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A Good Man is Hard to Find
Part of The Wadsworth Casebooks for Reading, Research, and Writing Series, this new title provides all the materials a student needs to complete a literary research assignment in one convenient location.
148 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1949
148 people are currently reading
11276 people want to read
About the author
Flannery O'Connor
220 books5,223 followersCritics note novels
Wise Blood
(1952) and
The Violent Bear It Away
(1960) and short stories, collected in such works as
A Good Man Is Hard to Find
(1955), of American writer Mary Flannery O'Connor for their explorations of religious faith and a spare literary style.
The Georgia state college for women educated O’Connor, who then studied writing at the Iowa writers' workshop and wrote much of Wise Blood at the colony of artists at Yaddo in upstate New York. She lived most of her adult life on Andalusia, ancestral farm of her family outside Milledgeville, Georgia.
O’Connor wrote Everything That Rises Must Converge (1964). When she died at the age of 39 years, America lost one of its most gifted writers at the height of her powers.
Survivors published her essays were published in Mystery and Manners (1969). Her Complete Stories , published posthumously in 1972, won the national book award for that year. Survivors published her letters in The Habit of Being (1979). In 1988, the Library of America published Collected Works of Flannery O'Connor, the first so honored postwar writer.
People in an online poll in 2009 voted her Complete Stories as the best book to win the national book award in the six-decade history of the contest.
The Georgia state college for women educated O’Connor, who then studied writing at the Iowa writers' workshop and wrote much of Wise Blood at the colony of artists at Yaddo in upstate New York. She lived most of her adult life on Andalusia, ancestral farm of her family outside Milledgeville, Georgia.
O’Connor wrote Everything That Rises Must Converge (1964). When she died at the age of 39 years, America lost one of its most gifted writers at the height of her powers.
Survivors published her essays were published in Mystery and Manners (1969). Her Complete Stories , published posthumously in 1972, won the national book award for that year. Survivors published her letters in The Habit of Being (1979). In 1988, the Library of America published Collected Works of Flannery O'Connor, the first so honored postwar writer.
People in an online poll in 2009 voted her Complete Stories as the best book to win the national book award in the six-decade history of the contest.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 963 reviews
January 19, 2025
Flannery O'Conner has twisty sick mind. I like it. Wow. This short story is not what you would expect from the title. I do not plan to say anything more because I want everyone to discover the plot for themselves.
I previously read Wise Blood by the author which was was very strange\. The subject was not to my taste but it was a very interesting read.
I previously read Wise Blood by the author which was was very strange\. The subject was not to my taste but it was a very interesting read.
February 25, 2025
WE MUST TRY TO LIVE!
Valéry, La Cimitiere Marin
Have you ever played out an imaginary dreamscape in your mind over what you'd do if you were held at gunpoint by a psychotic killer? We all have done that, and we all ended up heroes in our dreams!
But in THIS story you never get a chance to do that.
That's O'Connor's genius!
When I was a teen, filled with typical teen angst, our Dad used to drive us kids into town this time of year to see the tulips, along with my Mom and her mother, our dear Gagi.
In the older days of early childhood it had proven a pleasant but boring diversion, but now, with girl problems and peer pressure it was just plain boring. And awful.
I remember reading La Cimetière Marin in the backseat with Gagi (my grandmother) and my brother, and trying to memorize it - it was impossible! The heat was stifling for mid-May and the small talk intolerable. But I was stuck.
Ms O’Connor must have known such spoiled kids and such despairing adults among the well-to-do families near her spartan dwelling place in the Deep South.
I can see just her mouthing Chaucer: ´yes, indeed - money is the root of all Evil.´
In the earlier days when she still lived on the North-East Coast - before her terminal Lupus sent her packing for her home in the deep South - one evening O’Connor was collared by a girlfriend into attending a lavish literary soirée hosted by the late Mary McCarthy in her Manhattan brownstone.
This much-touted young Catholic writer must have bitterly disappointed her enterprising friend, for Flannery completely clammed up.
In this story you see why:
Glamour and pretension were simply not in her vocabulary. And here she exposes wealth and social ease - not to mention permissive Christianity - as the lies they are in the Big Picture.
O’Connor may have written in lean, spare surroundings, but she earnestly hoped thereby to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. Better than the alternative.
