What Is in A Name?

The following is a term paper I wrote, a textual analysis, for my Modern American Literature course. I received incredible feedback from my professor, far better than I was expecting, which gave me so much hope as I am about to graduate and pursue a career in writing. 

What Is in A Name?

A Textual Analysis of John Steinbeck’s

 East of Eden

Who are you? Who am I? Is that something we can answer for ourselves? Or is such a definitive title the domain of others, those outside of ourselves? And if so, to what end? And what purpose? And what difference does it make, who we are or what we are called? If you heard my name was Eve, what thoughts, preconceptions and premature conclusions would you draw, based on the name alone? And would I become, in your mind, a presentation of your expectations, simply because you have decided what and who I am, so that is all that you see in me and about me? Will you connect my arbitrary actions and behaviors with your own expectations and preconceived notions, further solidifying and proving your initial opinion of me? If I had a different name—Kate, perhaps—would I have been, to you, an entirely different person? Even with the exact same behaviors and interactions? What is in a name? In all the years since John Steinbeck wrote East of Eden, have we, as a society, gotten the message he was trying to relay?

“Names are a great mystery. I’ve never known whether the name is molded by the child or the child changed to fit the name.’” (Samuel Hamilton. pp. 261)  

The value and purpose of chosen names throughout East of Eden, should not be lost on the astute reader. Even the casual novice cannot ignore that specific names, such as Adam, bring with them explicit weight and connotation, even with only the most remote knowledge of Biblical lore. The author creates further context with myriad allusions to and express mentions of the garden of Eden and the associated myth and its particulars. This is done across the pages of what is a very long employment for the reader, with deft and skill such that one is pulled through the text, engaged, and concerned, even excited, to see how this real-world adaptation of the ancient fable will play out. Set in the new Eden, the recently conquered frontier lands of California; the author, John Steinbeck, lays out in great detail, a nineteenth and early twentieth century regaling of original sin, with all the inherent drama, crisis, and commotion.

To that end, Steinbeck employs names and titles, their stereotypes, and implications, as guideposts and direction to assist the reader on the long journey through several generations and locations of post-frontier era America. Within the context of a few, well-developed familial groups, readers are educated not only about the difficulties of Victorian society in the infancy of the western United States, but also brought deep into the drama of close relationships and, perhaps most importantly, forced to face the capacity for good and evil that is innate in every living human being. It could be expected to focus only on the Biblical references, the influence and/or value of virtue and malevolence. These themes are rife, with abundant context, reference from which to feast with one’s analytic appetites easily satisfied. Taking that route, however, would deprive the analyst of the opportunity to be rewarded with a study of the importance of and elucidation available through specially chosen names and titles, and how they effect not only character and human development, but also act as catalyst for drama and plot momentum.

 “Adam chuckled. “This naming is no simple business, I see.”’ (pp. 263)

Adam Trask, who this reader regards as central to the entire novel, has not only the Biblically significant of the father of human life, but also the many positive and desperately negative characteristics inherited from his namesake. He falls victim to a woman, one who in no way resembles mother Eve, other than in her ability to coax and manipulate. (This analysis in laboring under the outdated interpretation of the mother of humanity as a tool, or at the very least, victim, of the serpent.) Our character, one of the most nefarious and despicable creations of the feminine persuasion, Cathy, or Kate, is presented as purely and perfectly evil. Today she would be given the label of sociopath, lacking the capacity for empathy or true emotion. In the story, and in the era represented, she could only be called evil, wicked. In her case, this reader finds little in her given name to analyze, but rather, the substance and evidence lies in her labels and titles, which are in themselves another incarnation of the naming process, with equal significance in the analytic process.

“To you she was [beautiful] because you built her. I don’t think you ever saw her—only your own creation.’” (Samuel Hamilton to Adam Trask pp. 260)

How often are identities formed on nothing more than name, title, and word of mouth, combined with personal biases? How often do we look past the reality before us in favor of the actuality we have created, especially with regard to our perception of each other? How much of what we see is real and how much is actually what we have created? The story’s main antagonist, Kate, really is as bad as she is written. Nothing is spared in her portrayal as nasty, vile. The discrepancy comes in Adam’s perception of her—the view he has created, the idealized take on who she is, and he suffers for it. Just as one cannot fault a snake for striking when an unwise human or animal gets too close, one cannot fault Kate for being the monster she has always been. Her evil was apparent to others, even to Adam’s own brother, who tried to warn him. It was Adam who chose not to see, for various reasons, and though the results were disastrous, the fault cannot be with Kate alone. Often, we create our own victimhood by overlooking that which does not fit with the reality we prefer or desire.

