American Lit: Unit 7: "The Grapes of Wrath," John Steinbeck

American Lit; Unit 7: The Grapes of Wrath; The Great Migration

"The Grapes of Wrath," 42 pages; 11,236 words; visuals

The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 1
“The surface of the earth crusted, a thin hard crust, and as the sky became pale, so the earth became pale, pink in the country and white in the gray country.
In the water cut gullies earth dusted down in little streams. Gophers and ant lions started small avalanches. And as the sharp sun struck day after day, the leaves of the young corn became less stiff and erect; they bent with a curve at first, and then, as central ribs of the strength grew weak, each leaf tilted downward. Then it was June and the sun shone more fiercely. The brown lines on the corn leaves widened and moved in on the central ribs. The weeks frayed and edged back toward their roots. The air was thin and the sky more pale; and every day the earth paled.
In the roads, where the teams moved, where the wheels milled the ground and the hooves of the horses beat the ground, the dirt crust broke and the dust formed. Every moving thing lifted the dust into the air; a walking man lifted a thin layer as high as his waist, a wagon lifted the dust as high as the fence tops, and an automobile boiled a cloud behind it. The dust was long in settling back again.
…In the morning the dust hung like fog, and the sun was ripe as new blood. All day the dust sifted down from the sky and the next day it sifted down an even blanket covered the earth. It settled on the corn, piled up on top of fence posts, piled up on the wires; it settled on roofs, blanketed the weeds and trees.
The people came out of their houses and smell eth hot stinging air and covered their noses from it. And the children came out of the houses, but they did not run on shout as they should after the rain. Men stood by their fences and looked at the ruined corn, drying fast now, only a little green showing through the film of dust. The men were silent and they did not move often. The women came out of the houses to stand behind their men—to feel whether this time the men would break. The women studied the men’s faces secretly, for the corn could go, as long as something else remained. The children stood nearby, drawing figures in the dust with bare toes, and the children sent exploring senses out to see whether men and women would break. The children peeked at the faces of the men and women and then drew careful lines in the dust with their toes. Horses came to the watering troughs and muzzled the water to clear the surface dust. After a while the faces of the watching men lost their bemused perplexity and became had and resilient. Then the women knew they were safe and that there was no break. Then they asked, what will we do? And the men replied I don’t know. But it was all right. The women knew it was all right and the watching children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep in themselves that no fortune was too great to bear if their men were whole. The women went into their houses to their work, and the children to play, but cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became less red. It flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the doorway of their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The men sat still—thinking—figuring.

"The Grapes of Wrath,"  42 pages; 11,236 words; visuals