This scathingly ironic (and inexpensive) tale may turn your hair gray. It’s that scary.
And the juxtaposition of lazy, bored richesse with the violent force of sheer apathetically weird Evil -
Will curdle your blood -
Guaranteed.
Valéry, La Cimitiere Marin
Have you ever played out an imaginary dreamscape in your mind over what you'd do if you were held at gunpoint by a psychotic killer? We all have done that, and we all ended up heroes in our dreams!
But in THIS story you never get a chance to do that.
That's O'Connor's genius!
When I was a teen, filled with typical teen angst, our Dad used to drive us kids into town this time of year to see the tulips, along with my Mom and her mother, our dear Gagi.
In the older days of early childhood it had proven a pleasant but boring diversion, but now, with girl problems and peer pressure it was just plain boring. And awful.
I remember reading La Cimetière Marin in the backseat with Gagi (my grandmother) and my brother, and trying to memorize it - it was impossible! The heat was stifling for mid-May and the small talk intolerable. But I was stuck.
Ms O’Connor must have known such spoiled kids and such despairing adults among the well-to-do families near her spartan dwelling place in the Deep South.
I can see just her mouthing Chaucer: ´yes, indeed - money is the root of all Evil.´
In the earlier days when she still lived on the North-East Coast - before her terminal Lupus sent her packing for her home in the deep South - one evening O’Connor was collared by a girlfriend into attending a lavish literary soirée hosted by the late Mary McCarthy in her Manhattan brownstone.
This much-touted young Catholic writer must have bitterly disappointed her enterprising friend, for Flannery completely clammed up.
In this story you see why:
Glamour and pretension were simply not in her vocabulary. And here she exposes wealth and social ease - not to mention permissive Christianity - as the lies they are in the Big Picture.
O’Connor may have written in lean, spare surroundings, but she earnestly hoped thereby to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. Better than the alternative.
This scathingly ironic (and inexpensive) tale may turn your hair gray. It’s that scary.
And the juxtaposition of lazy, bored richesse with the violent force of sheer apathetically weird Evil -
Will curdle your blood -
Guaranteed.
December 10, 2013
I thought this was going to be a short, cheery read before bed. Boy was I wrong.
February 4, 2020
Review of the title story: An unnamed grandmother, a woman caught up in appearances and social standing, travels with her son's family to Florida on a vacation. The grandmother was pushing to go to Tennessee instead, for lots of reasons - she has friends there; an escaped criminal called The Misfit is running around loose in Florida - but she gets overruled.
So she goes along on the trip to Florida, of course, but manages to make life more than difficult for her son's family. Lots of things go south, and it's more than just the family and their car.
I read this story in college for an English course, and reread it again for my real life book club, along with A Rose for Emily, which is equally disturbing Southern literature from an earlier generation. Though Flannery O'Connor is somewhat sparing with her descriptions, the characterization of the grandmother and her family is excellent. O'Connor has a great eye for human foibles.
This story has a lot going on beneath the surface, and has some really intriguing things going on with symbolism and religious belief, thought it was difficult to get a handle on the grandmother's religious discussion with another character toward the end. There's a subtle moment of grace there, but readers who dislike books that don't have a HEA ending should keep right on going. If you like bizarre Southern lit, though, you really need to read this one.
There's a free copy of this story online here. Sensitivity warning: violence (not graphic but quite disturbing), and the grandmother uses the N-word a couple of times and in other ways clearly shows her unthinking prejudices.
So she goes along on the trip to Florida, of course, but manages to make life more than difficult for her son's family. Lots of things go south, and it's more than just the family and their car.
I read this story in college for an English course, and reread it again for my real life book club, along with A Rose for Emily, which is equally disturbing Southern literature from an earlier generation. Though Flannery O'Connor is somewhat sparing with her descriptions, the characterization of the grandmother and her family is excellent. O'Connor has a great eye for human foibles.
This story has a lot going on beneath the surface, and has some really intriguing things going on with symbolism and religious belief, thought it was difficult to get a handle on the grandmother's religious discussion with another character toward the end. There's a subtle moment of grace there, but readers who dislike books that don't have a HEA ending should keep right on going. If you like bizarre Southern lit, though, you really need to read this one.
