I was dead set to start my book club book but …. Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley has finally come to call. How have I missed reading it all these years? Only 200 pages. And with a dog, no less!? And John Steinbeck. Admittedly, I’ve dismissed this book all along for exactly those reasons: too short a story about an indulgent writer and his traveling dog. After epics like The Grapes of Wrath and East of Eden, and treasures like Cannery Row, I figured what else could possibly be that good?
Travels with Charley, that’s what.
I’ve only read the first few chapters, but Steinbeck’s voice is so charming, so self-deprecating, so inviting — and his prose so beautiful — that I can barely put the thing down. I woke up early this morning just so I could get back to it. Yes, it’s that good.