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Why does Steinbeck's narrative voice entice me so, I've been asking myself over the past few days.
In my second reading of this novella, which has become a favorite of mine, I realized that it's his unshakeable belief in mankind.
Steinbeck reinvents the concept of family and expands its boundaries with his blatant love for humanity. Nobody is homeless in Cannery Row, not even imps or prostitutes, destitute painters or big-hearted biologists, mentally impaired kids or immigrant shopkeepers. Even mongrels and frogs are treated with decorum in this picturesque portrait of comradeship in Monterrey, California.

Interweaving a wide array of anecdotes with symbolic connotations, Steinbeck paints decent lives for the dispossessed that endure the sentence of social marginalization. Unexpected dignity comes in the form of reciprocal support, selfless loyalty and the humbling acceptance of the foibles of human condition and, as if by some sort of magic, the unappealing milieu of rattling caravans, crumbling shacks and noisy honky-tonks constitute an enchanting place where people live for themselves and need very little to reach serenity of mind.
The spell of Steinbeck’s soothing prose settles in and Mack and the boys, troublesome rascals, become the Beauties, the Graces and the Virtues of this vibrant community. Doc, whose faith in the goodness of mankind is as fervent as his devotion to the mysteries of marine biology, is the converging point that brings out the best in his fellowmen, modeled after his creator. His compassion is genuine and carries not a hint of condescendence, and so when he listens to his friends�� predicaments or to one of his albums of Gregorian music at the hour of the pearl, he is equally overcome by the joy of extending unconditional friendship or by his not unwelcome loneliness.

But watch out. Don’t allow yourself to be misled.
Steinbeck, like Doc, doesn’t offer a glorified, syrupy version of the hardships of life while sermonizing on the benefits of collective insurgency; his clear-cut vision synthesizes the healing compassion that human beings are capable of and inspires us to find poetry in the most prosaic, even the most repulsive of things.
There is an irresistible modesty in Steinbeck’s minimalistic yet deeply charged prose. The half-deprecating, half-dramatic tone in which he paints these stories gives a tragicomic intensity to the clumsy, reprovable characters and tinges their daily tribulations with an authentic tenderness that pierces right through the thickest skins.

Cannery Road is a toast to ordinariness, an unabashed portrayal of men at his worst shinning with the best of human condition, an ode to the invisible treasures of life.
I dare you who read to look at the world through Steinbeck’s eyes.
And you will see a cocktail prepared with drink leftovers and cheap whisky become a delicatessen, if shared in good company.
A disastrous birthday party; the much-desired present that restores lost innocence.
The high tides and waves splashing on the rocks under the piers; the perfect moonlight sonata at the time after the light has come and before the sun has risen.
And Black Marigolds that wither with the evanescence of life; an eternal blessing.
Even now. Even here. Even for us.