There's a free copy of this story online here. Sensitivity warning: violence (not graphic but quite disturbing), and the grandmother uses the N-word a couple of times and in other ways clearly shows her unthinking prejudices.
April 10, 2023
Expect the unexpected
I knew the name of the author and title of the story, but nothing more. I assumed it was about trying to find a suitable husband. It’s not!
Before reading this, I learned that O’Connor wrote Southern Gothic, with a Grotesque slant, and that she was a devout Roman Catholic. This story starts with the first and ends with the latter.
From the very first word, it’s clear this is a waspish satire about a somewhat dysfunctional family:
“THE grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.”
Not “Grandmother”, or “the children’s grandmother”, let alone a name. Then, very soon after, “The children’s mother”. Again, no name, and unlike the grandmother, she doesn't even speak. Such detachment. The grandmother lives with her son, his wife, and their three children.
Despite her objections, they go on a roadtrip to Florida. The older two children, John Wesley and June Star, are snarky brats, and the grandmother is a selfish and manipulative snob, anxious to be seen as a good southern lady. It’s a little clichéd but quite amusing, and there’s some careful foreshadowing. As the grandmother pontificates, it becomes clear she has attitudes that fit the time and place:
“‘Oh look at the cute little pickaninny!’ she said and pointed to a Negro child standing in the door of a shack. ‘Wouldn’t that make a picture, now?’”
They stop at a roadside diner, and the grandmother and proprietor reminisce about better times:
“‘A good man is hard to find,’ Red Sammy said. ‘Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more.’...
The old lady said that in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things were now.”
Then there’s a sudden change of setting, tone, and genre: .
Image: The Misfit (spotlight on one stick figure that is unlike the others) (Source)
And the moral is…
I wasn’t really sure, but it sure was preachy, and that’s not my thing. I couldn't decide if O'Connor was highlighting God’s love and forgiveness, exposing the hypocrisy of the desperate, or both. It’s often said that flattery will get you everywhere, but will it get you into heaven?
“I know you’re a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have common blood.”
I found the final three lines the most baffling and they make the story hard to rate, hence a neutral 3*. That fits the symbolic recurrence of the number three in the story, echoing famous Bible passages.
O’Connor explained somewhat in an essay about the element of suspense in the story, HERE. However, I was most struck by the opening words:
“A story really isn't any good unless it successfully resists paraphrase, unless it hangs on and expands the mind.”
On that basis, perhaps I should have awarded it more than 3*.
The following week I read another story of hers that was similar in many ways, but dialled down a little. It seemed an anti-racist story, until I read how O'Connor identified with the protagonist. See my review of Revelation HERE.
Quotes
• “A young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbit’s ears.” [innocent cabbage?!]
• “The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled.”
• “I ain’t a good man… but I ain’t the worst in the world neither.”
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
I knew the name of the author and title of the story, but nothing more. I assumed it was about trying to find a suitable husband. It’s not!
Before reading this, I learned that O’Connor wrote Southern Gothic, with a Grotesque slant, and that she was a devout Roman Catholic. This story starts with the first and ends with the latter.
From the very first word, it’s clear this is a waspish satire about a somewhat dysfunctional family:
“THE grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.”
Not “Grandmother”, or “the children’s grandmother”, let alone a name. Then, very soon after, “The children’s mother”. Again, no name, and unlike the grandmother, she doesn't even speak. Such detachment. The grandmother lives with her son, his wife, and their three children.
Despite her objections, they go on a roadtrip to Florida. The older two children, John Wesley and June Star, are snarky brats, and the grandmother is a selfish and manipulative snob, anxious to be seen as a good southern lady. It’s a little clichéd but quite amusing, and there’s some careful foreshadowing. As the grandmother pontificates, it becomes clear she has attitudes that fit the time and place:
“‘Oh look at the cute little pickaninny!’ she said and pointed to a Negro child standing in the door of a shack. ‘Wouldn’t that make a picture, now?’”
They stop at a roadside diner, and the grandmother and proprietor reminisce about better times:
“‘A good man is hard to find,’ Red Sammy said. ‘Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more.’...
The old lady said that in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things were now.”
Then there’s a sudden change of setting, tone, and genre: .
