Oh, the usual things: are the characters cardboard, does the writer's reach exceed his grasp, are the obsessions of 1950 timeless or gone, etc.   In Steinbeck's case (like Hemingway's) as time passes, you can see the usual cast of characters arriving, perhaps with a new set of leotards, but nevertheless putting up the old familiar battered circus tent complete with the same tired old bears, weary elephants, and aging clowns, and you say to yourself: "Not this show again!"

yours,

Peter T.