Reflections on East of Eden

I’ve only recently begun to read more fiction. One characteristic of fiction that I’ve realized I especially appreciate is the way it enlarges our singular experience so that we, as it were, become well-acquainted with the lives of others. People are creatures of bottomless depth and individuals are so varied and multi-faceted. Paired with the layers that are veiled and lie beyond the surface, and the result is that even in a lifetime, we can only know and be known so well. Fiction, however, contrary to reality, paces time in accordance with the designed intent of the author. We see characters in the story grow and mature and we have the fashioned insights of the author through the voice of the narrator.

Below is a series of reflections from my reading of East of Eden.

Man

What a creature man is — glorious, lovely, yet full of corruption and evil. We’re littered with contradiction. We possess such wondrous, inspired capacity for good and yet are simultaneously capable of such cruelty and selfishness. From where do purity and darkness spring forth? To understand it is a difficult task, and it’s impossible to read this book and leave this stone unturned. The cast of characters in East of Eden and their relationships to one another are so compelling because of the diversity of what they exemplify in humanity.

Cal

Cal, the twin whose character inspired the name of one of my pastor’s firstborn. When I first heard about that before having met Cal in East of Eden, I thought he must be a person of upstanding character: noble, kind, and endearing. So I was admittedly caught off guard when he was the less looked upon of the two twins.

Cal’s inner torment and wrestling with his knowledge of his own evil is reflective of all mankind’s incessant dealings with our own guilt, shame, and regret. For Cal, diminishing and overlooking this part of himself is not sufficient. He must respond in a manner that appeases his conscience. The most vivid example of this for me was when he cried out to God, begging Him saying “I don’t want to be mean.” I wish the same for myself, and I believe the kindred spirit in us all yearns for the same. We see the same in the concluding episode of the story, after Aron’s death and subsequent consequences.

Samuel

I read East of Eden alongside a friend who had already read it once in the past. While we were discussing the book around the midway mark, he told me that after his initial reading, he wanted to be like Samuel so bad — one who possessed life and strived to infuse others around him with that same quality of life. At the time I didn’t see Samuel quite in that light, but as I read past his death, it was clear that he was a larger-than-life figure to his own children and the Trask household.

Cathy

Cathy’s introduction was harrowing. And when the narrator progressed through her childhood, it was told in such a way that there was enough said that it was clear what had happened and yet there was enough unsaid that room was left for the imagination to fill in the gaps. I had difficulty understanding her driving motivations until the conversations between her and Adam after they had gotten reacquainted. Is it possible that in this world there are truly people like Cathy—void of recognition of the genuine good that others have and filled only with rage at the hypocrisy that no one can escape?

Abra

I was especially drawn to and fond of Abra’s character. She consistently demonstrated a degree of maturity that was a cut above what might be expected of someone her age, remaining forbearing with Aron even as he entered his phase of religiosity and disconnect. She had a warmth towards others that made her greatly dear to Lee. Though other characters had seemingly strained relationships with others, she carried a steady relationship with the whole Trask household that made her an agent of reconciliation amongst the troubled family.

Speech

A primary point of reflection pertains to speech, words spoken in conversations with another. Some of the most pivotal portions of the plot of East of Eden center upon conversations that forcefully upend the recipient of the words spoken to. Two poignant examples of this are when Samuel aggressively confronts Adam in outrage upon discovering that the twins were over a year old and had no names and when Samuel, on his final visit to the Trask ranch, tells Adam the truth about Cathy.

I often find deciding what to say or not to say to be a tricky endeavor. There’s a spectrum between saying things that ought not to be said and not saying things that ought to be said. Both are harmful, but the separation is never as clear as we’d hope it to be. Personally, I think my inclination, and that of those who I generally surround myself with generally tends towards the latter. Out of fear of hurting those who we care about or concern for what they might think, we default towards not issuing correction, admonition, or strong words that may be due. Yes, the desire to give grace, say things tactfully and prudently are noble and true, but sometimes we miss the forest for the trees. Samuel and Lee’s bluntness and candor taught me that we need to care about others too much to care much about what they may think.

