emulating and trying to keep alive through the novels of Émile Zola, Leo Tolstoy, etc.

Plot Summary

Newland Archer is soon to be wed to his expected sweetheart, the "ideal" May Welland. Archer secretly has dreams of an exceptional marriage based on openness and passion, but has a pretty good understanding that, amongst his people in Old New York, such a marriage is discouraged.

With a new sense of awe he looked at the frank forehead, serious eyes and gay innocent mouth of the young creature whose soul's custodian he was to be. That terrifying product of the social system he belonged to and believed in, the young girl who knew nothing and expected everything, looked back at him like a stranger through May Welland's familiar features; and once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.

Right before the engagement is announced, May's cousin Ellen Olsenka appears, after fleeing her European husband. Everything about Ellen, from the neighborhood she lives in, the company she keeps, and even the manner of her speech and character, is out of step with Old New York. She is generally accepted into society, but not without pity ("poor Ellen").

Newland's secret dreams of a passionate love and of transcending tradition soon find a personification in Ellen. He finds her openness refreshing. She is the only one in the story who says exactly what she feels. The rest of the characters dance around their true feelings and the subjects of their conversations.

Archer, perhaps in error, places all his deep longings as having been fulfilled in the person of Ellen. In truth, he loves her because she is different. And when compared to the rest of Society, Ellen finds Archer different, as well. Unlike most of her suiters, Archer is not after her as a conquest, but longs for her because he has an emotional and philosophical need that seemingly only she can fill. In the proudly closed society of Old New York, perhaps this is true.

Newland's guilt at loving one but being engaged to another causes him great confusion and to atone for the contradiction he hurries along his marriage to May. Ellen leaves town and Archer soon finds himself accustomed to the dull married life he had criticized his peers for.

Archer had reverted to all his old inherited ideas about marriage. It was less trouble to conform with the tradition and treat May exactly as all his friends treated their wives than try to put into practice the theories with which his untrammelled bachelorhood had dallied.

Even his earlier admirations of May dry out and his concept of her changes to a purely functional role.

He had married (as most young men did) because he had met a perfectly charming girl at the moment when a series of rather aimless sentimental adventures were ending in premature disgust; and she had represented peace, stability, comradeship, and the steadying sense of an inescapable duty.

Newland settles into this docile role until a chance near-meeting with Ellen occurs and sparks his love again. He falls into unusual and desperate behavior and announces to his wife sudden trips that need to take place where Ellen is. Without knowledge of Ellen he became a typical bland society member, but her sudden reappearance brings back passion in his life and also sheds a sad light into his current situation.

His whole future seemed suddenly to be unrolled before him; and passing down its endless emptiness he saw the dwindling figure of a man to whom nothing was ever to happen.

The affair occurs only in their hearts, however (Age of Innocence, after all). Ellen swears that if Newland does anything improper that she will disappear indefinitely. This doesn't prevent a few stolen kisses, instigated by each, or even Ellen moving back home with the matriarch of the family, Mrs. Mason Mingott. Archer spends much of his time justifying his suspicious and unusual actions.

Ellen Oslenska was like no other woman, he was like no other man: their situation, therefore, resembled no one else's, and they were answerable to no tribunal but that of their own judgement.

This tribunal ends up being the silent and overwhelming one of Old New York society. After a secret announcement of May's pregnancy, Ellen makes the decision to move back to Europe. Once an outcast of society, she is given a farewell dinner featuring every respectable member treating her as one of their own. They suspected the near-affair, but they are able to celebrate her because Society has been preserved.

In the last chapter we find a middle-aged Newland reflecting on the years in between. He and May raised three children, he became contented with his lot in a passionless and common marriage, and May eventually passes away. His children no longer hold Society sacred, and openly act and speak in a way that would have guaranteed disdain. His son even openly suggests that he and his father visit his old flame Ellen Olsenka one last time. In the end, Newland once again chooses to remain old-fashioned and stays behind.

Notable Characters

Mrs. Manson Mingott is the matriarch of the Welland family where May and Ellen are from. She is described in detail as a very large woman who rearranges her house and life to accommodate her mighty girth. She must accept visitors on the same floor she sleeps on (uncommon in this society) and even misses the Archer's wedding because the aisles could not be made to fit the chair she is rolled around on.

She is accepted by the high and strict society that her daughter and the Archer's belong to, but at the same time she is able to ignore the many conventions of it. She takes Ellen into her home and supports her, primarily because Mrs. Manson Mingott cherishes the originality of Ellen. She speaks near bluntly to Newland that he should have married Ellen, and is able to see directly his nervous desire.

