William Saroyan was a bit of an outlier in the 1940s literary scene. While everyone else was leaning into the gritty realism of war or the cynicism of the post-Depression era, Saroyan published The Human Comedy. It’s a book that feels like a warm blanket, but one that’s been slightly singed by the fire. People often mistake it for a simple, sentimental story about a small town, but if you actually sit with it, you realize Saroyan was doing something much deeper. He was trying to figure out how people stay "human" when the world is falling apart.
Honestly, it's a miracle the book even exists in the form we know. It started as a screenplay for MGM. Saroyan, being the famously stubborn guy he was, wanted to direct it himself. When the studio said no, he took his ideas, walked away, and turned it into a novel. He published it in 1933, and it became an instant classic. But here’s the thing: it isn’t just a "war book." It’s a story about Ithaca, California—a fictionalized version of Saroyan’s hometown, Fresno—and the people who live there while the boys are away at the front.
The Telegram Boy and the Weight of Ithaca
The heart of the story is Homer Macauley. He’s fourteen. He’s a telegraph messenger. Think about that for a second. In 1942, being a telegraph messenger meant you were the person carrying the most terrifying news a family could receive. You were the one bringing the "We regret to inform you" letters. Homer is essentially a witness to the collective grief of a nation, all while he’s trying to navigate his own transition into adulthood.
Saroyan doesn't shy away from the awkwardness of being fourteen. Homer is fast. He wants to be the fastest telegraph messenger in the San Joaquin Valley. There’s a beautiful, frantic energy to his character. One minute he’s racing his bike against a train, and the next he’s standing on a porch, hands shaking, because he knows the envelope in his bag is going to break a mother's heart.
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The setting of Ithaca matters. It's a microcosm. You’ve got the Macauley family—Homer, his little brother Ulysses, his sister Bess, and their mother. Their father is dead, and the oldest brother, Marcus, is off fighting in the Army. The house is filled with music and silence in equal measure. Mrs. Macauley is the anchor. She’s one of those literary characters who seems to know everything without saying much. She understands that the war isn't just happening "over there"; it’s happening in the kitchen, in the garden, and in the empty chair at the dinner table.
Why We Get William Saroyan's The Human Comedy Wrong
A lot of critics over the years have called Saroyan "too sentimental." They say he's "saccharine." They’re wrong.
Sentimentality is unearned emotion. Saroyan earns it. He isn't saying that life is perfect or that everything works out. He’s saying that in the face of absolute catastrophe, the only thing we have is our capacity for kindness. It’s a choice. In William Saroyan's The Human Comedy, death is everywhere. It’s in the telegrams. It’s in the stories the soldiers tell. It’s in the way the town holds its breath.
Take the character of Mr. Spangler, the manager of the telegraph office. He’s a philosopher in a visor. He sees the world through the lens of the messages that pass through his hands. He’s a mentor to Homer, but he’s also a man trying to maintain a sense of decency in a business built on delivering bad news. Saroyan uses these characters to explore the "human comedy"—not in the sense of being funny, but in the Balzacian sense of the "all-encompassing human experience." The joy, the stupidity, the bravery, and the mundane boredom of existing.
The Curious Case of Ulysses and the Gopher
One of the most famous, and frankly weirdest, parts of the book involves the younger brother, Ulysses. He’s four or five years old. He spends a significant amount of time watching a gopher.
Wait.
A gopher?
Yes. To a kid like Ulysses, a gopher coming out of a hole is as significant as a world war. Saroyan writes these scenes with a sense of wonder that can feel jarring if you’re looking for a fast-paced plot. But that’s the point. While the "adult" world is destroying itself, the world of the child remains focused on the small, the local, and the immediate. Ulysses represents the innocence that Homer is rapidly losing. When Ulysses gets caught in a bear trap in a department store—a scene that is both terrifying and absurd—it’s a metaphor for the way the world catches us all eventually.
The Language of a Maverick
Saroyan’s writing style is... unique. It’s rhythmic. It feels like he’s talking to you over a cup of coffee. He doesn't use big, flowery words to describe grief. He uses simple sentences. He repeats things. It has a cadence that mirrors the clicking of the telegraph key.
