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Reading CANNERY ROW on the heels of TORTILLA FLAT, the reader quickly notices many parallels between the two novels, both of which spotlight the ironies of human existence, including its happiness, despair, success and failure, and how conventional wisdom often fails dismally in describing the realities of existence. Despite the many parallels and equivalencies between them, however, the two novels differ in tone and treatment, if not in theme, and are equally worthy of the reader’s attention. In fact, the reader’s grasp of Steinbeck’s commentary on life will remain incomplete if only one of the novels is read. By all means, learn from both.

CANNERY ROW shows us many great ironies, not the least of which is the fact that “Mack and the boys,” a group of down-and-out bums, seem to be more content and fulfilled with their lot in life than is “Doc,” the professional man who operates the Western Biological Laboratory. Doc is alone in the world; he lacks that human attachment that brings comfort and connectedness to those who are otherwise adrift in an uncaring universe. He has lost his only lover some time before our story begins, and his stumbling across the corpse of a beautiful, drowned girl is a painful reminder of that loss. An even more poignant reminder of his alienation from humanity comes in the words of Frankie before he is isolated in an insane asylum. Frankie’s simple answer of “I love you” sends Doc retreating to the seclusion of his laboratory.

Contrasted with the loneliness of Doc, we find a fulfilling camaraderie among Mack and his cohorts. Penniless bums living in a ramshackle warehouse that they have coerced from Lee Chong, the Chinese grocer, sitting in chairs painted red with stolen paint, drinking from the liquor jug filled with the leavings of bar customers’ glasses, these men possess the connectedness and the feeling of belonging to the human race that Doc has lost. Despite the facts that their few possessions have been purloined, that they are employed only when necessity drives them to it for short periods, and that they would surely be classified as ne’er-do-wells by any member of polite society, the men are not only comfortable with one another but also reach out to others, wanting to “do something nice” for Doc simply because they like him, and lavishing ignorant but fully sincere love on Darling, doting upon her even as she eats their only shoes and makes puddles in their warehouse-home.

Other residents of Cannery Row also connect to the human community, sharing what they have and supporting one another when the fates bring misfortune upon their fellow men. When influenza strikes down both adults and children of the Row, Dora sends her professional girls, bearing thick, hot soup, to sit with the sick after their “work shifts” have ended for the day.

Misfortune, aided by copious drink, does sweep through the company. A party for Doc, who does not return from specimen gathering in time for it, gets well out of hand, and Doc’s laboratory and personal belongings suffer greatly as a consequence. At other points, the reader encounters suicide, crime, the callousness of a “system” that cannot understand or tolerate unfortunates such as Frankie. Cannery Row is not Utopia. Yet, somehow in the midst of impoverished existence, life will go on. Connections will be made. Humanity will be preserved. Logic and reason may not always apply, for the most despised dregs of society may be those who discover the paths of camaraderie, of sharing, of giving and of loving. Yet, despite such ironies, the vibrant, growing, fighting, reproducing life of the tidal pools will find its counterpart on land as well.

And what of Doc, whom we have described as divorced from this community of humanity? There is perhaps some promise there, too. At another party thrown by the boys for his birthday (though it wasn’t really his birthday), Doc truly enjoys himself-despite the broken glasses, windows, and door. Essentially, Doc remains alone, but now he-and we-know that bridges do exist across that gulf of loneliness and that connectedness, even though it may be temporary, is possible.

Steinbeck’s CANNERY ROW paints a portrait of humanity set firmly in the naturalistic genre. It depicts all of the grime, the drunkenness, the self-incriminations, and the rationalizations of men mired in poverty and ignorance, yet it also depicts them as survivors, and being a survivor is essentially what life is all about. Steinbeck’s novels should probably be “required reading,” if there were such a thing, for every adult, but I am somewhat dismayed at the thought that there are high school teachers who use them in their classes. The dismay is not because of any Pollyanna-ish notion that students should be “protected” from scenes such as Steinbeck draws, but rather because having more experience with life and its diversity is really necessary for a greater appreciation of Steinbeck’s observations. Here, of course, I write in generalities, for there are undoubtedly students of all ages and at all levels of life whose experiences will enable them to understand and, therefore, to appreciate Steinbeck’s verbal portraits of the human condition, and to them I highly recommend him.

