Our book club discussion of East of Eden by John Steinbeck covered a lot of ground. As always, we found ourselves wandering down some unexpected paths, but several themes kept bringing us back to the central question of the novel: How much of who we become is determined by what we inherit, and how much is determined by the choices we make?
Here are some of the questions and observations that generated the most discussion.
Cathy/Kate: Born Evil or Capable of Choice?
- Is Cathy the one character for whom “thou mayest” doesn’t apply?
This was probably our biggest question. Steinbeck spends much of the novel exploring the idea of timshel—“thou mayest”—and the human ability to choose between good and evil. But Cathy seems to challenge that entire premise. Is she evil because of the choices she makes, or was she simply born different? (Interesting side note about the word timshel is written about here and discussed on a podcast here, which leads to a whole different conversation about Steinbeck’s premise, writer’s license, etc.) - Steinbeck’s description of the “monster” is particularly unsettling when applied to Cathy.
Early in the novel, Steinbeck describes people who are born with visible physical deformities and contrasts them with those who appear completely normal but have something fundamentally wrong within them. Cathy belongs to the latter category: her deformity is invisible. That raises an uncomfortable possibility—that Steinbeck may be presenting Cathy as someone who was born with something morally or psychologically different. If so, what does that mean for timshel? - Are there any signs of a conscience in Cathy?
We wondered particularly about the scene when Adam comes to see her at the brothel. Cathy seems almost to crack when Adam refuses to respond to her in the way she expects. She has built her entire life around manipulating other people’s reactions, and suddenly she encounters someone whose response she can’t control. Could this be one of the rare moments when we see something resembling a conscience? - What is Cathy’s most evil act?
We debated several possibilities: the destruction of her parents, her manipulation of the schoolteacher, and what she eventually does to Faye. But perhaps Cathy’s greatest evil isn’t any single act. It is her persistent willingness to treat other human beings as objects—things to be manipulated, used, and discarded. - What happens to Kate when Ethyl begins to unravel her carefully constructed world?
Kate becomes increasingly frightened and paranoid as Ethyl’s situation threatens to expose her. We wondered whether this is the closest we ever see to Cathy actually “cracking.” Is this what ultimately leads to her suicide? And is her suicide consistent with the character we’ve known all along, or does it suggest that even Cathy finally encounters something she cannot control? - Is Kate’s will a blessing or a curse?
Leaving her money to her Aron could be viewed as one final act of manipulation. First, it would force the overtly moral Aaron to contemplate the freedom money could offer against the way in which it was earned. It might also serve to drive a wedge between the brothers after her death. Or is it Kate’s one “good” act – meant to provide Aron with resources to live on? As with so much involving Cathy/Kate, the ambiguity seems intentional. - Cathy/Kate as the ultimate foil.
Cathy throws the other characters into sharper relief. Adam’s goodness looks different beside her. Charles’s darkness looks different beside hers. Lee’s compassion and insight become more apparent. And Cal’s struggle with his own identity becomes even more complicated when we realize who his mother is. - Cal and Aaron’s paternity matters.
Do Cal and Aron have the same father – be it Charlie or Adam – or is the detail about them being born in separate sacs a clue that Cathy’s night with Charlie and her “one time” with Adam resulted in the rare but possible situation of giving birth to twins with different fathers? If so, how does this contribute to the novel’s larger question of nature versus choice? If something “wrong” can be inherited, does that determine who we become? Or can timshel overcome even that?
Good and Evil Are Rarely Separate
- The ability to hold good and evil together is one of the novel’s greatest strengths.
We talked about Charlie and Cal in particular. Neither fits neatly into the category of “good” or “bad.” Both are capable of terrible things and also of genuine affection and loyalty. Even Adam and Aron, who may represent what is “good,” seem to use that as a crutch rather than a way to impact the lives around them positively. Steinbeck seems much more interested in this uncomfortable mixture than in creating purely virtuous or purely evil characters. - Lee may be the novel’s great “see-er.”
Lee seems to understand people better than anyone else in the novel. He sees the contradictions in them and resists reducing them to simple categories. In many ways, he becomes the character who helps us understand what Steinbeck is trying to say about human nature. - Even Lee’s birth fits the theme.
The circumstances surrounding Lee’s birth – born in a horrendous act but then raised by the goodness of those in the camp – and the assumptions made about him demonstrate how quickly people try to decide who someone is before actually knowing them. His story becomes another example of the danger of believing that a person’s identity is predetermined. - Money as good or bad
Money in East of Eden represents much more than financial security. It represents power, inheritance, obligation, freedom, and sometimes corruption. We talked about the characters who reject or relinquish money and what that decision means – can it be intrinsically good or bad? – particularly in light of how it is earned.
