Most probably, he was hoping a movie deal might emerge; that took patience. Perhaps Guthrie sensed that some of the content was passé (the fertility cycle trope, for example, was frowned on by critics) or that the sexually provocative language was ahead of its time (graphic sex of the âstiff penisâ variety was not yet acceptable in literature during the 1940s). The lovemaking between Tike and Ella May is a brave bit of emotive writing and an able exploration of the psychological dynamics of intercourse. But itâs a scene that, in the age when Tropic of Cancer was banned, would have been misconstrued as pornographic. Another impediment to publication may have been Guthrieâs employment of hillbilly dialect. This perhaps made it difficult for New York literary circles to embrace House of Earth as high art in the 1940s, though the dialect comes across as noble in our own period of linguistic archaeology. Also, left-leaning originality was hard tomass-market in the Truman era, when Soviet communism was public enemy number one. And critics at the time were bound to dismiss the novelâs enthusiasm for southwestern adobe as fetishistic.
Toward the end of House of Earth , Tike rails against the sheeplike mentality of honest folks in Texas and Oklahoma who let low-down capitalist vultures steal from them. Long before Willie Nelson and Neil Young championed âFarm Aid,â a movement of the 1980s to stop industrial agriculture from running amok on rural families, Guthrie worried about middle-class folks who were being robbed by greedy banks. As Tike prepares to make love to Ella May in the barn scene in House of Earth , his head swirls with thoughts of how everything around himââhouse, barn, the iron water tank, the windmill, little henhouse, the old Ryckzyck shack, the whole farm, the whole ranchââwas âa part of him, the same as an egg from the farm went into his mouth and down his throat and was a part of him.â Tike is biologically one with even the hay on his leased property.
In 1947, after years of gestation, House of Earth was finished. Shortly thereafter Guthrieâs health started to deteriorate from complications of Huntingtonâs disease. While disciples like Ramblinâ Jack Elliott and Pete Seeger popularized his folk repertoire, House of Earth remained among Lernerâs papers. Like a mural by Thomas Hart Benton or a novel by Erskine Caldwell, it was an artifact from a different era: it didnât fit into any of the standard categories ofpopular fiction during the Cold War. But, as Guthrie might say, âAll good things in due time.â The unerring rightness of southwestern adobe living is now more apparent than ever. Oscar Wilde was right: âLiterature always anticipates life.â Itâs almost as if Guthrie had written House of Earth prophetically, with global warming in mind.
To read the voice of Guthrie is to hear the many voices of the people, his people, those hardworking Great Plains folks who didnât have a platform from which their sharp anguish could be heard. His voice was the pure expression of the lost, of the downtrodden, of the forgotten American who scratched out a living from the heartland.
While Guthrie was himself a common man, he was uncommon in his efforts to celebrate the proletariat in his art. He hoped someday Americans could learn how to abolish the laws of debt and repayment. Guthrie wanted to be heard, to count for something. He demanded that his political beliefs be acknowledged, respected, and treated with dignity. As his graphic love scenes demonstrate, he wasnât scared of anyone. He had no fear. He lived his art. In short, Guthrie inspired not only people of his time, but people of later times enraged by injustice, yearning for truth, searching for that elusive resolution of class inequality.
We consider the publication of House of Earth an integral part of the celebration of the centennial of