Before digesting Zoe Kazan’s seven-part reconsideration of “East of Eden,” I never would have suspected that we, as a society, had been conditioned to misread Cathy Ames, the angel-faced succubus at the broken heart of John Steinbeck’s novel.

Cathy has always had her champions, mind you. The internet is laden with Reddit arguments and academic examinations questioning Steinbeck’s portrait of her beastliness. The author himself was conflicted about her, writing Cathy as a dangerous beauty incapable of empathy in his book, yet expressing how dear she was to him in letters to his editor, Pascal Covici. My English teachers and literature professors were probably too tired to parse such nuance, and I don’t blame them.

Besides, Cathy is not an easy empathy object. She killed her parents, drove a man to suicide when she was young, and shot her way out of marriage and motherhood later. She changed her name to Kate Albey but never changed her ways.

Steinbeck never points to a definitive incitement to explain her behavior, instead writing, “I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents” to open a chapter devoted to Cathy’s backstory.

When read in the author’s voice, that seems like a conclusive diagnosis. But to hear Florence Pugh deliver it as Cathy’s belief, and the establishing paradigm of Kazan’s limited series, changes things. Once we discover more about Pugh’s Cathy—once we’ve seen her do the horrible acts I’ve listed—her observation that the only true freedom in this world is economic freedom makes more sense.

“For the modern woman,” she adds to that thought, “that presents a problem.” In her time, and in her opinion, a sensible woman’s paths to financial freedom were limited to hoping for a windfall or making one’s fortune off others’ backs as a madam. In other words, you can be forever reliant on the universe’s mercy or merciless in bending it to fulfill your ambition. That doesn’t magically justify Cathy’s criminality. But she isn’t completely wrong, either.

Central to both Steinbeck’s novel and Kazan’s update is the author’s interpretation of the Hebrew word timshel, which he translates as “thou mayest.” Adam’s servant, Lee (Hoon Lee), who raises the twin boys Cathy abandons, explains that the term expresses free will. It’s a blessing of agency that sounds much easier to accept when you have more options than Cathy.  Besides, she says in the opening scene’s voiceover while clawing her bloodied, broken body across a dirt field toward the home of Charles Trask (Mike Faist) and his brother Adam (Christopher Abbott), “normalcy” is relative: “Everyone is normal to himself.”

Netflix’s Cathy-centered take on “East of Eden” comes before us at a very different time than the one in which Zoe Kazan’s grandfather Elia introduced his acclaimed 1955 film. It arrives in a season dotted with trauma plots serving as gateways to female rage – some well executed, like Hulu’s extraordinary “Furious,” and others slicked in a messy goo of “been there, done that” tropes, a la “Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story.”

We’re also witnessing, from a distance, the legal perils of Lindsay Clancy, a Massachusetts labor and delivery nurse tried, on TV, for killing her three children, all under the age of 5, before attempting suicide in January 2023.  Clancy pleaded not guilty, and her trial recently ended in a mistrial due to a hung jury.

The question of why she did what she did may remain unanswered. During her trial, Clancy’s defense argued that postpartum psychosis drove Clancy out of her mind. The prosecution’s argument is simpler and meaner, almost reminiscent of Steinbeck: Clancy’s actions were premeditated, her way of escaping a life she didn’t want anymore. Now Clancy’s lawyers are arguing she should be found not guilty due to a lack of sufficient evidence that she killed her children, and by lack of criminal responsibility due to insufficient evidence she was not in psychosis at the time. Another status hearing is scheduled for Nov. 2.

(Courtesy of Netflix © 2026)

When Steinbeck first introduced Cathy Ames to the public in 1952, and when Elia Kazan brought his version to the screen three years later, we were only allowed the slightest glimpse into her soul. Elia Kazan’s movie, written by Paul Osborn, barely covers the last third of Steinbeck’s 600-page epic. It also omits Lee and focuses primarily on James Dean’s Cal Trask, one of Cathy’s sons, leaving most of her story to secondhand whispers. When a lawman confirms to Cal the rumor that Cathy, known by then as the nearby town’s madam, Kate, shot his father, Cal muses, “He must have done something to hurt her.”

“No, sir,” the man counters. “He gave her everything that any woman could ask for.”

But how would he know? Zoe Kazan’s Cathy, which closely hews to Steinbeck’s original vision, defies easy assumptions about a woman’s wants and needs. Nothing about her, or the way Pugh plays her, is simple.

“East of Eden” parallels the Biblical story of Cain and Abel first through Adam and Charles Trask, then again through Adam’s twin sons Aron and Caleb. Cathy, meanwhile, deciphers the key to life through Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland,” a story about a girl like her who survives an upside-down world.

Both Steinbeck and Zoe Kazan infer that something happened to Cathy when she was very young. The filmmaker does this through spare imagery: a man baiting a little girl in a blue dress with sweets, coaxing her to follow him into a dark hole that could lead to Wonderland or much darker places. With this, Cathy’s favorite book and her mysterious violation teach her it’s better to be a predator than prey, to be the queen calling for her the heads of her enemies instead of a man’s pawn.

(Courtesy of Netflix © 2026)

Cathy Ames is a complicated symbol, as the countless people who glommed on to Clancy’s case want her to be. Viewers accustomed to crime stories about perpetrators whose behavior is explained, perhaps even justified, by what they survived may see Clancy as another alleged trauma plot come to life—a sum of biological and social hazards, as Elizabeth Bruenig wrote in The Atlantic.

“And some elements of it seem inarguably true, such as the idea that Clancy’s psychiatric care was woefully uncoordinated,” Bruenig added. “But this theory also has the odd effect of making Clancy the star of her own murder trial, for whom the viewer at home may be encouraged to root, which risks eliding the gravity of what she did.”

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We must be clear that differences between the entirely fictional Cathy and Clancy, a real and suffering person, are vast. But if the best fiction can also be instructive, maybe the last moral of Kazan’s “East of Eden” can help us hold multiple truths at once. Cathy’s reasons for doing terrible things may be understandable, even relatable, while the transgression remains unforgivable. A person may even warn us by crying for help or, as Cathy does, advising those on the verge of falling into her trap to turn back.

“You’re so kind to me, and I’ll only ever bring you trouble,” she purrs when it’s clear that Adam is smitten with her. But he refuses to listen and marries her anyway. When Cathy discovers she’s pregnant, she warns him that she’s going to leave the first chance she gets, even attempting to self-administer an abortion with a knitting needle. Not to worry, a kindly male neighbor assures Adam — her maternal urges will kick right in after the babies are born. They do not.

Instead, Cathy makes good on her many cautions, leaving her wailing infants and bleeding husband behind for a new life and a fortune earned by cunning, a con and poison. But for a few twists of fate, she could be any of us. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Pugh’s exquisite, gorgeously brutal rendition leads more of us to her defense.

“East of Eden” is streaming on Netflix.