Truth

The adjacent and related consideration here is around truth and how we handle it. We see that Lee was honest and didn’t speak falsehood, but there were rare exceptions in which he withheld the truth. The asymmetry of knowledge between characters was a very intriguing dynamic that significantly influenced the relationships between characters and the direction of their lives.

An inherent property of truth is that it grabs and compels. It demands to be appropriately dealt with. Dwelling in an illusory reality can easily deepen the cut of truth once uncovered (e.g. Aron’s response when discovering the truth about his mother). There’s certainly a time and place for everything and again, it’s a matter that requires great discernment, but when we skillfully wield the truth and share it with others, it gives them the opportunity to take it and apprehend it well.

Will

Thou mayest. In a book where the plot clearly mirrors the biblical tale of Cain and Abel, we see the characters themselves deliberating and meditating upon the same story, which narrows upon a singular verb phrase. I’m sure commentators can drill deep on the theme of free will and its relevance to the humankind, but my reflection is much more elementary than that.

Sometimes in the human experience, we lose a sense of hope and capability. We think we’re too far gone to change, or too much time has elapsed for us to act. However, I think that those responses, we give less power and credit to our wills than what they possess. Now, I don’t mean our raw unhindered willpower necessarily, but rather a gravity of will that’s wrought about by a convicted spirit. Sometimes there’s external influences that spark a great fire, and we see that in how people change in East of Eden.

Trouble

Job 5:7 says that “man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.” The narrative in East of Eden, as in most fiction, goes from trouble to trouble. There’s a relentless turning from one adversity to the next. Sometimes it’s self-inflicted in part or in whole, but trials are inescapable and inevitable.

I think there’s something to be said about the human spirit and its enduring perseverance. However, I also think that it points to our need for a wisdom that’s higher than ourselves. We need a manual; we need guidance for how to live and handle the trouble that comes our way.

Inheritance

The generations of the Hamilton and Trask families in East of Eden highlights the shared attributes between parents and their children (or more generally, one generation to the next). The sharpest example was the ignorant innocence of Adam (particularly towards Cathy) playing out in the life of his son, Aron.

It begs the question: to what extent, and in what ways, are we bound to the likeness of our parents? DNA, physical appearance are all inherited and derivatives of our parents. What about folly and vices and their roots? Would the same hold too for virtues? For Adam and Aron, I don’t recall cues in the plot that advocated for the nurture of environment being the cause or source of their misguided views.

I’m not really sure if I can articulate with clarity what I think here.

On literary elements

Finally, some brief notes on literary elements I observed. I’m a novice reader of fiction, but nevertheless here they are.

In the latter quarter other the book, I noticed each chapter introducing new, minor characters in passing (at least I think they were new), which I found taxing due to the largely-settled introduction of recurring characters to that point.

The Hamilton children were introduced with fair detail early on in the book, but there was a healthy chunk of the plot centering exclusively on the Trasks/Cathy until we returned to the Hamilton family. I wish I remembered better how the narrator had described the second generation of Hamiltons and the color of their personalities.

I’m pretty sure I’ve read Steinbeck before, but I really enjoyed his style of writing. There were a lot of instances of putting to words the expressions that are difficult to articulate, but resonant in experience when read.

A brief biblical reflection

Romans 5:15b (ESV) For if many died through [Adam’s] trespass, much more have the grace of God and the free gift by the grace of that one man Jesus Christ abounded for many.

Thank God for Jesus, the second Adam, the true and better Adam! In all the ways in which the first Adam fell short and missed the mark, Jesus triumphantly fulfilled perfect obedience. Pervasive as the consequences of Adam’s fall are, Jesus’ death not only cancels it in full, but also guarantees an enduring and eternal life for those who are counted in Him.