Recently, I’ve seen many posts (well… ‘many’ as per East of Eden standards, so like, 3 or 4) regretting Steinbeck’s treatment of Cathy/Kate. And I must admit, it puzzles me, because I am absolutely convinced he wanted us to feel sympathy towards her.
Many of her thoughts and alleged crimes are reported by an unreliable narrator who has no way of verifying any of this information. Most importantly, Steinbeck himself admits he is an unreliable narrator and that he is not equipped to understand or judge her:
[Chapter 8] You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstruous.
[Chapter 13] It doesn’t matter that Cathy was what I have called a monster. Perhaps we can’t understand Cathy, but on the other hand we are capable of many things in all directions, of great virtues and great sins. And who in his mind has not probed the black water?
[Chapter 17] When I said Cathy was a monster it seemed to me that it was so. Now I have bent close with a glass over the small print of her and re-read the footnotes, and I wonder if it was true. The trouble is that since we cannot know what she wanted, we will never know whether or not she got it. If rather than running toward something, she ran away from something, we cannot know whether she escaped. Who knows but that she tried to tell someone or everyone what she was like and could not, for lack of a common language. Her life may have been her language, formal, developed, indecipherable. It is easy to say she was bad, but there is little meaning unless we know why.
And, interestingly enough — even this kinder diagnosis is disproven later on.
What supposedly sets Cathy/Kate apart from the rest of humanity is the concept of timshel, the great choice that should ‘give [her] stature with the gods’: something she should be pitied, not demonised, for lacking. But does she actually lack it? Does she?
[Chapter 50] Kate was not thinking. Her mind drifted among impressions the way a bat drifts and swoops in the evening. She saw the face of the blonde and beautiful boy, his eyes mad with shock. She heard his ugly words aimed not so much at her as at himself. And she saw his dark brother leaning against the door and laughing.
Kate had laughed too — the quickest and best self-protection. What would her son do? What had he done after he went quietly away?
She loves Aron because she (erroneously) believes he is the one good thing that came out of her. She is terrified of Cal because she (erroneously) sees him as the incarnation of everything that is wrong with her, and paradoxically of a choice she thinks she does not have herself:
[Chapter 39] Cal said, “I was afraid I had you in me.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean. […] I don’t think the light hurts your eyes. I think you’re afraid.”
“Get out!” she cried. “Go on, get out!”
“I’m going.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re afraid.”
Were she truly incapable of doing good, she would not care that much. Which makes her a stellar foil to Adam (much like the twins are foils to each other), who is obsessed with the concept of timshel and keeps making all the wrong decisions in the pursuit of a noble ideal that causes more harm than good.
The bottom line is: Steinbeck did an incredible job writing Cathy/Kate and deserves much more credit than he gets.
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