Steinbeck gives us this evaluation of our own erroneous expectations to chew on, but then compounds it with the responsibility and potential harm we can inflict when we bring life into the world. Again, through names, labels, and titles, and the expectations we impose on the life we create, for good or ill.

 “…not their blood but your suspicion might build evil in them. They will be what you expect of them.”

“I think when a man finds good or bad in his children he is seeing only what he planted in them after they cleared the womb.’” (Samuel Hamilton. pp. 260)

This is true in the development of children, but also in relationships. It seems at first to be a contradiction, as we previously reasoned that Adam held great fault in his own suffering for holding Kate to higher expectations than were her natural disposition. The difference is that Adam did not truly interact with her, as one does in child-rearing or in building a relationship. He acted only with the dream in his mind, ignoring the things Kate actually said and did, talking over her, speaking for her, straight up not listening to the words coming out of her mouth. She was telling him, just as a snake that hisses, ‘I am going to bite you!’ He ignored the warning.

As a result of his suffering, Adam chose to be absent from his own opportunity for shaping his children’s lives. And though we can see how both boys were influenced by DNA and the personalities and traits of their parents, Adam’s greater involvement could have been the balance needed to aid his son Cal in developing better qualities and could have given his son Aron a stronger mind and character. As negatively as Adam was affected by his own father’s child-rearing style, one might expect that he would want to seize the opportunity to better for his own children. But the cycle of poor fathering continues, with his involvement coming too late, with the damage already done, personalities and dispositions already formed. It would be fair at this point, to acknowledge that Adam was in large part a result of his own father’s lies and imposed machismo and unrealistic expectations.

“I’m going away now.’” (Cathy. pp. 199)

But names and parental influence are not enough. We need to dig still deeper and explore the implications and ramifications of labels and titles that are liberally sprinkled throughout the text, with great meaning and significance. Steinbeck pulls no punches and wastes no sugar on special coatings. What is the difference between a church and a whorehouse? Maybe a few activities, but mainly, the title and associated expectations. Different labels, but with the same goal in mind: to take money and assuage men’s minds, fill their needs, and keep them coming back for more.

It is not only in such controversial subject matter that Steinbeck asserts the trouble with labels. Labels are just words, after all, but are ascribed to human beings, and bring with them a weight of responsibility and expectation that our story’s characters are constantly fighting against, echoing our own real-world human struggles with identity. East of Eden was written during a time of revolution in the United States and throughout the western world. Old expectations of race and gender roles were being challenged in response to war and legislation. All the old markers of one’s identity and how people identified each other were evolving drastically and rapidly, not always with great or positive effect.

Cathy, or Kate, was a woman, and a small one at that. Prevailing opinions of small women blinded most to the truly horrible power held in her tiny frame. Lee, a wise and educated American-born Chinese man was seen only as a foreigner, an Oriental. And because the title was too hard to fight, he acquiesced for ease and simplicity. Young Mary wants to be a boy, because with that label, she will be free to embrace her obvious skills and talents. As a little girl, her achievements are not appropriate or acceptable. Lee’s young mother comes to America, disguised as a man, and works hard, filling the role of any man, only to be discovered, raped, and murdered, for not fitting the title she had claimed.

Steinbeck’s work forces readers and critics, especially those who made up his contemporary audience, to see the fallacies and logical disconnects that they and their ancestors have labored under and how things must and will change. Just as the horse and buggy are left behind, in favor of the complicated but more efficient Ford, so must past stereotypes and expectations be put out to pasture in the name of progress. Identity is a construct, based on arbitrary, contrived assessments over time in a society. Only when we realize that blanket assumptions based on and used in conjunction with labels, names, and titles, can we begin to shed their often-negative consequences. Through his Biblical adaptation, Steinbeck implores us to see this human weakness, acknowledge it, and do something about it. A hundred or so years later, and we have yet to truly heed and implement that advice.

Steinbeck, John. East of Eden. New York. Penguin, 2002.