This intercalary piece meditates on Steinbeck's interpretation of the American Dream, his quest for ideals in his translation of Malory, and his application of this Dream and this quest in The Winter of Our Discontent. But did Steinbeck's writing go off after failing to find the Holy Grail, or is The Winter of Our Discontent a sign that he had in fact found it, albeit not quite what he had been looking for nor what his critics were hoping he might find?

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