The presence of Mrs. Manson Mingott made clear that Old New York society was not always as stagnant as the generation below her makes it seem. The younger generation (May and Archer's parents) cower in fear and speculate endlessly about the end of society. May and Newland's generation accepts their parents' views, but have an inward struggle against them. By the end of the book, the Archer children have tossed it all into the wind. It is easy to imagine that society had completely dwindled down. However, as the only one of the eldest generation, Mrs. Mason Mingott's character shows that the desire to hold society closely wasn't always so important. This desire reached a peak with the Wellands and Archers, but wasn't always in vogue.

Mrs. Manson Mingott made for an enjoyable read whenever she appeared. Her direct style of confrontation and her sense of humor helped her break free of the constraints every other character felt (even Ellen felt oppressed). Perhaps when she was younger she was concerned with the proper way of doing things, but she has since aged wisely and gained perspective of what is important. This perspective is lost to the younger generations, because of fear, and even the youngest generation's directness is missing context or meaning.

Favorite Passage

Archer, who seemed to be assisting, ate the scene in a state of odd imponderability, as if he floated somewhere between chandelier and ceiling, wondered at nothing so much as his own share in the proceedings. As his glance travelled from one placid well-fed face to another he saw all the harmless-looking people engaged upon May's canvas-backs as a band of dumb conspirators, and himself and the pale woman on his right as the centre of their conspiracy. And then it came over him, in a vast flash made up of many broken gleams, that to all of them he and Madame Olsenka were lovers, lovers in the extreme sense peculiar to "foreign" vocabularies. He guessed himself to have been, for months, the centre of countless silently observing eyes and patiently listening ears, he understood that, by means as yet unknown to him, the separation between himself and the partner of his guilt had been achieved, and that now the whole tribe had rallied about his wife on the tacit assumption that nobody knew anything, or had ever imagined anything, and that the occasion of the entertainment was simply May Archer's natural desire to take an affectionate leave of her friend and cousin.

It was the old New York way of taking life "without effusion of blood": the way of people who dreaded scandal more than disease, who placed decency above courage, and who considered that nothing was more ill-bred than "scenes," except the behavior of those who gave rise to them.

As these thoughts succeeded each other in his mind Archer felt like a prisoner in the
centre of an armed camp. He looked about the table, and guessed at the inexorableness of his captors from the tone in which, over the asparagus from Florida, they were dealing with Beaufort and his wife. "It's to show me," he thought, "what would happen to me-" and a deathly sense of superiority of implication and analogy over direct action, and of silence over rash words, closed in on him like the doors of the family vault.

He laughed...

I chose this passage because it was, more or less, Newland's internal climax. Although everyone at the dinner party had never showed a hint of suspicion about the affair, Newland realizes that they all knew exactly what was going on. They could never vocalize it, for that would be indecent, and they could never interfere, for that might border on courageousness. Instead, they act as if nothing happened, and have an unrealized celebration at the status quo remaining.

Beaufort and his wife (mentioned in the passage above) had an unexpected financial ruin, which is sweepingly deeply condemned by society. The months surrounding the failure were littered with gossip and restrained disgust, although never to the Beauforts directly. The Beauforts were cut off. This helped society remain superior, and also served as a warning to anyone thinking of breaking it's well-defined rules.

Newland was always slightly bothered by the eternally closed nature of Old New York, but finally found it oppressive.

Conclusion

Newland, at one point, tries to explain to May his complicated situation with Ellen, but she brushes it off. Their lives follow her lead, continue uneventfully, and stay shallow. Without the option of sitting your loved ones down and speaking with seriousness and honest expression, your relationships would be stuck in the lifeless formality of Old New York.

In the end, however, Newland seems to have grown accustomed to and finds comfort in the oppressive traditions of society. He lives the rest of his life how he was taught and the only way he knows: without reflection, passions, or anxiety.

The younger generations will follow his footsteps, in a way. Instead of creating and avoiding societal taboos, they will flaunt them as a way of guarding their inner most thoughts and desires. The only real result of this unbalanced shift is to leave innocence behind.

Instead of a conscience, a collective-consciousness morality, or a belief in a higher power, the people of Old New York judged themselves on their own god of Society. Their Society always watched them, even during their most private moments, and was ready at all times to smite them. Even the younger generation's rebellion is rooted on the traditions of their ancestors.

The Old New York society and the younger generation's rebellious society couldn't possibly be maintained and kept in-tact over time (unless the flexibility of Mrs. Manson Mingott was applied). Every significant problem that man faces in this world (internally or externally) will eventually require honesty and openness to be applied to it. Life does not always require courage or directness, of course, but this route must remain open to us. Otherwise we will end up comfortable and dull in a shapeless existence.

1948 - Tales of the South Pacific by James A. Michener

Introduction

I grabbed Tales of the South Pacific because it was the first novel given the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. That the fiction prize was previously called the "novel" prize dating back to 1917 was news to me when I started this task. Because of this realization, my blog is off to a shaky chronological start and I just added 50 books to my task. My Decade in Litzs.

