Steinbeckâs postwar change of aesthetic sensibility made all the difference between his treatment of Doc, whose âtranscendent sadnessâ and essential loneliness closed Cannery Row , and this portrayal, which ends with the partially incapacitated but romantically redeemed Doc riding off with the no less reformed and eager Suzy (she is driving) into the sunset of a day that is âof purple and gold, the proud colors of the Salinas High School.â Steinbeck continues, âA squadron of baby angels maneuvered at twelve hundred feet, holding a pink cloud on which the word J-O-Y flashed on and off. A seagull with a broken wing took off and flew straight up into the air, squawking, âJoy! Joy!ââ That over-the-top moment gives Sweet Thursday the same fanciful, buoyant quality Steinbeck found in The World of Liâl Abner : âsuch effective good nature that we seem to have thought of it ourselves.â Inevitably, Doc and Suzyâs fairy-tale relationship is not so much a smarmy act of denouement as it is a proof of Steinbeckâs belief in the necessity for human beings to willingly open themselves to the demands of mutual love, and his abiding sense of the âjoyâ of creative drives to address human desire. Sweet Thursday conjoins writing and sexuality, which creates an exquisite âsatisfactionâ that comes when âwords and sentencesâ and âgood and shared loveâ combine, as he announced in a short essay called âRationale.â âBelieve me, I have nothing against fairy tales,â he told Otis and his drama agent Annie Laurie Williams on April 7, 1962. âGod knows Iâve written enough of them. My point is that no fairy tale is acceptable unless it is based on some truth about something. You can make it as light and airy and full of whimsy as you wish but down underneath there has to be a true thing.â Love, considered emotionally, physically, and as a form of creativity, Steinbeck suggests, is the âtrue thingâ that has the potential to heal the split between man and woman, self and world, language and life, text and audience. The pejorative Time magazine review was only partlyâand unintentionallyâcorrect in its assessment of Sweet Thursday. Steinbeck did âcomic-stripâ his characters of reality, but that was his desire; far from being proof of his decline into an undifferentiated Saroyanesque landscape, his appropriation of Al Cappâs free-form inventiveness, vivid technique, exaggerated scenarios, and âdreadful folk poetryâ helped further in the novel what Steinbeck saw in Liâl Abner : a âhilarious picture of our ridiculous selves.â
Thus âSweet Thursdayâ functions as a double signifierâat once private and public utterance, reference and object, process and product. The name refers to a âmagic kind of dayâ when all manner of unanticipated, random events occur on Cannery Row (to which Steinbeck devotes three contiguous, titled chaptersâ19, 20, 21âat the midpoint of his novel, and oneâ39âat the very end). Then, refracted, âSweet Thursdayâ (a time, a place in the mind, a historical context) becomes, like Hawthorneâs symbolic âScarlet Letterâ or Melvilleâs multimeaning âMoby-Dick,â the title of the book Steinbeck brings into being. The title operates in turn as a looking glass, a hole in reality, that reflects, distorts, enlarges, and/or magnifies the implicit ethereality and quantum activities of the âmagic dayâ by borrowing a sense of its own disruptive form from the uninhibited carnival quality of life on the Row and from a number of literary texts that play into the mix. That inherent duality and fluid interchangeability of word and world and fiction and fact symbolizes Steinbeckâs imaginative concerns and method. When in chapter 20 Fauna tells Joe Elegant, âWhen a man
Janwillem van de Wetering