That’s a Bright Direction

In almost all of his stories, John Steinbeck prioritizes describing his settings before his characters. The same is true of his 1940 short story “The Chrysanthemums,” which opens with a paragraph setting the scene of California in December. Besides having beauty which is slightly tamer and sunshine which is slightly less persistent, the winter months are a transitional time, as Steinbeck describes it himself; “a time of quiet and waiting” (160). I believe however, that he was alluding to a much bigger time frame than just the month of December, and a much more impactful transition than one from fall to spring. Henry Allen is introduced first, by way of introducing his ranch, but the story revolves almost entirely around his wife, Elisa. We aren’t allowed many details of Elisa’s past or her inner thoughts, only the words she speaks and how she behaves outwardly. However, from this little information, we the reader are able to gain at least one meaningful connection with Elisa by the end of the story: that she is not entirely comfortable with her place in the world as a woman. This idea is a gust of the winds of change which can be felt blowing throughout the whole piece. 

Firstly though, it must be noted how it is nigh on impossible for Steinbeck to have foreseen the ways in which modern readers might interpret this story (mostly as a condition of his having lived in the beginning of the twentieth century, when feminist movements were still far from mainstream.) As with many things which are stretched out over time, the author saw the world in a very different way than most readers in the twenty first century do, a divergence which leaves room for entirely new depths of meaning to be crafted from the story--depths which could barely have been theorized eighty years ago. Because of this, I can’t confidently claim that Steinbeck intended some of the meaning that I am going to graft onto his writing, but I am sure that if he were alive today, he would draw many of the same connections. One such connection is Elisa’s approach to and interactions with the traveling mender (whose name we never learn--an important detail of characterization), which is initially aloof, but then becomes somewhat mentoring when the subject of her chrysanthemums arises, “The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa’s face” (164). When the stranger even unconsciously suggests that she might not maintain her household in a tip top manner, she remains distant, but when her skill in raising flowers is mentioned (a skill which many men of the era likely did not possess), her entire attitude changes, and she lets her hair down both literally and metaphorically: “Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair” (165). Further on, Elisa and the stranger discuss the moment when a craftsman becomes at one with their work, so to speak. Elisa describes the feeling beautifully, in a very Steinbeck manner, making her passion clearly apparent. Her hobby gives her a level of control which, at the time, was long overdue to women in much of their lives. 

As Elisa’s time with this kindly stranger comes to a close, we are given what is possibly the strongest evidence of Elisa’s unhappiness with her situation. “‘It must be nice,’ she said. ‘It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things.’ / ‘It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman.’ /Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. ‘How do you know? How can you tell?’ she said. / ‘I don't know, ma'am,’ he protested. ‘Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones’” (167). Her wishing for such a free life as this man’s is only an undertone, but it is still present, until Elisa herself gives it away: “‘You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do’” (167). And finally, we are given this beautifully composed paragraph to decipher meaning from: “Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words ‘Good-bye—good-bye.’ Then she whispered, ‘That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there.’ The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard” (167). With a little free thought, it is not hard to see what Steinbeck could have meant by “that’s a bright direction” (167). Through my chosen lens of Elisa’s feminist awakening, she is looking into the bright future, where women are not discouraged from traveling and working as men do, simply because of their gender. There is a glowing there in that future, because at that moment it is not so hard for Elisa, or the reader, to see.

This meeting with the traveling mender can be seen as a kind of catalyst, and we can see evidence of Elisa dealing internally with the unstoppable chain of thoughts it created throughout the rest of the story. An interesting choice is made by Steinbeck in an interaction between Elise and Henry, one which makes me wonder his true political intentions for this story. “Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. ‘Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!’” (169). Maybe it’s out of surprise, or habit, or possibly as a product of the times, but Elisa’s response to the presence of her husband is not one which would be commonly considered as acceptable in a healthy relationship in our time. In the context of this story, Steinbeck manages to point out a minute detail which serves to illustrate Elisa’s inner tension, although it may not yet be fully known to her. 

In the closing paragraphs of “The Chrysanthemum,” we witness that inner struggle emerge in the form of what seems like only a little healthy indecision to her husband, but we can interpret as the possible beginnings of a strong sense of feminism. “‘Do any women ever go to the fights?’ she asked. / ‘Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go.’ / She relaxed limply in the seat. ‘Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't.’ Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman” (170). We the reader, however, know that just wine will not always be plenty. While Elisa may have relaxed limply on this occasion, Steinbeck seems to have left the message that many of the next opportunities for this fictional character to defend her independence will not end in the same acceptance.