Oh, another none believer.
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Oh no, I believe. I’m just convinced that Steinbeck would have no problem fabricating anecdotes to put his own particular slant on Lycanthropy.
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Well, it was early on in his career before he had commercial success or critical acclaim. And he wrote it under a pseudonym. It may well have been just an attempt to pay the bills that he was never proud of. The estate’s agents claim that they are doing their best to honor his apparent wishes, although it is unclear if the author ever made any statement of those wishes.
I’m not sold on always respecting the authors wishes, but I can at least respect the intent.
It may loose copyright protection but that doesn’t mean they have to hand out copies.
im a bit unclear what the word “published” means for something like this. at this point it doesn’t seem to really need a publisher. just a researcher to scan the manuscript and make it publicly accessible.
if they were to formally publish it, they’d either need the estates permission or 70 years past his death ( 2038? ) - but as a research matter - and not for profit - i wonder if they would really need to treat it as a “book”. especially because it was never a published work in the first place
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Sounds great. Not sure I can wait that long, though.
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Makes sense—Of Mice and Men began as Redwall fan fiction. He also did the first screenplay for King Kong titled The Apes of Wrath. These are all true things that did happen.
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The werewolf ain’t 'et in six days.
And now a light truck approached, and as it came near, the driver saw the werewolf and
swerved to hit it. His front wheel struck his paw and flipped the turtle like a
tiddly-wink, spun it like a coin, and rolled it off the highway. The truck skidded to a stop and pulled into reverse. Lying on its back, the werewolf was tight in a ball for a moment, but as the truck reached close, it lept into the truck bed. The driver screamed but try as he might could not turn the shotgun around in the cab as the werewolf smashed the glass in. Frantic, the man tried to get the truck back into gear but stalled the car as he tried to bring the spark-arrester back into sync. Human flesh filled the underside of his claws as he drawing a bloody shallow trench across the man’s breast. His old humorous eyes looked ahead, he opened his jaw.
The werewolf wa’ dyin’, I tell you! But he was starvin’ no more, I tell you."
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Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.
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What about it? Travels with Charley was a good road-trip slice of what America was like at the time, and inspired later (even better) books like William Least Heat Moon’s Blue Highways.
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Steinbeck: A man could become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms. Or was it a vampire? A man could become something, he knew, that was for sure. An owl hooted in the night. The change would come soon. The change would come.
— The Midnight Society (@midnight_pals) May 24, 2021
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The Red Pony was absolutely horrid. We were forced to read it in 8th grade at the snooty private school, and by then I’d already experienced enough death and grief for at least a lifetime. Wretched book. Made me cry for hours, as I went through my Grandfather’s much too early death all over again, and all the long gone cats we’d had since I was tiny. Grandpa’s passing when I was 3 caused terrible nightmares for many years.
Mom’s old paperback copy (1963 ed, w/bright red cover) included a wonderful, if also sad bonus: a short story called Junius Maltby. It had originally been pub’d in The Pastures of Heaven. That tale would have done all the kids I’ve ever known - esp all the snotty rich preppies - a lot more good than The Red goddam Pony.
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