Chicken soup for the proletariat’s soul
James Oppenheim |
For the most part, the workers depicted are laborers in steel mills. Pittsburgh is the setting of at least four of the stories. A couple others take place in New York City. One is set in a coal mining town, and the rest take place in unspecified urban centers. Outside of the blue-collar milieu, an office clerk and a medical student are featured, but both still live in poverty. In many cases, the protagonists of the stories are not the workers themselves but rather the women who love them.
At times, like Sinclair or Norris, Oppenheim brilliantly illustrates the harsh living and working environments of working-class and poverty-stricken citizens forced into pre-New Deal wage slavery. The problem, however, is that brutal reality isn’t good enough for Oppenheim. As one reads this collection, a repetitive pattern to the stories soon emerges. Relentless demoralizing toil turns the men into brutes who succumb to alcoholism, philandering, spousal abuse, and sloth. The women are typically martyrs who not only put up with this abuse but also sometimes support the family financially through their own hard work. Arguments ensue. Blows are struck. Suicide is contemplated. Destitution looms on the horizon. In the end, however, everyone makes up and realizes that love conquers all, even though none of their problems have been solved. Life sucks, but we’ll get through it together!
There are exceptions to the monotony. “Joan of the Mills” is the most overtly socialistic story, calling to mind Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. As in that novel, one of the things Oppenheim does well is to give sympathetic voice to the “Hunky,” a dated nickname for Hungarian or Slavic immigrants, who star in a handful of stories. The coal mining tale, “Stiny Bolinsky,” is another fine entry about a child laborer and a Lewis Hine-style photographer/reformer.
The main fault with Pay Envelopes is Oppenheim’s penchant for unrealistic happy endings. If Jack London had written this book, most of the protagonists would have committed suicide. If Frank Norris had written it, they would have died of tuberculosis or stab wounds. If Upton Sinclair had written it, they would have been imprisoned or shot as martyrs for waving the red flag in socialist party demonstrations. All of these options would have been more inspiring, exciting, and meaningful than the safe conclusions offered by Oppenheim, in which his characters aren’t any better off than when they started, just more contentedly resigned to their fates. Is that really the message Oppenheim wanted to send to workers? Just be happy with the hand you’ve been dealt, and everything will work out all right? Since I enjoy realist fiction of the muckraker era, I had high hopes for Pay Envelopes, but it ultimately proved disappointingly mediocre.
Stories in this collection
The Great Fear
Meg
Saturday Night
The Cog
Slag
A Woman
Joan of the Mills
The Empty Life
The Young Man
The Broken Woman
Stiny Bolinsky
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