The best books about working life

Jurgis Rudkus, the protagonist of Upton Sinclair’s 1906 novel The Jungle, is a Lithuanian immigrant who comes to Chicago at the turn of the 20th century to work in the city’s notorious meat-packing industry.

Described as a “very steady man” who “does not easily lose his temper,” Jurgis reminds me of my father, Jerry. Like Jurgis, my father’s solution to most of life’s problems is to just work harder, regardless of the personal consequences.

In the novel, Jurgis injures himself on the job and Sinclair captures not only his physical agony but the more formidable dread of not being able to provide for his family, the working-man’s greatest fear.

Often panned for over-politicizing Jurgis’s plight, The Jungle elevates an anonymous member of the laboring class and presents him as a symbol of virtue, valor, and hope.

Published the same year as John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, di Donato’s Christ in Concrete is another closely drawn portrait of working-class immigrants, this time the Italian-American bricklayers of New York City’s Lower East Side.

On top of its lyricism and spirited narrative pace, what I find most refreshing about di Donato’s tale is its choice of subject matter. So much of what we read and hear about the Italian-American experience tends to focus on the Mafia, perpetuating negative stereotypes that have dogged paisans since the late 19th century.

While I’ll never be the one to turn off Goodfellas, I long for more stories like that of Geremio and his irrepressible son, Paul, “born artists of brick and mortar.”

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, published in 1941 to great critical acclaim, centers on three tenant families living in Alabama’s Cotton Belt during the Great Depression.

Through Agee’s Elizabethan, “night-permeated” prose and Evans’s unflinching B & W photographs, the reader experiences every aspect of these sharecroppers’ lives—their shelter, their customs, and, most pointedly, their work.

The university where I teach sits across the road from an Amish farm, and I often wonder how these good people carry on. They possess a dignity and a grace, but, like Agee’s subjects, they perform “simple and terrible work,” so routine and so repetitive that it becomes “the very essence of their lives.”

And yet, miraculously, it does not break them; they persist, and this book, in an indirect and unexpected way, has illuminated that persistence for me. 

I came to Richard Yates through his short stories, but it is his 1961 novel, Revolutionary Road, that endeared me to him for all time.

Frank Wheeler, Yates’s protagonist, works in the Sales Promotion department at a company called Knox, commuting each day from his home in the suburbs to an office building in New York City. Knox is a world of folders and tabulators and typewriters and code numbers, Wheeler’s “bright, dry, daily ordeal, his personal measure of tedium.”

But despite being a site of spiritual murder, Knox affords Wheeler a degree of solace, as he takes “dim pleasure in the very discomfort of the office.” I’m not above saying that I, too, derive a strange satisfaction from the numbness and predictability of my own place of work.

Sometimes, what kills us is what gets us by. 

In this profound yet highly readable book, the contemporary French philosopher Alain de Botton profiles a number of career professionals, among them an accountant, a painter, a transmission engineer, and yes, a rocket scientist.

At the heart of de Botton’s enquiry is a rather simple question: Is work more than just making money? I believe that it is, and the philosopher’s conclusions say as much.

He urges workers of all stripes to “make an imaginative connection between what they have done with their working days and their impact upon others.” Writing these recommendations has been a kind of work, and it’s not hard for me to imagine that my words have had some impact upon you, my reader, an influence, hopefully, beyond the decision to purchase my book.