Image: The Misfit (spotlight on one stick figure that is unlike the others) (Source)
And the moral is…
I wasn’t really sure, but it sure was preachy, and that’s not my thing. I couldn't decide if O'Connor was highlighting God’s love and forgiveness, exposing the hypocrisy of the desperate, or both. It’s often said that flattery will get you everywhere, but will it get you into heaven?
“I know you’re a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have common blood.”
I found the final three lines the most baffling and they make the story hard to rate, hence a neutral 3*. That fits the symbolic recurrence of the number three in the story, echoing famous Bible passages.
O’Connor explained somewhat in an essay about the element of suspense in the story, HERE. However, I was most struck by the opening words:
“A story really isn't any good unless it successfully resists paraphrase, unless it hangs on and expands the mind.”
On that basis, perhaps I should have awarded it more than 3*.
The following week I read another story of hers that was similar in many ways, but dialled down a little. It seemed an anti-racist story, until I read how O'Connor identified with the protagonist. See my review of Revelation HERE.
Quotes
• “A young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbit’s ears.” [innocent cabbage?!]
• “The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled.”
• “I ain’t a good man… but I ain’t the worst in the world neither.”
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
May 30, 2022
قصة "من الصعب العثور علي إنسان جيد ".
انا كنت مفكر اني هقرا حاجة خفيفة و ظريفة كده 😂💔
تبدأ القصة بعائلة جميلة من ستة أفراد الزوج و الزوجة و الاطفال الثلاثة و الجدة.
تتجه هذه العائلة بسيارتهم الي فلوريدا في رحلتهم الصيفية بعد تحذير من الجدة و تذمر دائم لأنها كانت تريد الذهاب لمسقط رأسها (تينيسي) .
و لنعيش مع العائلة أوقاتاً طريفة خفيفة و لكن النهاية كانت مفاجأة .
الحوار بالنهاية قوي و مُقلق و مُربِك و مخيف.
القصة بها رمزية عميقة منها أنك اذا رغبت في شيئ ما بشدة ستراه دائما في كل شيئ اخر.
و في النهاية نقول فعلاً من الصعب العثور علي انسان جيد أو من الممكن العثور عليه و لكن في الوقت و الظروف الخطأ.
و أيضا في النهاية منك لله أيتها الجدة 😂.
سأترك لينك مترجم للقصة القصيرة - حوالي 10 صفح - في الكومنت.
انا كنت مفكر اني هقرا حاجة خفيفة و ظريفة كده 😂💔
تبدأ القصة بعائلة جميلة من ستة أفراد الزوج و الزوجة و الاطفال الثلاثة و الجدة.
تتجه هذه العائلة بسيارتهم الي فلوريدا في رحلتهم الصيفية بعد تحذير من الجدة و تذمر دائم لأنها كانت تريد الذهاب لمسقط رأسها (تينيسي) .
و لنعيش مع العائلة أوقاتاً طريفة خفيفة و لكن النهاية كانت مفاجأة .
الحوار بالنهاية قوي و مُقلق و مُربِك و مخيف.
القصة بها رمزية عميقة منها أنك اذا رغبت في شيئ ما بشدة ستراه دائما في كل شيئ اخر.
و في النهاية نقول فعلاً من الصعب العثور علي انسان جيد أو من الممكن العثور عليه و لكن في الوقت و الظروف الخطأ.
و أيضا في النهاية منك لله أيتها الجدة 😂.
سأترك لينك مترجم للقصة القصيرة - حوالي 10 صفح - في الكومنت.
March 25, 2023
3.5 stars
A gritty Southern tale that begins in humor and ends in pathos. I confess to feeling a genuine chill at the end and wondering if this story wouldn't have more impact now than when it was written, since serial killers and gruesome murders are more common now than they would have been then. Of course, the country had just come through the bloodiest and cruelest of wars when this was written, so perhaps therein lies the inspiration.
I hate to admit it, but Flannery O'Connor is really not my style. I have tried her a number of times and over the course of decades, and I just cannot connect.
A gritty Southern tale that begins in humor and ends in pathos. I confess to feeling a genuine chill at the end and wondering if this story wouldn't have more impact now than when it was written, since serial killers and gruesome murders are more common now than they would have been then. Of course, the country had just come through the bloodiest and cruelest of wars when this was written, so perhaps therein lies the inspiration.
