• About Me
  • Contact Me
  • Policies
  • Welcome

Novelhistorian

~ What's new and old in historical fiction

Novelhistorian

Tag Archives: Grapes of Wrath

When It All Turns to Dust: The Four Winds

19 Monday Sep 2022

Posted by Novelhistorian in Reviews and Columns

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1934, book review, broad-brush portrayals, cardboard villains, Dust Bowl, evocative descriptions, Grapes of Wrath, historical fiction, John Steinbeck, Kristin Hannah, strong story, Texas Panhandle, weak characterization

Review: The Four Winds, by Kristin Hannah
St. Martin’s, 2021. 448 pp. $29

The Texas Panhandle in 1921 seems a place thrumming with promise and possibility. But as Elsa Wolcott turns twenty-five, she sees only a life relegated to a forgotten shelf. Stricken by rheumatic fever at age fourteen, she believes herself frail, a theme her parents harp on to keep her isolated and cooped up out of sight. They find her physically unappealing, and apparently that’s grounds to pretend she doesn’t belong to them.

As a result, Elsa’s only friends are books, and her family’s there to remind her that she’s too old and plain to marry. Nevertheless, in her first act of rebellion, she sneaks out one night, latches onto an eighteen-year-old farm boy named Rafe Martinelli, and winds up having to marry him.

Elsa’s family disowns her—natch—but the Martinellis are also displeased, especially since Rafe was headed to college. Still, they’re warm people, unlike the Wolcotts, and Elsa throws herself into farm life, working harder than she’d ever thought possible, shedding her supposed frailty. Rafe and she have two surviving children, Loreda and Anthony, and the land rewards the Martinellis with sustenance and a decent living.

Until 1934, that is, when the soil starts to blow away in what would later be called the Dust Bowl. As their lives and dreams crumble to smithereens, the Martinellis struggle to keep their faith in the land—or Rafe does. Loreda, now twelve, merges his discontent with her own, for which she blames Elsa, having precociously arrived at adolescent logic.

Dust storm approaching Stratford, Texas, 1935 (courtesy National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, George E. Marsh Album, via Wikimedia Commons; public domain)

Hannah’s venture into John Steinbeck territory re-creates the hardships, brutality, despair, and occasional acts of kindness that mark The Grapes of Wrath. I like her physical descriptions very much; you can feel the hot wind, taste the grit in your mouth, feel it in your eyes:

All the trees that lined their driveway were dying. The hot, dry years had turned them a sick gray-brown; their leaves had turned into crunchy, blackened confetti and been swept away by the wind. Only three of them were even still standing. The dusty soil lay in heaps and dunes at the base of every fence post. Nothing grew or thrived in the fields. There was not a blade of green grass anywhere. Russian thistles—tumbleweed—and yucca were the only living plants to be seen. The rotting body of something—a jackrabbit, maybe—lay in a heap of sand; crows picked at it.

The Four Winds works best as a panorama of the Dust Bowl, in which story matters more than characterization, though I admire Hannah’s readiness to test her characters and find them wanting. Where the narrative focuses on the hardships, literally grounding the reader in that grit, putting setback after setback in the characters’ way, this story grabs you. It’s also obvious how the novel evokes present-day hatred of migrants.

Rather too obvious, though, which points out the undercurrent of righteousness that mars The Four Winds. The antagonists are 100 percent villains, motivated solely by snobbery, greed, selfishness, or the inability to love. I believe Elsa’s masochism and utter lack of self-esteem, but I don’t believe the over-the-top parents who shaped her that way.

A subtler psychological portrait could have achieved the same result while adding nuance, maybe granting the parents a redeeming trait or two. (I also wonder how in blazes they named their daughter Elsinore; I can’t help think it’s a literary allusion, and if so, it falls flat.) I’m even tempted to say that the novel should start with the Dust Bowl, though the pages leading up to it do turn quickly. It’s just that the wicked queen/stepmother is an old, old trope and too easy by half.

Likewise, the villains belonging to the latter part of the book have no faces, and though their fiendishness is detestable, I can’t see them as people, only symbols. Since that’s precisely how they view the have-nots gathering at their gates, in a sense, Hannah’s perpetuating the sort of misperception based on prejudice that she decries. A similar broad-brush approach hampers the portrayal of the all-important Elsa-Loreda relationship, in which each character seems to play only a single note, shorthand for the dominant trait that defines them—reduces them, actually.

I wish too I found complexity in several scenes meant to convey tenderness or love, where the language suddenly turns generically sentimental, a contrast to the spare, sharp edge that marks the more compelling scenes of the narrative. Especially toward the not-quite-plausible end, emotional transitions carry a Hollywood tone, as though Hannah can’t bear to leave any negative feelings lying around.

The Four Winds is a decent novel, but the sort that fades once you put it down. I’d have liked it better had the author not pumped the pedal marked “Redemption” quite so hard and given her characters more angles to work with, and against.

Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.

Struggle for Redemption: I Will Send Rain

13 Monday Feb 2017

Posted by Novelhistorian in Reviews and Columns

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1930s, biblical plagues, book review, coming-of-age story, Dust Bowl, Grapes of Wrath, historical fiction, individuality, John Steinbeck, literary fiction, Oklahoma, Rae Meadows, redemption

Review: I Will Send Rain, by Rae Meadows
Holt, 2016. 253 pp. $26

It’s 1934 in Mulehead, Oklahoma, and the Bell family, having watched their crops and their neighbors’ wither and die in perennial drought, now face another, undreamed-of terror: the dust that destroys whatever the heat and grasshoppers have missed. As other families give up and head to California, the Bells stay put; it’s as if Meadows has reimagined The Grapes of Wrath, depicting a family born to suffer. Samuel, the good-hearted but rigid-thinking father and husband, believes that God is punishing them, and as he loses himself in religion, his wife, Annie, drifts away. Trapped in an unfulfilling marriage, she dreams of a different life, a different man, anything to escape the crushing, gray sameness.

