A book that cuts deeply, speaks truthfully about the nature of family and love, and largely deserves its status as a classic. It’s so chock full of quotable Steinbeck aphorisms that I nearly wore out the highlighter on my Kindle. For instance:
Underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted shortcuts to love.
There is no dissatisfaction like that of the rich. Feed a man, clothe him, put him in a good house, and he will die of despair.
When a man finds good or bad in his children he is seeing only what he planted in them after they cleared the womb.
I listened to about a third of the novel via the superb audiobook, and Richard Poe’s voice is a great match for the material.
The only strike against it is that it’s a long read and definitely feels like one. The Count of Monte Cristo, at twice the length, still felt crisper and livelier, but perhaps that’s just the nature of multigenerational epics.