Does bad always follow good? Where does one cross the line between pursuing a dream and being consumed by greed? And how much influence can a small decision have in the world? The novella The Pearl by John Steinbeck explores the answers to these questions to their limits, slowly revealing a portrait of the world which is both terrifying and comforting at once. Through a twisting tale of loss, gain, greed, and – ultimately – death, a beacon of human hope and perseverance shines, making this one of the most memorable books I’ve ever read. The lives of Kino, an impoverished pearl fisherman, and his wife, Juana, are transformed forever when he discovers a perfect pearl, the “Pearl of the World.” Kino dreams of using the money it will make to improve his life in drastic ways; most importantly, sending his infant son, Coyotito, to school. However, he is unwilling to sell the pearl for any sum too small to accomplish his dreams, and the buyers are unwilling to buy it for any sum high enough to do so. The buyers have money and power to steal or kill in order to get the pearl. Kino only has his own strength, knife, and unbending will, and he little realizes how many people are all set on claiming his treasure for their own. Bit by bit, instead of symbolizing invigorating hope for the future, the pearl becomes a painful reminder of the humiliation of the past and the injustice of the present world. One thing that struck me when I was reading The Pearl was how small, everyday actions worked together to play a surprisingly significant part in the tragic resolution of the book. One might not think that things like a doctor’s refusal to treat a poverty-stricken patient with a scorpion bite, or a furious pearl fisherman’s diving deeper than usual to burn off his anger, would indirectly cause the death of a child. But, strangely, they do: independently, these actions are only foolish; together, they are fatal. This aspect of the plot lends an unsettling – almost ominous – feel to the story. The thought It’s only going to get worse was ubiquitous in my mind as I read, and even as I could not put down the book, I didn’t want to read another page. One of the joys of reading is watching someone else’s story unfold in front of you, sympathizing with their losses and triumphs. But, aside from the discovery of the pearl, Kino and his family did not have any triumphs. As I read, their lives went from contented to unhappy to terrified to remorseful and grieved. At the resolution, there was a sense of helplessness and disappointment, of pure human weakness against the forces of ill luck and nature. One of the reasons I love to read is that it uplifts me. Watching good win over evil again and again, in scenario after scenario, inspires me. But what about when good doesn’t win over evil? What about when a sad ending is not diluted by even one small triumph? Does that mean the point of reading the book is lost? On reading the resolution of this novella – and the parts which led up to it – a second time, I think I have an answer. The utter despondency of The Pearl’s plot tends to overpower another element: an underlying thread of hope and shared goals which binds Kino’s family together. Whenever they receive a particularly heavy blow, they are able to rebound because – according to the narrator – Juana, Kino and Coyotito are “one thing and one purpose.” The family has suffered the same hardships and rejoiced at the same successes, and they are all working, together, toward the accomplishment of one ambition: a better life, as much for each other as for themselves. Only when Kino begins to push Juana aside does their life really begin to go downhill. In one scene, rather than give up the pearl or even hear Juana’s opinion, Kino shoves Juana down onto the boulders near the sea. He walks away, holding the pearl which she had advised him to destroy, and is attacked by thieves and almost killed. Eventually, when they flee from the village, Juana walks behind Kino. She is following him because she cares about him, and knows that she cannot change his mind; but she also knows that they are no longer working together toward the same goal, that they are no longer “one thing and one purpose.” When Kino and Juana come back to their tiny hut at the ending, they walk side by side instead of one behind the other: equal again – perhaps more equal than before – and sharing one last bitter loss. Their quiet acceptance of defeat as they walk into the village, heads down, seems like the most incredibly sad ending possible. But when one dries one’s tears and more closely examines the image, a second thing, showing itself even in the way they walk, comes to light: equality and love have been restored between Kino and Juana. Even more importantly, they have learned the importance of what they had lost and have now regained – and how much it can positively influence their lives. In a way, good has won over evil: the anger and greed which had torn their family apart is gone, and though the couple has lost much, they are rich in the things which matter most. The Pearl by John Steinbeck. Penguin Random House, 1947. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process! Have you read this book? Or do you plan on reading it? Let us know in the comments below!