Cannery Row is Steinbeck at his best. It is a great example of Steinbeck’s humorous side as well as some sad commentary on the state of mankind. Freddy’s fate, the drowned girl, and the chapter in which the boy makes fun of friend’s father committing suicide make it clear that Steinbeck is trying to do more than just write a feel good novel for his readers recovering from WWII. Steinbeck seems to want to make clear to the reader that the tragedy that often is the reality of life is always lurking somewhere in the background. Despite some of the gloomy chapters, Steinbeck does an excellent job of creating memorable characters who move through their lives in a laid back manner that reflects the character of Cannery Row itself. In fact, the town of Cannery Row becomes as much a character in the novel as Doc. Mr. Lee, or Mac and the boys. By having the fickle moods of Cannery Row change as portrayed by the weather and scenery Steinbeck uses the living element of the town to move the reader through the story. I highly recommend this novel.

Steinbeck resists the pessimistic strain that runs through much 20th-century literature of alienation and despair. His is essentially a positive, “comic” vision in that he affirms the human community, all the more so if it comprises outcasts and eccentrics who reject the conventions and materialist values of the dominant culture in favor of the more “natural” as well as mystic order represented by Doc. Mack and the boys, along with most of the other inhabitants of Cannery Row, embody a democratic, inclusive social order founded on genuine diversity–of character and lifestyle more than color, ethnicity, or religion. In fact, they have much in common with the lovable and vital mischief makers of Shakespeare’s King Henry IV plays, though Steinbeck’s Doc cannot bring himself to be as heartless as Shakespeare’s Prince Hal. Falstaff and company are allowed to remain in Steinbeck’s version. They’re as essential to the vitality and strength of the human community as the debris that contributes to the cycle of life represented by the tide pools.

One striking example of Steinbeck’s worldview is the automobile. Unlike Fitzgerald’s symbol of American aspiration and status, of danger and tragedy, Steinbeck’s machine is distinguished by the working symmetry of its parts and by its relation to resourceful, inventive human beings capable of adapting and modifying it to their own purposes–which aren’t primarily selfish but directed toward the survival and celebration of the community which it serves. Gay’s mechanical expertise inspires the narrator in Chapter 11 to proclaim: “Two generations of Americans knew more about the Ford coil than the …, about the planetary system of gears than the solar system of stars. With the Model T, part of the concept of private property disappeared.”

Chapter 18, it strikes me, contains some of the best writing in all of Steinbeck. Doc, like Steinbeck, is a collector of specimens, but the sight of a dead girl that confronts him here discourages any action associated with acquisition or even representation. It’s an expanded, mystical moment in which the author manages to suggest the inextricable relation between life and death, the suspension of the narrative matching the reader’s wonder and amazement before a universe that surpasses human understanding.

It’s a rather utopian view, or cosmos, but Steinbeck makes it work while aligning himself with forbears like Whitman, Twain, and Sandburg–all of whom drew inspiration from the American community as a microcosm of life and nature, rooted in a deep belief in the sanctity of life and the inherent capacity of human beings for kindness and tolerance. “Our Father who art in Nature” is the narrator’s invocation in the second chapter, and the story that follows reveals this Creative Spirit’s unlikely incarnations in everyday experience and the natural world.

Throughout the final chapters, the theme of community counterbalances an equal emphasis on the tragic and the elegiac. Even as Mack and company finally throw a successful party for Doc, the guest of honor keeps coming back to the haunting ancient poem, “Black Marigolds.” In a universe that can be ruthlessly impersonal, taking away as much as it gives, it is the spirit of poetry, Steinbeck seems to be saying, that helps us share and even repair loss, linking us to one another in our tears as well as our laughter.