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45 pages 1 hour read

John Steinbeck

The Grapes of Wrath

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1939

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Themes

Exploitation and Business in The Grapes of Wrath

When describing the archetypal businessman, Steinbeck says that such men gather in clubs to “reassure themselves that business is noble and not the curious ritualized thievery they know it is” (161). Businessmen deceive themselves about the true nature of their work. Yet for the Joads and other migrants in The Grapes of Wrath, the reality is all too clear. They are robbed time and again by a stream of salespeople and other businesspeople, all eager to make money from their plight. First, there are the used car salesmen ripping off migrants and selling them “lemons.” Then there are the predatory merchants buying up whole families’ belongings at fire-sale prices. And on the journey, there are gas station owners selling faulty tires and men demanding money for the right to camp by the side of the road. This continues through to a company store selling basic food for inflated prices and the cotton farm where they must buy the bags they need to pick with.

On one level the problem is that small numbers of individuals can own exclusive access to the things that people need. A society that fetishizes business and markets allows food, water, and even the patch of land under a tree to become someone’s property—and then they can charge for this. As Pa says, “nex’ thing they’ll sell ya a little tank a air” (182). More generally the problem is that human life is reduced to an exploitable resource. Despite the rhetoric of “satisfying the customer,” business as depicted in The Grapes of Wrath seeks to extract maximal profits from the lives of people regardless of the human cost. This is shown in what an unnamed migrant says to a merchant to whom he is forced to sell his horse: “You’re buying a little girl plaiting the forelocks… You’re buying years of work, toil in the sun; you’re buying a sorrow that can’t talk” (91). The merchant cannot see the real significance or value of the horse. He cannot see its connection to an individual’s memories and experiences. All he can perceive is the money for which it might be sold.

Even worse is the migrants’ relationship to the landowners. Despite the owners needing the migrant farmers, without whom their fruits would go unpicked, they and the society they dominate reduce the migrants entirely to a factor of production. A surplus of workers is encouraged to lower the price of the commodity, labor. But people’s ability to feed themselves or a family on such low wages is not considered. Likewise, the owners require large numbers of workers at specific harvesting times. How the workers are to live outside those times is incidental. It matters as little to the landowners as the fate of boiler slag to the mine owner once the coal is burned. This injustice is emphasised via a terrible realization on the part of the migrants at the novel’s end: that after the rains, there will be no work for three months. This means that none of them will be able to afford to eat. As a migrant puts it, “Fella had a team of horses, had to use ‘em to plow an’ cultivate an’ mow, wouldn’ think a turnin’ ‘em out to starve when they was’t workin’” (454). Yet this is precisely what the landowners seek to do. Like the tons of crops that are burnt to keep up prices, the commodity of labor, once used, is utterly expendable.

Authenticity and “the Land”

As the Joads begin their journey, Steinbeck wonders whether a tractor is inherently “bad” (157) because it is an example of automation in agriculture. His ostensible conclusion is that it is not. As he says, “If this tractor were ours it would be good—not mine, but ours. If our tractor turned the long furrows of our land, it would be good” (157). True, tractors were part of the consolidation process. Far more efficient than a plough, one tractor could do the work of twenty families. The tractor thereby provided an economic rationale for the evictions. However, the real problem, Steinbeck suggests, is ownership. If the tractor and the land were owned in common, instead of by an individual or company, it could be something that benefited rather than harmed people. They could use it to ensure a plentiful supply of food. They could employ it to lighten the burden of labor, so that they had more time to educate or enjoy themselves. Steinbeck says it was “the monster,” the bank, and capitalism “that sent the tractor out” (37).

