There are no apple orchards or descriptions of the Salinas Valley in Cup of Gold, Steinbeck’s first novel, published when he was 27. Unfortunately, there aren’t any memorable characters, either. A few powerfully written passages hint that Steinbeck would one day develop into a novelist of extraordinary depth and insight, but his debut novel can often feel like a tedious slog—though it does have its moments of fun.
Set in the 17th century, the lonesome, perpetually dissatisfied protagonist of Cup of Gold is none other than Henry Morgan, the real life buccaneer that hailed from Wales and went on to raid seas, cause chaos, and hold a government position in Jamaica. Steinbeck follows the actual career of Morgan closely, though this novel of historical fiction also includes plenty of mythical elements, like the character of Merlin.
The novel begins late in the year, on a frigid and dreary day, as young Henry sits at home around the fire, along with Mother Morgan (never further named), his father, Robert, and his soothsaying grandmother, Gwenliana. All seems more or less okay, though the many descriptions of foreboding weather, plus differences in family personalities, hint that the weight of an unbalanced scale is about to really tip.
Robert’s personality is colored by idealistic longings (ones that, much to his disappointment, never came to fruition), which contrast with his wife’s realistic and no-nonsense approach to life. As for the grandmother (Robert’s mother), she fancies herself a practitioner of “the second sight”—though whether or not she has any talent is apparently up in the air.
A sudden knock at the door sets everything in motion. It’s Dafydd, a man who many years ago worked on the Morgan farm, before eventually pursuing a life of adventure in the Indies. He’s briefly come back—and could he spend just one night there? He does. But before heading to bed, he becomes a storyteller, divulging his experiences and captivating young Henry in the process.
This proves to be a life-changing moment for the fifteen year old, who had already been harboring the nagging feeling that he’d done nothing of significance with his life. Dafydd’s stories—even though punctuated with comments of warning and regrets of soul-depletion—exert a pull on Henry that no one is going to be able to stop. That includes his strong-minded mother, who is entirely against it. Henry’s father, on the other hand, supports it (though he’ll miss him dearly), and can’t help but optimistically reflect that maybe his son will live out the kind of life he partly wished for himself.
That’s the setup, then, for Steinbeck’s novel. Henry, of course, will end up leaving home, though not before visiting Merlin upon his father’s request.
Henry’s visit to this sage-like figure is one that his father will also take during the course of the novel. Both visits result in different kinds of revelations. As for Henry’s trip to the wizened old man, the youth is questioned about his feelings for a local girl named Elizabeth. He completely denies any attachment to her. It’s an utter lie. Other questions and conversations pop up, but they have no practical effect on Henry. Indeed, by early morning of the following day, the lad is off.
After eventually making his way to his destination in the Indies, Henry finds himself deceived. So badly deceived, in fact, that he finds himself carrying out a lengthy period of servitude. His master, however, a man named James Flower, develops an affinity towards him, and the saga of Henry’s toil is not nearly as dire or dramatic as it might have been.
Power, domination, and the search for happiness are the themes that follow. After being released from his contract, Henry begins a life of pirateering, for which he proves to have a natural talent. But as he accumulates greater amounts of wealth and dominance, his level of discontentment stays in the same miserable place. What does it take to bring about happiness?
It’s an inherently interesting topic, ripe for all sorts of storytelling possibilities, and a question which occupies a central place in the Cup of Gold.
The way things play out in Steinbeck’s novel, however, are more often than not pretty dull. Indeed, it’s difficult to ever get very invested in this story. Its plot goes in a relatively predictable direction, and its cast offers up virtually no character that a reader might genuinely come to care about. Even Merlin, whose mythical status might naturally exert some kind of whimsical sway over the reader, feels banal and uninteresting.
That being said, novels that tackle such pervading themes as contentment, happiness, love, and the search for meaning, generally end up offering at least a few moments of enlightened entertainment. The Cup of Gold is no exception.
In terms of plot, Henry’s quest for meaning comes to center around La Santa Roja, or, the Red Rose—a moniker for a woman of astonishing and show-stopping beauty (who may or may not even exist). An interesting question arises in the novel: even if she does exist, will this supposed pinnacle of beauty—this highly sought after and prized subject—actually bestow the happiness that so many have confidently attached to her. It’s a type of question easily transferable to our own lives.
Perhaps the most potent thing about reading this novel is digesting the fact that Henry Morgan’s quest for happiness involves such consequential actions. As he attempts to figure out what brings him happiness, his behaviors affect a great many people—usually in horrendous ways. The hole in his heart leads to a morass of heinous violence, imperialist attitudes, and even the slaughter of companions. Such is the depravity that results from a wayward search for meaning.
Unfortunately, we all too often see this type of scenario play out in real life, not just in the pages of a book. Cup of Gold, then, is worth reading for the perennial themes and ideas that it tackles—ones that each of us must ultimately grapple with ourselves.
Spectatio 
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