Mad at the World
by William Souder
Recently I finished this new biography of John Steinbeck. I’ve read other accounts of his life but was excited to read more, because he may be my favorite author. The book has much to commend it—thorough research, good anecdotes, and fine writing—but in the end I had mixed feelings.
The title will give you a sense of the problem. Steinbeck’s stories are full of life and joy, but Souder spends most of the book describing his troubles and shortcomings, making it clear he thinks Steinbeck was basically an unhappy person.
That may have been true—he certainly was self-centered and had periods when he was miserable—but to me the fascinating question is how such a person could have produced the beautiful things he did. Yet Souder never addresses that question.
At the end of the book, Souder states that the key to Steinbeck’s writing is anger. Whereas I would say that the key is love.
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