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East of Eden is a uniquely fragmented hotchpotch. A fantastical fable, a retelling of the biblical tale of the original sin, a documented testimony of early settlers in the Salinas Valley through the perspective of three generations, a fictionalized biography of Steinbeck’s own grandfather, a subversive political text, an essay that blends modern philosophy with ancient wisdom.
It’s probable that Steinbeck’s ambitious scope and his need to reach universal meaning might encumber the narration with some faults.

The pace, the tone and the structure are uneven.
The book starts off in the first-person narrative, ostensibly Steinbeck himself, only to suddenly disappear and give way to an anonymous omniscient narrator.
Women appear opaque recipients of inherited constraint and duty. Gender is a question to be typified.
American history is treated as a casual backdrop without cohesive continuity. Racism is approached superficially and drawn to easy stereotyping.
Characters are not constricted by their roles. Some of them remain indecipherable. The causes that lead them to act a certain way are not fully acknowledged. It’s the moral dilemma and the consequences that matter, but it’s precisely the freedom Steinbeck grants to his characters that enables the allegorical quality of this tale to take its direct flight to the reader’s heart.

Truth is I couldn’t have cared less about the formal delivery of this book. My heart surrendered willingly and was bleeding from the first page.
Because it is Steinbeck’s aim that is faultless.
Because his ideals, which refuse to be pigeonholed by religion, double morale or self-complacency, and sincere passion shine through the naked, earnest prose that makes the stories of the Trasks and the Hamiltons a powerful parable that pulsates with unwavering faith in humanity.
Steinbeck reconstructs the architecture of the human spirit with all its weaknesses and cruelties, defies dogmatic predeterminism and elevates his characters� struggles beyond any restrictive literary scheme. In placing the responsibility of the actions on human beings instead of an almighty presence, he is challenging the reader to call into question his own beliefs on fate, free will and guilt.
Hatred, envy, revenge, self-doubts and misguided fears haunt the heroes of this story, and they fight the dehumanizing effects of such visceral feelings with the only weapon Steinbeck approves of: love. Love in the widest sense of the word. Fraternal, filial, platonic, romantic. Much can be achieved if one is courageous enough to love even when rejection shatters wistful expectations. A childless man can have a daughter, genetic predisposition can be overpowered, instinctive meanness controlled, the gravest crime can be forgiven.

So many questions and no certain answers.
In all his wisdom, Steinbeck exposes his high principles and allows the reader to decide for himself. The possibility to choose, to pick this path or the other when we are at a crossroads is the most precious gift we are given along with life. We cannot choose to be made part of this world, of this bewildering place we seldom understand, but we can exert our goodwill and trust that others will do the same.
Love might cripple us, might make us fragile and defenseless, but it is the only way to reach the end of the journey without regret or remorse. Exile can’t befall on us if we dare to love. Paradise might not exist, but Steinbeck proves that loving others selflessly is the safe path to save us from ourselves.