I hate to admit it, but Flannery O'Connor is really not my style. I have tried her a number of times and over the course of decades, and I just cannot connect.
August 25, 2023
Thought I read a short story before I go to bed with a cleansed palate from my novel that I finished today. Thought I read it out loud for my little man. I mean the story started with a grandmother that I could picture speaking in her Southern drawl, cheeky grandkids and a road trip ahead. I was shocked as I progressed page by page quieting my voice 😳. Appalling story brilliantly written! Clear recommendation. 📚
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November 25, 2021
Disturbometer 9-10 out of 10
Number 3 in my “quest to find the most disturbing (short) story” effort.
Dear fellow reader and fellow critic/reviewer, I write these passages for you. If nobody reads what I have written, my text has no meaning, and I have wasted my time writing it. I’d like to use the experience of this disturbing text under review and it’s enigmatic, intensely complex writer, to elaborate a little on critical theory. And make no mistake, each and every one of you implicitly believes in a certain “correct” way to read fiction, of how to analyze and review a text. I see it in your reviews.
I’ll mention the main groups I most often encounter here. Some of you write a little (or long) précis of the plot of the story, and put that up as your review. I think of these as the “Blurb-writers”. Of these reviewers I think: “Well, there goes a person who believes they have just saved me the time of reading this story for myself. You guys are probably closer to “New Criticism” than most others, since you look at the text and only the text.
Others close to this ‘text only' approach, will name salient features of the text and the mood of the text (you’d inform us that there’s beautiful flowing prose, tragicomedy, racism, sexism, etc. etc. in the text). I tend to often incline to the latter myself.
Then there are those of you who write a beautiful historical and/or contextual background about the piece of fiction and often its writer. You guys would tend to fall in the camps of Historical and Biographical criticism, as well as New Historicism and/or Structuralism. I myself often tend toward New Historicism/Structuralism when I have the time for it – because make no mistake, this is a time-consuming mode of critique.
Then we have our often poetic and lyrical “Reader Response” reviewers, who tell us about how their personal experience of this text went, and these reviews are often very entertaining, artistic and original pieces of writing, something that I have often wished I could do, but lack the spontaneity to do, since I tend to hide personal emotions and prefer to intellectualize stuff (even when I talk about my emotions I prefer a distance, a remove). It feels safer that way.
With this story, I personally had quite a “reader response” experience, then strove to intellectualize it afterwards, but I feel myself breaking my own mold, because… sigh, let me try to explain.
I came into this knowing that Flannery O’Connor was a prominent writer in the Southern Gothic tradition, but knew nothing about her and hadn’t read anything by her, so I came in as a complete virgin, white as the driven snow.
I initially found the story pretty funny – in fact I laughed at the characters’ foibles and mishaps. When the story turned darker, I saw it starting to turn into dark comedy and black humor, with a terribly ironic twist. I mean there’s irony in this story from the start. The grandma is overtly manipulative, and so one never knows whether she sincerely means anything she says, since the writer very successfully gave you a few clues early on already, that this grandma does things ‘for effect’.
Not knowing that O’ Connor was a devout Catholic, I assumed that the story is a cynical attack on Christianity and that it was meant to point out the folly and futility of believing that God or Jesus will protect you – as well as cynically pointing out how false and hypocritical some Christians can be (something I have personal experience with). I mean, the grandmother is depicted as a relatively unsympathetic character who, for example, sees no pathos in a little black child having no pants, but declares that the status quo is the acceptable way of being – even finds it cute, and wanting to paint a picture of it.
She also manipulates her son in various ways, and most ostensibly, through his children. She is a comic character, who through her own various manipulations and stupidity, gets herself into worse and worse hot water, time and time again, including the climax at the end. If I had left things then and there, I would have given this story 5 stars, with the commentary that the writing was astute and excellent, that the author is obviously an excellent observer of humanity, and even now, nothing about that has changed for me.
