Travels with Charley

If he were alive today, John Steinbeck would be good at Twitter.

What a delightful surprise of a book — a surprise in that I found it on my parents' bookshelf, which I scavenged when I realized I forgot my kindle on a trip home. My parents have a full set of Steinbeck's, including East of Eden and Mice of Men, which I read years back, and Winters of Our Discontent, which didn't quite fit the mood I'm going for. So this book was the last remaining option. Having just gotten a dog myself, I felt drawn to Steinbeck's memoir of driving across America in a trailer with his poodle, Charley.

The book seems to have a serious question: what is America? Which spawns more serious questions about roots, race, politics, urbanization, etc. But the tone, save for a few moments of exquisitely beautiful writing, and a bit of painful experience, was one of lightness with a good helping of dry wit. I didn't expect to chuckle so much. Reading this book, I felt itchy to write in the way great writers make me itch, and also made a list of the states I have yet to visit with renewed vigor to do so. But most importantly, the book was so fun because it was like taking the trip with Steinbeck and his dog without having to travel at all.

Steinbeck really captures the paradoxical complexity and simplicity of Americans and America in this book. I don't understand how travelogues today manage to make it at all; I feel like Bill Bryson - who is vastly overrated - can't even compare to the heart and wisdom in this book.