A farmer and his two sons brave a dust storm in Cimarron County, Oklahoma, 1936; Arthur Rothstein, Farm Security Administration (courtesy Library of Congress via Wikimedia Commons)

A farmer and his two sons brave a dust storm in Cimarron County, Oklahoma, 1936; Arthur Rothstein, Farm Security Administration (courtesy Library of Congress via Wikimedia Commons)

 

Her children are what tether her to Mulehead and Samuel. They have Fred, a bright, exuberant eight-year-old who can’t speak but communicates by writing notes and with gestures. Like many children, he sees more than he understands or can express (and Meadows uses him expertly as a catalyst to derive tension from secrets kept or revealed). Fred’s older sister, Barbara Ann, known as Birdie, is almost sixteen, and she takes after her still-attractive mother in her looks and urge to break free. Headstrong and sensual, Birdie convinces herself that she’s in love with Cy, the boy next door. But she also wants to live and can’t wait for the future, a state of mind that Meadows describes perfectly:

Life was mostly about remembering or waiting, Birdie thought. Remembering when things were better, waiting for things to get better again. There was never a now, never a time when you said, ‘This is it.’ You thought there would be that time–when you turned sixteen, when Cy finally kissed you, when school got out–but then you ended up waiting for something else.

Take Birdie’s desires for freedom and experience, throw in a callow boy, and you can guess what will happen to her, even if you don’t read the jacket flap and its ominous, obvious hint. Likewise, since Fred has asthma, for which there’s no known cure or treatment–even if the Bells had the money to pay–you have to wonder what havoc the dust storms will wreak on the poor lad. And as if that weren’t portent enough, Annie has already lost one child, who lived a week after birth. Not a day passes that she doesn’t feel the pain.

I feel two ways about the overly predictable, heartbreaking story. First and foremost, I admire I Will Send Rain for its fierce honesty. The Dust Bowl was a tragedy, and Meadows refuses to make nice with it, which means that nobody escapes. The characters have to struggle just like anyone else and can’t expect a benevolent authorial hand to bail them out. The writing, though spare, packs a wallop, and the author uses her skilled economy to convey a remarkable depth and breadth of one family’s experience, capturing the universal in the specific. Beautifully done.

However, once the sequence of tragedies grabs you by the throat, what then? Since they’re predictable, the only question is how the Bells will deal with them, and here, Meadows has a difficult choice. Does she keep the pressure on, showing no more quarter than Nature, or does she relent? If she keeps the pressure on, does the book become too painful to read and ultimately unsatisfying? But if she relents in hopes of letting her characters find redemption, does that compromise the fierce honesty that put them in trouble in the first place?

I think Meadows wants it both ways, but read the book to see whether you agree. Specifically, I find the resolution illogical, given that Samuel’s a Bible-thumper and Annie’s a minister’s daughter. After all, Samuel takes it into his head that God is testing him, as with Noah, and that he must build an ark. As a literary conceit, that one’s dubious, but it also suggests that Samuel’s morality has been fired in an ancient kiln and is therefore unlikely to bend. Then again, I understand Samuel less than any other character; he seems to have little or no inner life, nor to want one. I do like how he tries to involve Fred in his projects and share small secrets, which makes him more human as a father. But the way the novel unfolds, I expect a confrontation or two that somehow don’t happen, and I think that’s a mistake.

All the same, I Will Send Rain has a lot going for it, and even its flaws are worth thinking about.

Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.

Recent Posts

  • The Women Behind the Legend: Traces
  • Music, Death, Grief: The Great Passion
  • The Pain Will Get Better: After Lives
  • The Commission for Relief in Belgium
  • Sold!: The Shinnery

Recent Comments

Novelhistorian on Rot and Corruption: Company of…
Sharon on Rot and Corruption: Company of…
Craig Baker on The Luckiest Man in Russia: A…
His Last Duchess: Th… on The Shakespeares, at Home:…
Year of the Thriller… on An Island of Women: Matri…

Archives

  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014

Categories

  • Comment
  • Reviews and Columns
  • Uncategorized

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blogs I Follow

  • Roxana Arama
  • Damyanti Biswas
  • madame bibi lophile recommends
  • History Imagined: For Readers, Writers, & Lovers of Historical Fiction
  • Suzy Henderson
  • Flashlight Commentary
  • Diary of an Eccentric

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 175 other subscribers
Follow Novelhistorian on WordPress.com

Recent Posts

  • The Women Behind the Legend: Traces
  • Music, Death, Grief: The Great Passion
  • The Pain Will Get Better: After Lives
  • The Commission for Relief in Belgium
  • Sold!: The Shinnery

Recent Comments

Novelhistorian on Rot and Corruption: Company of…
Sharon on Rot and Corruption: Company of…
Craig Baker on The Luckiest Man in Russia: A…
His Last Duchess: Th… on The Shakespeares, at Home:…
Year of the Thriller… on An Island of Women: Matri…

Archives

  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014

Contents

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

Roxana Arama

storyteller from a foreign land

Damyanti Biswas

For lovers of reading, crime writing, crime fiction

madame bibi lophile recommends

Reading: it's personal

History Imagined: For Readers, Writers, & Lovers of Historical Fiction

Suzy Henderson

What's new and old in historical fiction

Flashlight Commentary

What's new and old in historical fiction

Diary of an Eccentric

writings of an eccentric bookworm

  • Follow Following
    • Novelhistorian
    • Join 175 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Novelhistorian
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...