Despite what she said to people in interviews and letters, her writing shines on its own and its evocative power cannot be renounced, even by its author. For the author, who by her own insistence was a devout Catholic, and who continually flouted her religion and claimed that it was the raison d’être for her writing, stated clearly about this very story, that what for me seemed to be an ironic demonstration of a human being’s utmost folly, was actually intended to portray a moment where an individual is touched by divine grace. She even goes as far as to claim (extraneous to the text) that the character “became Jesus by grace of the Holy Spirit”.
After learning of this, I started wishing I had not poked further and that I had taken the New Criticism approach of just letting the text shine for itself. That would have been so much easier. But, to strike a slightly moralistic pose myself, growth and development only comes through conflict and strife. Wars always tended to have improved technology as a result. Perhaps I can grow from this experience.
I find myself grappling with this conflict in myself, of how to report on this text with integrity, given my inner conflict between my personal experience of the text and the intention of the author.
She had meant the story to be a redeeming experience for non-believers, she said that she thought it would bring non-believers closer to Christ. I had read it as being the opposite, in fact, as an attack against religion so able and well executed that I could compare it to the intentions of the Marquis De Sade - I had read his novel Justine, and Justine's story and O' Connor's Grandma's stories are comparable to me.
This question is forcing me to re-appraise my entire personal paradigm of how to approach a text, and fiction in general. I think the answer is already there, deep within myself; - that as much as I would have loved for, and even as a child hoped for and fantasized that reading literature could be a meeting of an author’s mind and mine, I realize now that that is folly. Any “meeting of the minds”, any feeling that “this author gets it” is pure fantasy and wishful thinking.
There could perhaps be kindred spirits in this world – but don’t take it for granted that they are easy to recognize. In a way this shatters a part of my soul, reminds me of the terrible fear of the black chasm of nothingness and loneliness that I had to deal with when I gave up all illusion of religious faith – that takes a special kind of courage, no matter how pragmatic a person might be, and I do have my fanciful side.
Flannery O’Connor, much as you break my heart with your letters and explanations, knowing therefore that we are not kindred spirits in any way that is easy to conceive of, I still bow to the enormous talent inherent in your art, to your incredible ability to write well.
I was going to give the story five stars, but I think it would be more appropriate to give it four and a half.
If you have read up to here, thank you for your forbearance with this baring of the soul.
Number 3 in my “quest to find the most disturbing (short) story” effort.
Dear fellow reader and fellow critic/reviewer, I write these passages for you. If nobody reads what I have written, my text has no meaning, and I have wasted my time writing it. I’d like to use the experience of this disturbing text under review and it’s enigmatic, intensely complex writer, to elaborate a little on critical theory. And make no mistake, each and every one of you implicitly believes in a certain “correct” way to read fiction, of how to analyze and review a text. I see it in your reviews.
I’ll mention the main groups I most often encounter here. Some of you write a little (or long) précis of the plot of the story, and put that up as your review. I think of these as the “Blurb-writers”. Of these reviewers I think: “Well, there goes a person who believes they have just saved me the time of reading this story for myself. You guys are probably closer to “New Criticism” than most others, since you look at the text and only the text.
Others close to this ‘text only' approach, will name salient features of the text and the mood of the text (you’d inform us that there’s beautiful flowing prose, tragicomedy, racism, sexism, etc. etc. in the text). I tend to often incline to the latter myself.
Then there are those of you who write a beautiful historical and/or contextual background about the piece of fiction and often its writer. You guys would tend to fall in the camps of Historical and Biographical criticism, as well as New Historicism and/or Structuralism. I myself often tend toward New Historicism/Structuralism when I have the time for it – because make no mistake, this is a time-consuming mode of critique.
Then we have our often poetic and lyrical “Reader Response” reviewers, who tell us about how their personal experience of this text went, and these reviews are often very entertaining, artistic and original pieces of writing, something that I have often wished I could do, but lack the spontaneity to do, since I tend to hide personal emotions and prefer to intellectualize stuff (even when I talk about my emotions I prefer a distance, a remove). It feels safer that way.
With this story, I personally had quite a “reader response” experience, then strove to intellectualize it afterwards, but I feel myself breaking my own mold, because… sigh, let me try to explain.
I came into this knowing that Flannery O’Connor was a prominent writer in the Southern Gothic tradition, but knew nothing about her and hadn’t read anything by her, so I came in as a complete virgin, white as the driven snow.
