The Short Novels of John Steinbeck by John Steinbeck

The Short Novels of John Steinbeck by John Steinbeck

Finished June 28, 2026

Tortilla Flat
I was boggled at how long it took me to read such a short story. I’d think I’d read 20-some pages then look up…nope, I’d read five. In general I would describe it as “frustrating.” I’ll let this quote sum it up:

Pilon complained, “It is not a good story. There are too many meanings and too many lessons in it. Some of those lessons are opposite. There is not a story to take into your head. It proves nothing.”

I’m not sure there actually were all that many meanings and lessons but I’m over it, onto the next~

The Red Pony

Oh I love stories about horses. They’re always so happy and the horse(s) never die. Never.

Haha just kidding, every story I’ve ever read featuring horses shit goes horribly wrong and the horse(s) totally die. It’s a given.

Of Mice and Men

Okay, so, I originally intended on reading the entire collection, including Of Mice and Men even though I’ve read it before (a long time ago). But after how utterly thrilled I was with the first two stories, I had to admit that if I made myself re-read Of Mice and Men then I was probably going to just end up rage-quitting and never get through the book.

I’m pretty sure I would (not) like it just as much as I did the first time I read it. My high school English teacher loved that shit though.

The Moon is Down

I despised the beginning and the inane dialogue (though I am a writer of obnoxious inane dialogue myself). However! Much to my surprise I ended up liking this one. Might be my favorite of the bunch (not that the bar is particularly high in this case). I actually saved some quotes from this one:

“I’m sorry,” the colonel said. “No. These are the orders of my leader.”

“The people will not like it,” Orden said.

“Always the people! The people are disarmed. The people have no say.”

The people are disarmed. The people have no say.
I’m about to burst with Second Amendment well-regulated militia-ness, I can’t even put things into words.


I don’t even know what I can say about this except that I thought it was perfect:

In marching, in mobs, in football games, and in war, outlines become vague; real things become unreal and a fog creeps over the mind. Tension and excitement, weariness, movement—all merge in one great gray dream, so that when it is over, it is hard to remember how it was when you killed men or ordered them to be killed. Then other people who were not there tell you what it was like and you said vaguely, “Yes, I guess that’s how it was.”

On a slightly more lighthearted(?) note:

“I wonder if we’ll have dogs again after it’s over,” said the soldier. “I suppose we could get them from America or some place and start the breeds again. What kind of dogs do you suppose they have in America?”

“I don’t know,” said the corporal. “Probably dogs as crazy as everything else they have.”

America, fuck yeah! So awesome with our crazy dogs and crazy everything else.

I thought there was something else I’d saved but apparently not. Anyway, it was depressing as all the other stories have been thus far but I enjoyed this one a lot more. I think the tone was just so spot-on the entire time—the initial disbelief and surrealness of the whole thing, the Mayor’s wife debating whether to serve drinks to the invaders when they first arrive and then the somewhat impotent resistance once people come to grips with things. The expectations of the invading soldiers and the gradual insanity they experience as the war/occupation continues. The uncontrollable escalation of a situation, despite the colonel knowing how it will end. The desperate, determined retaliation of people who have nothing left to lose.

Cannery Row

I liked this one more than I expected. It had aspects that reminded me of Tortilla Flat but some of the characters actually seemed capable of learning in this story which was refreshing. Now I’m afraid maybe I didn’t “get it” because I didn’t think it was too depressing? I thought it ended pretty alright.

Now for quotes. I laughed; totally my style:

The song made him awfully sad. Dora was in the back parlor having a cup of tea when William came in. She said, “What’s the matter, you sick?”

“No,” said William. “But what’s the percentage? I feel lousy. I think I’ll bump myself off.”

Dora had handled plenty of neurotics in her time. Kid ’em out of it was her motto. “Well, do it on your own time and don’t mess up the rugs,” she said.

Also my style. Read this and thought, “Oh crap, I am Doc.”

But Doc had one mental habit he could not get over. When anyone asked a question, Doc thought he wanted to know the answer. That was the way with Doc. He never asked unless he wanted to know and he could not conceive of the brain that would ask without wanting to know. But Hazel, who simply wanted to hear talk, had developed a system of making the answer to one question the basis of another. It kept conversation going.

So true. I know so many people like this:

“He’s been building that boat for seven years that I know of. The blocks rotted out and he made concrete blocks. Every time he gets it nearly finished he changes it and starts over again. I think he’s nuts. Seven years on a boat.”

Doc was sitting on the ground pulling off his rubber boots. “You don’t understand,” he said gently. “Henri loves boats but he’s afraid of the ocean.”

“What’s he want a boat for then?” Hazel demanded.

“He likes boats,” said Doc. “But suppose he finishes his boat. Once it’s finished people will say, ‘Why don’t you put it in the water?’ Then if he puts it in the water, he’ll have to go out in it, and he hates the water. So you see, he never finished the boat—so he doesn’t ever have to launch it.”

Speaking of Henri, we get two absolutely brilliant lines, I’m dead serious:

Henri the painter was not French and his name was not Henri. Also he was not really a painter.

Isn’t that the best thing you’ve ever read.

The Pearl
This one…really tried my patience. Just move the baby away from the scorpion, people. And how the hell did the baby get shot in the head if he was behind (as described!!) his mom in a cave. Hmm? HOW. Do I actually care? No, not really; with parents like this, the baby wasn’t going to make it to adulthood anyway.

And this Kino knew also—that the gods do not love men’s plans, and the gods do not love success unless it comes by accident. He knew that the gods take their revenge on a man if he be successful through his own efforts.

Seriously, what the fuck?
I cannot express how many times in this quite short story I thought, “How stupid are you people?”

Then to the lovely gray surface of the pearl came the little things Kino wanted: a harpoon to take the place of one lost a year ago, a new harpoon of iron with a ring in the end of the shaft; and—his mind could hardly make the leap—a rifle—but why not, since he was so rich. And Kino saw Kino in the pearl, Kino holding a Winchester carbine. It was the wildest daydreaming and very pleasant. His lips moved hesitantly over this— “A rifle,” he said. “Perhaps a rifle.”

Rifles are great. And Kino did get his rifle in the end, didn’t he.

Rating: The people are disarmed. The people have no say.