- The Pace: Quick, then slow.
- The Dialogue: It sounds like real people, not "movie people."
- The Philosophy: It’s "street-level" wisdom.
He was an Armenian-American writer who never quite fit into the New York literary establishment. He was a Pulitzer Prize winner who famously rejected the prize because he didn't believe in the concept of competition in art. That fiercely independent streak is all over the novel. He wasn't writing for the critics; he was writing for the people who were actually living the lives he described.
The Climax and the Ghost of Marcus
The tension of the novel builds toward the inevitable: the fate of Marcus Macauley. We see Marcus through letters and through the memories of his family. He’s the "ideal" soldier, but not in a propaganda way. He’s just a kid who wants to come home.
When the telegram finally arrives for the Macauley family, it doesn't go to Homer. In a twist of fate, Homer is the one who has to process the news of his own brother’s death before his mother does. The ending of the book is bittersweet. It involves a soldier named Tobey George, a friend of Marcus who has no family of his own. Marcus told Tobey about Ithaca. He told him about his family. He basically "gave" his family to Tobey in case he didn't make it.
The moment Tobey arrives in Ithaca is one of the most powerful scenes in 20th-century literature. It’s not a "happy" ending. It’s a "continuation" ending. Life goes on, but it’s permanently altered. The "human comedy" continues, with new players taking over the roles of those who have left.
Real-World Impact and the 1943 Film
You can't talk about the book without mentioning the movie. It came out in 1943, starring Mickey Rooney. It was a massive hit. Rooney, usually known for his high-energy "let’s put on a show" roles, gave a surprisingly restrained performance as Homer.
But even though the movie won an Oscar for Best Story (written by Saroyan), the book is where the real soul is. The film had to deal with wartime censorship and the need to keep morale high. The book, however, allows for more shadow. It allows for the moments of doubt and the sheer exhaustion of being "good" in a world that feels bad.
Actionable Insights for Today’s Readers
If you’re coming to William Saroyan's The Human Comedy for the first time, or if you haven't read it since high school, here is how to actually get the most out of it:
Don't rush the "small" moments.
The book isn't about the war; it's about the town. When Saroyan spends three pages talking about a neighborhood character like Mr. Ara and his grocery store, pay attention. Those scenes are the actual "meat" of the book. They are about the community that supports the individual.
Look for the "ghosts."
The father, Matthew Macauley, is dead before the book begins, yet his presence is everywhere. Saroyan is obsessed with how we carry our ancestors with us. Notice how the characters talk to the people who aren't there.
Read it as a companion to the 1940s.
If you're a history buff, this is better than any textbook for understanding the "home front" psyche. It captures the specific anxiety of waiting for the mail—an anxiety that feels strangely relevant in our era of instant notifications, though for much heavier reasons back then.
Observe the "Messenger" Archetype.
Think about your own role as a "messenger." We all deliver news—good and bad—to the people in our lives. Homer’s struggle to find the right words and the right "face" for his job is a masterclass in empathy.
Where to Start Your Saroyan Journey
If this book clicks for you, don't stop there. Saroyan was incredibly prolific.
- Read "The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze": This is the short story that made him famous. It’s about a starving writer during the Depression. It has the same DNA as The Human Comedy but is much sharper and more desperate.
- Visit Fresno (Literally or Virtually): The William Saroyan House Museum in Fresno is a trip. He was a collector of everything—rocks, hats, books. Seeing his environment helps you understand why his writing is so grounded in "stuff."
- Check out "My Name is Aram": If you want more of that Ithaca/Fresno vibe, this collection of linked short stories is basically the prequel to the mood of The Human Comedy.
The "Human Comedy" isn't a joke, and it isn't a tragedy. It’s just the messy, beautiful, devastating reality of being alive. Saroyan knew that. He knew that even when the world is at war, people still need to race their bikes, watch gophers, and listen to the piano. That’s not being sentimental; that’s being resilient.
To truly understand Saroyan's impact, one should look at the letters he received from soldiers during WWII. They didn't thank him for making the war look "heroic." They thanked him for reminding them what they were fighting to get back to: a kitchen table, a small town, and a family that kept the music playing.