I initially found the story pretty funny – in fact I laughed at the characters’ foibles and mishaps. When the story turned darker, I saw it starting to turn into dark comedy and black humor, with a terribly ironic twist. I mean there’s irony in this story from the start. The grandma is overtly manipulative, and so one never knows whether she sincerely means anything she says, since the writer very successfully gave you a few clues early on already, that this grandma does things ‘for effect’.
Not knowing that O’ Connor was a devout Catholic, I assumed that the story is a cynical attack on Christianity and that it was meant to point out the folly and futility of believing that God or Jesus will protect you – as well as cynically pointing out how false and hypocritical some Christians can be (something I have personal experience with). I mean, the grandmother is depicted as a relatively unsympathetic character who, for example, sees no pathos in a little black child having no pants, but declares that the status quo is the acceptable way of being – even finds it cute, and wanting to paint a picture of it.
She also manipulates her son in various ways, and most ostensibly, through his children. She is a comic character, who through her own various manipulations and stupidity, gets herself into worse and worse hot water, time and time again, including the climax at the end. If I had left things then and there, I would have given this story 5 stars, with the commentary that the writing was astute and excellent, that the author is obviously an excellent observer of humanity, and even now, nothing about that has changed for me.
Despite what she said to people in interviews and letters, her writing shines on its own and its evocative power cannot be renounced, even by its author. For the author, who by her own insistence was a devout Catholic, and who continually flouted her religion and claimed that it was the raison d’être for her writing, stated clearly about this very story, that what for me seemed to be an ironic demonstration of a human being’s utmost folly, was actually intended to portray a moment where an individual is touched by divine grace. She even goes as far as to claim (extraneous to the text) that the character “became Jesus by grace of the Holy Spirit”.
After learning of this, I started wishing I had not poked further and that I had taken the New Criticism approach of just letting the text shine for itself. That would have been so much easier. But, to strike a slightly moralistic pose myself, growth and development only comes through conflict and strife. Wars always tended to have improved technology as a result. Perhaps I can grow from this experience.
I find myself grappling with this conflict in myself, of how to report on this text with integrity, given my inner conflict between my personal experience of the text and the intention of the author.
She had meant the story to be a redeeming experience for non-believers, she said that she thought it would bring non-believers closer to Christ. I had read it as being the opposite, in fact, as an attack against religion so able and well executed that I could compare it to the intentions of the Marquis De Sade - I had read his novel Justine, and Justine's story and O' Connor's Grandma's stories are comparable to me.
This question is forcing me to re-appraise my entire personal paradigm of how to approach a text, and fiction in general. I think the answer is already there, deep within myself; - that as much as I would have loved for, and even as a child hoped for and fantasized that reading literature could be a meeting of an author’s mind and mine, I realize now that that is folly. Any “meeting of the minds”, any feeling that “this author gets it” is pure fantasy and wishful thinking.
There could perhaps be kindred spirits in this world – but don’t take it for granted that they are easy to recognize. In a way this shatters a part of my soul, reminds me of the terrible fear of the black chasm of nothingness and loneliness that I had to deal with when I gave up all illusion of religious faith – that takes a special kind of courage, no matter how pragmatic a person might be, and I do have my fanciful side.
Flannery O’Connor, much as you break my heart with your letters and explanations, knowing therefore that we are not kindred spirits in any way that is easy to conceive of, I still bow to the enormous talent inherent in your art, to your incredible ability to write well.
I was going to give the story five stars, but I think it would be more appropriate to give it four and a half.
If you have read up to here, thank you for your forbearance with this baring of the soul.
April 19, 2015
My first book by her leaves me well satisfied. She has such a knack of hooking your heart for her downtrodden characters without sentimentality. Such a master of dialog and patterns of speech and of rhythm and timing in her narrative. Every word seems to be laid like bricks in a wall. Her endings always resonate and move you beyond the frame of your short sojourn with her stories.
May 24, 2016
A short story with a punch, a knock you on your ass punch. Writing so real, I was there in that car, then on that gravel road. Unforgettable, Darkness and evil flowing from the mind and through the pen of O'Connor.
