The Winter of Our Discontent

Steinbeck's introspective writing and innate skill at character studies are the sole reason I'm giving a star rating at all. As a novel, and as a Steinbeck novel, this hit the mark for me.

I can admit at least half of the reason is because: I wasn't willing to sit with a narrator who was ( and especially at first ) a narrow-minded, middle-aged white man. It reminded me a bit too much of a rhetoric I would prefer to avoid. Is it a real family I've met? It absolutely is, I have met this kind of family ( husband, wife, two kids, working class ) in real life, you can indeed go to your local small town and hear almost the exact same things said at any point. And I knew that this would be what the novel focused upon when picking it up.

The other half of the reason is that ... even if I wanted to relate to the narrator, it was written in such a way that I couldn't. Real life slices in novels can be the most interesting things depending on the manner in which they're written. And although this won the Nobel Prize in 1962 ( I believe it was that one? ) it would not win my personal Nobel Prize right now. There's reading about real life, and then there's trudging through it, without any emotional connection besides feeling like it's a hogwash of text.

I'm not recommending this novel as a Steinbeck character study. Grapes of Wrath, The Moon is Down, and Cannery Row were much harder hitting and didn't feel like as much of a drudge. I would say that I'd try again, but I know I won't. The title at least delivered: I read this during the winter, and it was a book that filled me with discontent.