I could write a dissertation on this (or just reams of endless raving) but the point is this is one of the best pieces of historical fiction ever written. It also manages to be one of the greatest pieces of humanist Americana without resorting to nostalgic descriptions or romanticism. What John Dos Passos has accomplished here is a crystal clear panorama of a place and a time, evoked so simply but with such magnificent detail that it’s hard to believe the vast majority of his prose is not autobiographical. What an incredible work.
“They buried him under a cedar tree
His favorite photograph
was of a little tot
standing beside a bed of hybrid
everblooming double Shasta daisies
with never a thought of evil
And Mount Shasta
in the background, used to be a volcano
but they don’t have volcanoes
anymore.”