I’ve been ruminating on the stark, sterilized lives we live these days. Lives where everything needs to meet expectations, and those expectations always basking in the gleam of something new, fresh, exciting, stimulating. We’ve gotten to a point in life where the stadium is more the experience than the game.
So what of simplicity again?
I’m finally reading Steinbeck’s East of Eden. I’ve long known of its existence — even that there was a movie. But I have absolutely no idea what it’s about or what to expect. The one thing I do know is that it depicts life from long ago (post-Civil War through the turn of the 20th century and beyond) in a place I’ve known before (the Salinas Valley), and I can’t help but feel the nostalgia for something I never really had. By comparison, my life has been so much easier. Still, to have lived in a time where all there was for entertainment was a small black and white TV, a radio, and outside; well, those things make an impression compared to the bustle of today’s living.
There are far too many expectations when I’d just as soon go live in a cabin on the eastern slopes of the Rockies outside of Yellowstone in Wyoming. I’d certainly die there, not being much of a survivalist. But oh, what a death.
At least I can still read. I’m finding that more of an escape than just about anything I do anymore. Sometimes I think to read faster is a good thing. The more I get through, the more I might experience. And yet, for some reason today I don’t feel that way. As a matter of fact, I’m savoring the words as I read them. I’m living them in some way. It’s pleasant. I put on some pleasant (meaningless) music, and I get just rest in the words.
This is what brought about this writing (for the first time in so long). I’ve spent far too much time looking at things through today’s means. Far too much time online. Even as I read and listen to novels for enjoyment — I’m still finding myself tied to the technology. The whole thing has been damaging to my soul. But a good book…now there’s something I can really live with. And so, I found Steinbeck again without a thought, and here I am, going to Salinas Valley in a time long past, and it’s nice. It’s not here. It’s not now. It’s far simpler, but so much more interesting.
I love the movie, though I’ve never read the book. Great movie. James Dean is excellent. The only Steinbeck books I’ve ever read are Of Mice and Men, Grapes of Wrath and Travels with Charlie. All great books. I might have to pick up East of Eden. I need some new fiction to read. The one I’m reading now – The Life Impossible by Matt Haig – has turned into a bit of a slow slog. (I want to get to the destination, but I’m not pleased with the vehicle; the ride is very bumpy.)
You might find the book even more fascinating as the movie is adapted from part 4 of the book, which is only the last third of the story or so. The background of it all might be interesting for you.
It’s about 600 pages and I still have about 200 to go. I’m in no hurry.
Now that I’m done with the book, I’m tempted to watch the movie…but I’ll wait. There’s absolutely no way the movie can do it any justice, and I get the feeling the 1950s Hollywood writers butchered it to make it a vehicle for James Dean and his love life….