By John Steinbeck
From a swashbuckling pirate myth to a meditation on American morality—two vintage Steinbeck novels make their black backbone debuts
In awarding John Steinbeck the 1962 Nobel Prize in Literature, the Nobel committee acknowledged that with The iciness of Our Discontent, he had "resumed his place as an self reliant expounder of the reality, with an independent intuition for what's really American.
Ethan Allen Hawley, the novel's protagonist, works as a clerk in a supermarket that his trendy kin as soon as owned. with no prestige within the city, his spouse is stressed, and his teenage youngsters are hungry for the tantalizing fabric comforts he can't supply. Then someday, in a second of ethical challenge, Ethan makes a decision to take a vacation from his personal scrupulous criteria. In The wintry weather of Our Discontent, John Steinbeck, probably the grasp author of the yankee operating classification, explores the cultural malaise of the Sixties and its far-ranging implications: social, familial, and personal.
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Additional info for The Winter of Our Discontent (Penguin Classics)
She had no time left. She gave a fierce yank on the knife, and felt the thong give. Sir Gerald grunted quietly: had he felt something, or was he reacting to the spectacle at the altar? The purse dropped, and landed in her hand; but it was too big for her to grasp easily, and it slipped. For a terrifying moment she thought she was going to drop it and lose it on the floor among the heedless feet of the crowd; then she got a grip on it and held it. She felt a moment of joyous relief: she had the purse.
Caris spoke first. “The bush,” she said, pointing to a big cluster of evergreen shrubs – probably the home of the hare Ralph had shot, Merthin thought. A moment later she was flat on her belly, crawling into the thicket. Gwenda followed, cradling the body of Hop. Ralph picked up the dead hare and joined them. Merthin was on his knees when he 18 World Without End Ken Follett realized that they had left a tell-tale arrow sticking out of the tree trunk. He dashed across the clearing, pulled it out, ran back and dived under the bush.
That’s clever. ” “I haven’t tried it. ” “Caris, from the Wooler family. ” “Merthin. ” Merthin pushed back the hood of his cape, reached inside it and took out a coiled bowstring. ” “So it won’t get wet if there’s rain. ” He attached the twine to the notches at either end of the stave, bending the bow slightly so that the tension would hold the string in place. ” Merthin looked at him. He was about twelve, tall and thin with big hands and feet. Merthin had seen him last night in the priory hospital with his family: his name was Philemon.
The Winter of Our Discontent (Penguin Classics) by John Steinbeck