I had some fantastic English teachers at school. There was only one I wasn’t very fond of and she was only there as a supply teacher. She also accused the class of nicking copies of Steinbeck’s The Pearl. I honestly don’t know to this day if we were more insulted that she thought we would steal the books or steal that particular book, because it was dreadful. The only book more depressing we read in six years was The Red Pony, also by Steinbeck.
And so, in my mind, Steinbeck writes the most depressing books ever. There is no contest. If you’re the most cheerful person on the planet, stay away or prepare for misery.
Friends, colleagues and even pupils have tried to talk me out of this state of mind and I have vigorously resisted, but I’ve got to admit to a strong streak of fairness striding through me, and to dismiss someone’s work entirely because of two bad experiences as a teenager …
And thus it came to pass that the LibraryThing 75 in 2012 Group decided to hold a Steinbeckathon, and so I’m now reading Cannery Row, with several others stretching ahead of me into the months ahead.
Wish me luck.
