Steinbeck (108 page)

 

 

 

 

I thank the Swedish Academy for finding my work worthy of this highest honor.

In my heart there may be doubt that I deserve the Nobel award over other men of letters whom I hold in respect and reverence—but there is no question of my pleasure and pride in having it for myself.

It is customary for the recipient of this award to offer scholarly or personal comment on the nature and the direction of literature. However, I think it would be well at this particular time to consider the high duties and the responsibilities of the makers of literature.

Such is the prestige of the Nobel award and of this place where I stand that I am impelled not to squeak like a grateful and apologetic mouse, but to roar like a lion out of pride in my profession and in the great and good men who have practiced it through the ages.

Literature was not promulgated by a pale and emasculated critical priesthood singing their litanies in empty churches—nor is it a game for the cloistered elect, the tin-horn mendicants of low-calorie despair.

Literature is as old as speech. It grew out of human need for it, and it has not changed except to become more needed. The skalds, the bards, the writers are not separate and exclusive. From the beginning, their functions, their duties, their responsibilities have been decreed by our species.

Humanity has been passing through a gray and desolate time of confusion. My great predecessor, William Faulkner, speaking here, referred to it as a tragedy of universal physical fear, so long sustained that there were no longer problems of the spirit, so that only the human heart in conflict with itself seemed worth writing about. Faulkner, more than most men, was aware of human strength as well as of human weakness. He knew that the understanding and the resolution of fear are a large part of the writer's reason for being.

This is not new. The ancient commission of the writer has not changed. He is charged with exposing our many grievous faults and failures, with dredging up to the light our dark and dangerous dreams, for the purpose of improvement.

Furthermore, the writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man's proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit—for gallantry in defeat, for courage, compassion, and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally-flags of hope and of emulation. I hold that a writer who does not passionately believe in the perfectibility of man has no dedication nor any membership in literature.

The present universal fear has been the result of a forward surge in our knowledge and manipulation of certain dangerous factors in the physical world. It is true that other phases of understanding have not yet caught up with this great step, but there is no reason to presume that they cannot or will not draw abreast. Indeed, it is a part of the writer's responsibility to make sure that they do. With humanity's long, proud history of standing firm against natural enemies, sometimes in the face of almost certain defeat and extinction, we would be cowardly and stupid to leave the field on the eve of our greatest potential victory.

Understandably, I have been reading the life of Alfred Nobel; a solitary man, the books say, a thoughtful man. He perfected the release of explosive forces capable of creative good or of destructive evil, but lacking choice, ungoverned by conscience or judgment.

Nobel saw some of the cruel and bloody misuses of his inventions. He may even have foreseen the end result of his probing—access to ultimate violence, to final destruction. Some say that he became cynical, but I do not believe this. I think he strove to invent a control—a safety valve. I think he found it finally only in the human mind and the human spirit.

To me, his thinking is clearly indicated in the categories of these awards. They are offered for increased and continuing knowledge of man and of his world—for
understanding
and
communication,
which are the functions of literature. And they are offered for demonstrations of the capacity for peace—the culmination of all the others.

Less than fifty years after his death, the door of nature was unlocked and we were offered the dreadful burden of choice. We have usurped many of the powers we once ascribed to God. Fearful and unprepared, we have assumed lordship over the life and death of the whole world, of all living things. The danger and the glory and the choice rest finally in man. The test of his perfectibility is at hand.

Having taken God-like power, we must seek in ourselves for the responsibility and the wisdom we once prayed some deity might have. Man himself has become our greatest hazard and our only hope. So that today, Saint John the Apostle may well be paraphrased: In the end is the
word,
and the word is
man,
and the word is
with
man.

Abramson, Ben

“About Ed Ricketts” 315-16, 404

Adams, Marion Sheffield

Albee, Anne

Albee, Edward

Albee, George ; breach with

Albee, Richard

Allen, Fred

America and Americans
(Steinbeck)

American
(New York)

American Academy of Arts and Letters, The

Anthony, Edward

Arthur (King), and Tortilla Flat .
See also Morte d'Arthur

Associated Farmers, vs. Steinbeck

Atkinson, Frances

 

 

Bailey, Elizabeth, no

Ballou, Robert O.; characterized

Barrymore, Ethel

Bascom, Willard

“Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and
The Grapes of Wrath
.

Belmonte, Juan

Benchley, Peter

Bergman, Ingrid

Beskow, Bo .

Beskow
(cont'd.)

Beskow, Greta

Best, Marshall

Bilowit, Ira J.

Birkhead, Reverend L. M.- 204

Blixen, Baroness (Isak Dinesen)

Bolt, Robert

Book-of-the-Month Club

Boone, Jean Anderson

Brackett, Charles

Brady, Leslie

Brenner, Gertrudis

Brewer, Warren and Putnam

Bryan, Joseph

Buccleuch, Duchess of

Burning Bright
(Steinbeck) .; cast of ; evaluation of; reviews of

Burrows, Abe

 

 

Calypso Poem

Camino Real
(Tennessee Williams)

Camp David

Cannery Row (Steinbeck) ; musical of; response to

Capa, Robert

Cape and Smith; and
The Pastures of Heaven

Caswell, Paul

Cathcart, Robert

Cervantes, Miguel

Chaplin, Charles

Charley the poodle, death of.
See also Travels with Charley.

Chase, Thurston

Chaucer, Geoffrey

Chicken Little

“Chrysanthemums, The,”

Collier's,
correspondence for

Commonwealth Club award

Communism

Conger, Gwyndolyn, see Steinbeck, Gwyndolyn Conger

Connelly, Marc

Conrad, Barnaby

Cornell, Katharine

Country Girl, The
(Odets)

Courier-Journal
(Louisville)

Covici, Dorothy

Covici, Pascal ; death of

Covici, Pascal, Jr.

Covici-Friede; financial difficulties of; and
In Dubious Battle

Cox, Dr. Denton Sayer

Crawford, Joan

Critics.
See also
Reviews

Critics' Circle award

Crow, Fannie

cummings, e.e.

Cup of Gold
(Steinbeck) ; disappointment with; publication of; purpose of

 

 

Day, A. Grove

Dinesen, Isak, see Blixen

Dickey, Roland

Discove Cottage

Dissonant Symphony
(Steinbeck) ; appraisal of

Don Keehan
; abandoning of

Don Quixote
(Cervantes)

Dos Passos, John

Drudi, Gabriella

 

 

East of Eden
(Steinbeck); completion of; movie of ; “prologue” of; research for; reviews of; rewriting of ; success of; and title ; writing of

Ehrenburg, Ilya

Eighth Day, The
(Wilder)

Emerson, Faye

Ethridge, Mark

 

 

Fairbanks, Douglas, Jr.

Farber, David

Farmers Hotel, The
(O'Hara)

Farrar and Rinehart

Faulkner, William

Fearnley, John

Fischer, Dr. Walter K.

Fisher, Jack

Fisher, Shirley

Fleming, Victor

Flowering Cherry
(Bolt)

Fonda, Henry

Forman, John

Frere, Alexander

Freud, Sigmund

Friede, Donald

Friends of Democracy

 

 

Galbraith, John Kenneth

Garland, Robert

Geffen, Felicia

Gilbry, Louis

Gilfry, William A.

Gingrich, Arnold

Gish, Lillian