I had never heard of the author or book. Michener himself served in the Pacific theater during World War II, and used his experiences and conversations to create this novel. My literature experience to the European side of World War II stops at Catch-22. The rest is filled in by a good number of films and television series. I don't think I'll count video games.

If I were alive in the 50's or attentive to Broadway musicals I would have known that the novel was turned into a popular musical. They chose certain stories from the many in the book and increased the attention to racism.

I don't suppose you could make a popular musical (or movie) dealing with the empty space before a battle. A small quote from the beginning of the book illustrates this major theme of the book:

"Why, hell!" the major snorted. "Seems all he did was sit on his ass and wait!"

"That's exactly it!" I cried, happy to find at least someone who knew what I was talking about.

Plot Summary

The book consists of 19 short stories that often have recurring characters.

A large-scale attack on the island of Kuralei is being planned, but in the meantime the soldiers must wait. For the snob Bill Harbison, waiting means courting and breaking the hearts of nurses for kicks. Tony Fry passes his time in leisure and reflection. A simple man named Joe avoids trouble, has an emotional line thrown to him, and finds it quickly and mercilessly severed. Another man, Joe Cable, finds a mutual infatuation with a beautiful native girl but is unable to fully commit to love and loses her. Several commanding officers take their down-time jobs very seriously and crack down heavily on all soldiers, deserving or not. Some of these officers earn respect in this way, some of them are hated.

In the last 20 pages the invasion on Kuralei plays out, with our narrator describing the action from a distant boat (not necessarily out of harm's way). The deaths are brief and the victory is difficult. In the end, the narrator spends time in a graveyard amongst the fallen heroes, thinking on the loss of good men and if they could ever be replaced.

Notable Characters

Having admitted that Catch-22 is the extent of my World War II literature knowledge (I doubt the sequel, Closing Time, counts), I would consider Tony Fry to be a realistic counterpart Yossarian. I immensely enjoyed Yossarian in the books and even the film, but have yet to meet someone with his dedicated detachment. Tony Fry, like Yossarian, does not care about rank or orders, but does, however, care deeply about his fellow soldier.

He is first introduced as the relaxed officer on the island of Norfolk. An admiral wants an airstrip put in, but the only place available would require the downing of the only green part of the island: great pine trees dating hundreds of years old. The natives (descendants of the mutinous crew of the HMS Bounty), of course, don't want this to happen. When some of the trees are excavated, the only working bulldozers are sabotaged. Tony Fry's reaction is a shrug.

Later we hear of an Australian soldier hiding out on a Japanese occupied island, radioing in daily to spoil any surprise attack the Japanese have planned. Tony Fry becomes obsessed about this soldier and tries to pry into what makes Remittance Man risk his life for such a feat. At first annoying his superior officer, he eventually connects deeply with him over the great Austrialian soldier's sacrifice.

Tony Fry is a fine example of how to survive and even grow to love the downtime before battle. Unfortunately, in the end Tony Fry dies in the battle at Kuralei. His death is contrasted with the continued living of Bill Harbison, the creep who felt his talents wasted while waiting for battle, but cowered out to safety. Tony Fry may not have respected rank, but when the time for brave and decisive action was needed he was one of the good men for the occasion.

Favorite Passage

When he arrived at the camp the chaplain was waiting for him. The padre was a Catholic and Joe was a Methodist, but they were friends. The chaplain's business was brief. Alice Baker had been killed. An auto accident. Her sister sent the news.

The padre had never heard of Alice Baker. All he knew was that a human being of greater or less importance to some other human being was dead. No message could transcend that. He cast about for words, which never seemed to be available for such emergencies. The day was hot. Sweat ran down Joe's face until it looked like tears. "Brave people are dying throughout the world," the chaplain said. "And brave people live after them." There was nothing more to say. Joe sat looking at the priest for a few minutes and then left.

He went into the brilliant sunlight. Glare from the airstrip was intense. Even the ocean was hot. Joe looked at the waves whose beauty Luther Billis had discovered. They came rippling toward the rock in the overwhelming monotony. Joe counted them. One, two, three! They were the months he had been on the rock. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. That was when he had met Luther Billis. Seventeen, eighteen. The yeoman had committed suicide. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Alice Baker had become his girl. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty seven. They were all the same, one after the other, like the dreary months.

Joe dropped his head in his hands. A girl he had never seen. A funny town he had never visited. "I want to get out of here," he muttered to himself. "I got to get out of here!"

The suddenness, cruelness, and meaninglessness of loss is poetically described in this conclusion to Joe's story. The chapter was written almost as a parable in its basic characterization of Joe and of the strong lesson left to the reader: There is no staying out of trouble. Try to hold the world at arm's length and you will be presented with something you want to hold close. And then this will be swiftly ripped away. Try to remain passive and you will find yourself unprepared when you need to be active. Joe's story encapsulated one of the many ways to falter when stuck on an island waiting for battle. While Tony Fry prospered in this waiting, Joe's "just getting by" mentality left him with nothing. The book had other themes of racism, bravery, and relations to women, but it is the theme of surviving or even growing in the dead air that struck me the hardest.