reading
Juvenilia: an introduction via Jane Austen, the Brontës and others
Juvenilia is the name given to creative work produced by recognized authors and artists when they were children and young adults. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth century was a fruitful time for juvenilia, especially that of writers. Jane Austen, the Brontë family, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti, amongst others, among others, wrote extensively when they were young. Many of their manuscripts have survived, and a few are available on the Internet. The childhood and adolescent creative work of authors who became famous provides interesting comparison with the work of children and students we know in our lives. As editors of Stone Soup we have published extraordinary work by young writers, work that compares favorably with the best juvenilia. What makes writers, though, is not what they write as children and teenagers, but that they keep on telling stories throughout their lives. The juvenilia you will find on the Internet, in your local libraries and in the creative work publish in the pages of Stone Soup will provide entertainment for yourself, for your children, and for your students. And remember, after getting lost in the world of Jane Austen and the Brontë family, come back to us for the latest and most wonderful work by young people, being written today! To get you started on your journey through juvenilia, we have pulled together some links for you below. If you are interested in the original manuscripts, many of them tiny, handmade and handwritten books belonging to the authors, the British Library web pages have some excellent images and short articles of and about them. Jane Austen (1775-1817) Love and Freindship [sic], circa 1786, age 11 (see also our post on the 2016 movie by Whit Stillman with the same name, but actually based on a later novel, Lady Susan) Frederick and Elfrida, circa 1788, age 12-14 The Three Sisters, circa 1790, age 15-16 You can read more about Jane Austen’s juvenilia, and see images of some of her original hand-written notebooks, at the British Library website. Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), Emily Brontë (1818-1848), Ann Brontë (1820-1849), (and Bramwell Brontë, 1817-1848) The young sisters and their brother created entire imaginary worlds–such as Emily’s Gondal and Bramwell’s Angria– which they wrote about prolifically in their youth, and produced tiny handwritten newspapers and magazines for themselves. The Brontë Sisters Web by Mitsuharu Matsuoka More links from Great Britain about the Brontës There are notes about and images of the Brontës’ notebooks, and an interesting video of a discussion about the Brontës’ juvenilia (in which experts handle the tiny original materials), at the British Library website. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) Poems written around 1843, age 14-15
New Year, New Books
There is a certain joy that comes from a pile of new books waiting to be read, especially going into the new year. Whether they are on the shelf at a library or bookstore or sitting on the shelf at home, a book holds a promise of adventures to come. We are not always only in the mood for one type of book. Reading feeds me in different ways. Sometimes, I want to snuggle up in front of a fire and immerse myself in a novel, while other times I read to learn about a topic (see my previous blog post about this!) It is interesting to look at my bookshelf and see how the books I read when I was younger lead to books that I read now: D’Aulaires Books of Greek Myths leading to the first female translation of The Odyssey, The Collections of Robert Frost leading to A Book of Luminous Things. Here’s what is on my New Year’s booklist: Egg and Spoon by Gregory Maguire There are some novels that I just want to curl up and read the moment I see it. Egg and Spoon, a book about mistaken identities, economic differences, and fairy tales, made me do this with gusto. My Own Words by Ruth Bader Ginsburg Since I saw Sonia Sotomayor speak at the Hill Center, I have been interested in the lives of the Supreme Court Justices–especially the female ones. My Own Words is a collection of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s writings from childhood to present day. This RBG book looked like a perfect mixture of two things that interest me now, writing and the supreme court. Every Falling Star by Sungju Lee With all the news surrounding North Korea, Every Falling Star is the perfect way to get a glimpse of what it is like to live there. Sungju Lee writes about his life in North Korea, from his privileged childhood, into poverty, and finally his escape. Into English: Poems, Translations, Commentaries by Martha Collins and Kevin Prufer Have you ever wondered what the thought process is for people who are translating poems? How similar are they to the original text? How much the translated version is its own poem? I found myself wondering these things after I read The Book of Luminous Things and saw that almost every poem had “translated by…” written underneath. This collection gathers different translations of poems and a commentary on the translators’ decisions. The Odyssey by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson This is the first female translation of the Odyssey. After reading an article about her and her translation of the Odyssey, I couldn’t help picking it up from the library. I have always been interested in Greek myths starting with D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths, and this is the perfect way to grow my interest. Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich My history teacher recommended this book for us to discuss together. It is a wonderful memoir that is about Barbara Ehrenreich’s experience living as a minimum wage worker for a year. And the less traditional “books”: New York Times Easiest Crossword Puzzles edited by Will Shortz My grandpa was a genius at crossword puzzles, leaving behind a big legacy to fill. New York Times Easiest Crossword Puzzles was (I have already completed a couple–I couldn’t hold back) the perfect place to start, with “150 very easy puzzles”. They are very cleverly arranged and the perfect level for a beginning crossword puzzler. Poetry Poetry is a beautiful magazine full of modern poetry. It comes out every month and provides a charming collection of poets writings that each have a different perspective on the world.
