Another cold morning. Even the hot porridge and the blazing fireplace are poor substitutes for those golden days of summer. I put my ugg boots on, put another log on the fire, and reached for John Steinbeck's other - and last - classic novel, "The Winter of Our Discontent".
As it says on the front leaf, "Readers seeking to identify the fictional people and places here described would do better to inspect their own communities and search their own hearts, for this book is about a large part of America today." It is a study of morality in the individual and in the community, and as such applies to any place in the world.
To quote Steinbeck, "We can shoot rockets into space but we can't cure anger or discontent." My discontent will be gone when summer is here.