Conclusion

Charles Dickens had a way of making a bland main character/narrator and then rounding off the rest of the cast with very colorful characters. I have always felt that this mild main character gave the story a detachment from both the action and the rest of the characters in the story. As readers we weren't able to go into the depths of the main character's heart and our empathy and imaginations are only sparked when they ran into their eccentric friends/foes.

I make no secret of my love for the works of Dostoevsky or for Moby Dick. Dosteovsky looks as far into a man's heart as possible, and I've never read anything more exhaustive and satisfying than Mellvile's book about a fish. These books are about very specific situations and people . I tend to agree with Roger Ebert in the below quote:

One human life, closely observed, is every one's life. In the particular is the universal. Empathy is the feeling that most makes us human.

Michener follows Dickens by rarely having the naval officer narrator speak or opine. The color is added by Tony Fry or the island natives. I know this is only a technique used in order to show the variety of other people's lives, but the aformentioned distance leaves me feeling rushed and not particularly caring. The narrator himself even feels distant after the battle of Kuralei:

When I reached Guadal I found that all the heroes were somewhere farther up the line. And while I sat in the safety aboard the LCS-108 I knew where the heroes were. They were on Kuralei. Yet, on the beach itself only a few men ever really fought the Japs. I suddenly realized that from the farms, and towns, and cities all over America an unbroken line ran straight to the few who storm the blockhouses. No matter where along that line you stood, if you were not the man at the end of it, the ultimate man with his sweating hands upon the blockhouse, you didn't know what war was. You had only an intimation, as of a bugle blown far into the distance. You might have flashing insights, but you did not know. By the grace of God you would never know.

When I first read this quote I thought about how it runs contrary to Alexandr Solzhenitsyn's Nobel Lecture's theory of how literature helps us understand what we could otherwise not experience. I suppose we can only empathise so far, though, and Michener's own text admits that even he can not know the full scope or specifics of war. It is only possible to write about the action as plot points, but the minutiae of bravery and fear are completely lost. Both of us seemed to understood the waiting and teetering sanity in the empty time before a battle, but in the end the battle itself is left a mystery, mostly (but even then barely) understood by the soldiers involved.

Opening Post

Time for Reading

I have been blessed with time for reading. Every work day I ride the Virginia Railway Express train, which leaves me with over 100 minutes to do as I please. Sometimes this involves winning medium-level scrabble on my phone, sometimes it involves proof-reading my own reports for work, often it involves anti-social sleeping in the quiet car, but most often it involves reading. During the 5 or so weeks I travel out of the year, I am also reading during the latter two meals (I browse a complimentary USA today during breakfast).

These pieces of time have allowed me to read through piles of books. My only discernable method in choosing a book was to pick something heavy/lengthy and then follow with something light, or something I've read before. Books are rarely personally recommend to me, so typically I will head to the book store and buy books from authors I already know and love. This exhaustive technique will only leave me with very specific tastes and knowledge.

Pulitzer Prize

I don't have a great reason for choosing the Pulitzer Prize. I think it sprung to mind because Roger Ebert has one. I wanted to be able to read through many years of award winning literature (fiction) and it seemed a good fit. I am sure there more prestigious prizes out there that have been awarded for more than 90 years, but would they allow me to use a pun in my blog title?

Blog Title

The nearly-unpronounceable blog title comes from the band Los Campesinos! who qualify for the fastest Leah and I have heard of a band, liked them a lot, and seen them in concert (less than a month). Leah tries to add "and got sick of," but we're both still fans. I can't vouch for the staying power, but the excitement and craziness of the song below should still resonate with me for years to come.



Should I Buy You Another Bookshelf?

I will be getting the majority of my books from our local library. I already know they don't have all of them, so I will then check the not-so-local ones, then the used book stores, then the new book stores. Maybe even a friend will lend me theirs. We don't really have room for another bookshelf.

My Year(s) in Litzs

The math of this blog will always be off. I will never finish 90 or so books in a year. Each book will take me 2 to 3 weeks, so it will be a matter of years before this blog is complete.

Blogging Goals

When I completed one song for my friend Tyler Smith's yet-made movie Sad Christmas, he said he liked it because it sounded particularly American. If I had to define what "American" meant for literature, I would be at a slight loss. I hope that by reading through 90 years of American novels I will be able to have a very clear definition. I look forward to reading authors I haven't heard of and expand those forementioned horizons to include what they have to teach.

The biggest goal, however, will be to actually complete this blog. I will read all the books, to be sure, but I hope I can keep this essay plate spinning until the end of the show.