John Steinbeck once said “. . . the writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man’s proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit—for gallantry in defeat, for courage, compassion and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally flags of hope and of emulation.”
Those words speak to me. I have always looked for inspiration in what I choose to read. Having suffered a hearing disability throughout my life, I have spent many silent hours thinking about the unfairness of it all and pondering the lives of those equally or worse — often much worse — off. So it was that when I found books that handled with sensitivity the treatment of other “cheated” individuals, I read with intense interest.
In time, I decided I could write similar books. I had the skills, I thought. Steinbeck, after all, wasn’t the most talented author. His strength, at least in the books I had read, was in his choice of material. He was a voice for the voiceless. His plots, showing how social and natural forces like the Dust Bowl and Great Depression often made life for the disadvantaged nearly unlivable, inspired me.
If I were to be a writer, I wanted to do the same. I wanted to instill empathy and understanding in readers who would otherwise know little of that unpleasant side of life. My purpose wasn’t to preach; it was simply to, like Steinbeck, involve readers in the disastrous lives of people like Lennie and George in Of Mice and Men and Tom Joad in Grapes of Wrath. My thinking was that if I could get readers to mourn and cry for such characters, I would make a difference and feel fulfilled.
Along the same lines, to write a book like Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird would have pleased me no end. Of course, I knew I could never achieve anything close to that classic, but if I could just shape characters somewhat like Atticus, this lawyer and father who has respect for all people and who shows fortitude in the face of difficult situations, I knew I’d feel justified in calling myself a writer, and even more justified if in addition to Steinbeck’s marginalized characters there were those forces like Atticus who strive to make things better for the powerless.
Light in August by William Faulkner, dealing with the marginalized and their defenders, is another book that inspired me. In this case, the socially alienated, angry, and lonely mixed-race man, Joe Christmas, dies a violent death while another vulnerable character, Lena, finds her salvation in Byron Bunch, a loner who makes it his purpose to stand by her.
In conclusion, the books that have often influenced me are meant to alleviate the social alienation that makes many of us look on those unlike us as misfits and weaklings worthy of nothing more than derision and avoidance. These books wrap us in the skin of those we don’t understand. When I am reading and trying to write them, I am figuring out what I think. Maybe, in the process, I am growing in courage, compassion, and love.