Yet in the very next sentence, Steinbeck says of the tractor driver, “He could not see the land as it was, he could not smell the land as it smelled; his feet did not stamp the clods or feel the warmth and power of the earth” (37-38). This suggests something inherently alienating about mechanized farming, and that being in a tractor by its nature detaches humans from a more intimate connection to the land. It prevents the kind of spiritual understanding that Steinbeck alludes to when he says that “walking on the earth… kneeling in the earth to eat his lunch; that man who is more than his elements knows the land that is more than its analysis” (120). In contrast, the relation of the tractor to the land is necessarily analytic. It is about straight lines and precise measurements. It is backed up by a technological, scientific understanding which reduces the land to a set of objective physical and chemical processes.

Moreover, this ties into a broader critique of mechanization and mass production in life overall. Steinbeck criticizes the “piece of pie branded like an engine part” (38) that the tractor driver eats. He attacks the wife of the businessman, who carries around a thousand different products “to change the color of hair, eyes, lips, nails, brows, lashes, lids” (161). And he condemns the agricultural industry in California which sprays trees with pesticide and poisons the air. These concerns are often overshadowed by more obvious economic and political issues. For example, they pale in importance compared to issues of wages, hunger, and repression. Nevertheless, this undercurrent recurs throughout the novel. It sits uneasily with the narrative sense that the migrant farmers must be dislocated from the land. This is so that they can realize their identity as a group and destiny as a nascent proletariat. Still, Steinbeck is wedded to the notion of an authentic relation to the land. He sets up this ideal of the “natural” against what he sees as the dehumanizing effects of industrial modernity. Less clear is where this fits into the overarching goal of the novel. In short, he asks if the ideal of the farmer’s way of life can be reconciled with his hopes for a better, collective form of society, or if it is merely a piece of romantic nostalgia.

Law and the Role of Government

On first reading it would be easy to draw the conclusion that the government and the law play an entirely negative role in The Grapes of Wrath. On one level the law serves merely to create arbitrary obstacles in people’s lives. This is seen when Grampa dies. The Joads are not allowed to bury him themselves; the law requires contacting the authorities and paying 40 dollars, unless they want the death to be treated as suspicious. This leads Tom to remark, “The gov’ment’s got more interest in a dead man than a live one” (146). As such, it is not just that the government obstructs and keeps tabs on people; it is also the apparent double standard that, while interfering, it does nothing to help.

Then there is repression and brutality. Throughout the novel the police persistently harass the Joads and the other migrants. Their camps are moved on without warning, they are threatened, and they are beaten up, arrested, or even murdered for the slightest expression of dissent. Part of the message is that the police are merely puppets of the owners. The big landowners use the police as a means of crushing any opposition to their appalling pay, specifically stopping trade union organization and action. Yet while all true, Steinbeck emphasises that the police are not synonymous with the law. In their repressive capacity, they are usually operating outside of it. Tom highlights this after a policeman tries to arrest Floyd just for speaking out. He says, “[I]f it was the law they was workin’ with, why, we could take it. But it ain’t the law” (292). Likewise, this theme is emphasised when Casy is killed by a policeman: “He wasn’ doing nothin’ against the law” (438). The attack and murder is totally illegal, and so too are the local militias who work alongside the police in intimidating migrants and burning down camps.

Therefore, the problem may not be with the law itself. The issue is that the law is not enforced fairly or equally when it comes to the migrants, or it is deliberately subverted. For example, consider the law that police need a warrant to enter a living space. When this is upheld in the government camp it in fact stops police harassment. This maxim can be extended to the government more broadly. The government camp with its sanitation and safety shows the potential of state intervention to help people and to facilitate democratic self-organization and freedom. The problem is just that these camps are too scarce and that they operate within a wider social context of underemployment and exploitation. This is shown too with relief. The principal of relief, state assistance for unemployed or impoverished people, is a sound one. It could have forestalled the kind of horrors, sickness, and death seen at the novel’s end. However, the tragedy is that relief, imperfectly and bureaucratically implemented, comes too late. As a migrant finds out, “[Y]ou got to be here a year before you can git relief” (453). It comes too late for communities already exhausted and virtually starving during their time in California.

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