Gabriel Kolko, Upton Sinclair and the Immigrant Experience at the Turn of the Twentieth Century

Reading Gabriel Kolko's remarkable Main Currents in Modern American History (a book sadly out of print so far as I have been able to ascertain) one of its most remarkable chapters seemed to me its discussion of the much romanticized experience of the great wave of European immigrants that came to America in the heady years of expansion between the Civil War and the slamming of the door shut on newcomers in the 1920s.

As Kolko made clear, the immigrants were in the main refugees from economic hardship, and not necessarily intent on staying--many only thinking of working, saving up some money, going back to improve their lot. Typically rural in origin, they were unprepared for industrial and urban life, whose harshest side they commonly experienced, compounding the culture shock, and the broader trauma suffered by people who had already been in a fairly difficult, even desperate, situation uprooting themselves from home, family, community, native culture to deal with another world thousands of miles away from where they were born, often all on their own or nearly so. Often disillusioned, ambivalent, divided, it was commonly the case that even if they did not succeed in amassing that bit of money and going home they found that "You can't go home again," never readjusting to their new-old lot, all as those who stayed in America never quite came to feel themselves at home in their new country either.

Just as Kolko presents a striking picture of all this as a historian, Upton Sinclair does this as a novelist in his classic The Jungle (1906)--a book noted at the time and remembered since mainly for its depiction for what it showed about the actual contents of the food Americans ate, the novel was, as anyone who bothers to actually read it will tell you, was about much, much more than that. Hailed by the great Jack London as "the Uncle Tom's Cabin of wage slavery," it presented by way of the experience of Lithuanian immigrant Justus Rudkus the "jungle" of American life more broadly, from the horrific working conditions in which the meatpacking the book famously depicts went on, to the criminal justice system, to the machine politics of the big cities. Ground down until the honest, optimistic laborer and family man Rudkus was at the outset of the story is reduced to a common criminal by disaster after disaster of a kind all too common, he is saved only by the hope that the society and the world he lives in can become something better.

Of course, that is exactly what has drawn the scorn of Establishment literary opinion down upon this book, and Sinclair generally--such that where the Board of the Modern Library made a place for the slight and nearly forgotten Booth Tarkington on its list of the 20th century's best novels, it pointedly did not give The Jungle or anything else by Sinclair a place there. That is to their discredit, not Sinclair's, who, had he foreseen that society, and its literary Establishment as he described it in Mammonart, would be pretty much the same at the end of the century and after, would have expected exactly that much from them. By the same token the book remains compelling not just as a reminder of what it showed about its time with such great force, but all the ways in which Sinclair's time remains our time, and what Sinclair said still all too relevant to the way we live now.