Biblical Stories Everywhere
- Cain and Abel is only the beginning.
The biblical framework of East of Eden is obvious, but our discussion included nods to other biblical stories Steinbeck weaves into the novel including the Prodigal Son and the story of Isaac’s blessing of Jacob both echo through the relationships between parents and children, brothers, inheritance, jealousy, and forgiveness. We actually didn’t touch on the title, but it points to paradise or being just outside of paradise, which it seems is Steinbeck’s esteem for the region. - The church and the whorehouse make an intriguing pair.
We noticed the almost symbolic pairing of these two institutions in the town. They appear to represent opposite poles of morality, yet Steinbeck doesn’t allow either to remain simple. The pairing also seems to foreshadow Kate and Aron—the novel’s embodiment of two very different approaches to morality and purity.
The Sin of Passivity
- Not all sins are sins of action.
One of our more interesting observations was the role of passivity in the novel. Adam, in particular, sometimes allows events to happen rather than actively choosing how to respond to them. Other characters fail to intervene when intervention might have mattered. - Is doing nothing actually a choice?
This becomes particularly interesting in light of timshel. If human beings have the ability to choose, then refusing to choose—or allowing circumstances to make the decision for us—may itself be a moral choice. Steinbeck seems to suggest that we can be responsible not only for what we do, but also for what we fail to do.
Steinbeck Himself Is in the Book
- Is East of Eden Steinbeck’s magnum opus because he is so present in it?
Unlike some novels where the author’s presence disappears behind the characters, Steinbeck feels very much present here. The Hamilton family is drawn from his own family history, and that gives the novel a personal quality that feels different from his other major works. - The Hamiltons may be the heart of the novel.
Although the Trasks provide the dramatic Cain-and-Abel story, the Hamilton family gives the novel warmth, humor, decency, and a sense of lived experience. Their presence makes East of Eden feel less like an allegory and more like Steinbeck’s own attempt to understand his family, his history, and the place where he grew up. - Steinbeck’s political undertones are hard to miss.
The novel contains clear commentary on capitalism, wealth, labor, and economic inequality. Given when he wrote this, just a few years after WWII, it offers clear insight into his political leanings.
Steinbeck’s Women
- We were less impressed with Steinbeck’s female characters.
With the notable exception of Abra, most of the women in the novel felt fairly one-dimensional to us. Cathy is certainly unforgettable, but she is almost mythic in her evil rather than fully developed as a woman. Abra, by contrast, feels more complicated, sympathetic, and genuinely human. She doesn’t feel she deserves Aron and empathizes with Cal’s own inner struggles. - Why do the men get more complexity?
This was one area where we found ourselves wishing Steinbeck had given his female characters the same depth he gives Cal, Lee, and even Charles. While Adam and Aron are frustrating in their passivity, they do have some layers to them.
The Heartbreak of Tom
- Tom’s suicide hit us particularly hard.
While pretty minor, Tom is one of the novel’s most fundamentally decent characters, which makes his death especially heartbreaking. His suicide also complicates the idea that goodness will necessarily lead to happiness, or does it mean living with failure (his feeling that he caused his sister’s death) that much harder? - Perhaps timshel isn’t a promise of a happy ending.
The novel doesn’t tell us that choosing good will protect us from suffering. It only tells us that the choice exists. Tom’s story is a painful reminder that even good people can become overwhelmed by circumstances and despair.
And Finally: The Writing
- Steinbeck’s language is beautiful without feeling self-indulgent.
We were struck by how often the descriptions in East of Eden are lyrical and expansive without becoming annoying. The landscape feels almost mythic, but Steinbeck rarely loses sight of the people inhabiting it. - It is an impressive example of “show, don’t tell.”
For a novel so full of philosophical ideas, East of Eden surprisingly doesn’t feel like a lecture. Steinbeck gives us people and situations that allow us to discover the ideas for ourselves. Even when we know exactly what he is trying to say, the story usually gets there first. This is especially refreshing in an era when most books we read are tell, tell, tell.
The Question We Kept Coming Back To
Ultimately, East of Eden seems to ask a deceptively simple question: Are we destined to become what we inherit?
We inherit our families, our circumstances, our wounds, our temptations, and perhaps even some of our tendencies. Cathy may be Steinbeck’s most extreme example of someone who seems to have been born with something fundamentally wrong inside her. Cal fears that he has inherited that darkness.
And yet Lee’s interpretation of timshel gives the novel its answer:
Thou mayest.
We may not get to choose what we are given.
But we may get to choose what we do with it.
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