September 29, 2018
Sometimes, whilst on a journey, it's final destination remains different than the original plan, that's the case in Flannery O'Connor's tale of good Vs evil. A grandma in the deep south unintentionally leads her family into the face of danger. Although she is depicted as a seemingly good person, the grandma holds responsibility for the death of her family because she fails to see the signs of multiple warnings of their upcoming encounter with a menacing convict, 'The Misfit'. While the use of violence remains disturbing, with an ending that resonates strong in the mind, O'Connor intentionally uses indicative foreshadowing to expose the destructive path the grandma consistently chooses when confronted by good and of evil. While preparing for the road trip, the grandma dresses in her Sunday best in the chance an accident may occur so anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once she was a lady. This is an abnormal thought to consider when getting ready; she is dressing in her best, similarly to how the deceased individual is prepared before the burial. Additionally, while continuing on their journey, the family passes a field which contains five or six graves. As this contributes to the mysterious mood and path they are headed towards, the number of tombs happens to match the number of family members inside the car. Yet once again, the family thinks nothing of it and continues anyways drifting down a dirt road following sharp curves on dangerous embankments towards the town of Toombsboro, another sign of death reflected just within the name as the setting implies misfortune. Furthermore after a car accident occurs, the grandma notices an approaching big black battered hearse-like automobile that representing evil. This short tale slowly crawls along with a pitch dark foreboding and chilling tone leading to it's shocking conclusion. As my first time reading O'Connor, it's easy to see why she is associated with the term 'Southern Gothic'.
October 25, 2013
The following trigger warnings: Murder, Sexual Assault
Disgusting.
Yeah, I get the underlying theme that Southern Protestant religiosity is apparently judgmental and has double-standards and whatnot. But I'd really, REALLY like to read a pleasant book for English class. Just once. Just one time during my high school career I would LOVE to read a book that leaves an impact on me, that changes my outlook on things, that educates me. I'm tired of reading about people killing or raping or eating babies or just being disgusting filth. What I read is what I think about, and I really don't want to be forced to think about all the worthless scum in this world. I want to think about happy lives and romance that works out from beginning to end. They say a story with no conflict isn't a story...sure, but do we have to have the blackest, most depressing conflict there is in EVERY work of literature I have to read? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good, intesne, dark story every now and then. BUT NOT ALL THE DARN TIME. I mean, really.
Disgusting.
Yeah, I get the underlying theme that Southern Protestant religiosity is apparently judgmental and has double-standards and whatnot. But I'd really, REALLY like to read a pleasant book for English class. Just once. Just one time during my high school career I would LOVE to read a book that leaves an impact on me, that changes my outlook on things, that educates me. I'm tired of reading about people killing or raping or eating babies or just being disgusting filth. What I read is what I think about, and I really don't want to be forced to think about all the worthless scum in this world. I want to think about happy lives and romance that works out from beginning to end. They say a story with no conflict isn't a story...sure, but do we have to have the blackest, most depressing conflict there is in EVERY work of literature I have to read? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good, intesne, dark story every now and then. BUT NOT ALL THE DARN TIME. I mean, really.
April 11, 2023
Absolute evil exists and one can encounter it anytime and anyplace, even on your way to Florida to have a holiday with the whole family. You can try to appeal to the remains of good in it, flatter it, try to deceive it (clumsily), talk about God with it, beg it but everything is in vain. The evil will be polite, it will confide in you and will tell you the story of his life. But eventually, the trigger will be inevitably pressed.
It is a heart-wrenching story, a roller-coaster with brilliantly-develped characters.
''There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. “Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain’t punished at all?”
“Jesus!” the old lady cried. “You’ve got good blood! I know you wouldn’t shoot a lady! I know you come from nice! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I’ll give you all the money I’ve got!”
“Lady,” The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, “there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip.”
It is a heart-wrenching story, a roller-coaster with brilliantly-develped characters.
''There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. “Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain’t punished at all?”
“Jesus!” the old lady cried. “You’ve got good blood! I know you wouldn’t shoot a lady! I know you come from nice! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I’ll give you all the money I’ve got!”
“Lady,” The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, “there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip.”
December 19, 2021
هل يبدو صحيحًا بالنسبة لكِ أن أحدًا يُعاقَب بإفراط والآخر لا يُعاقَب على الإطلاق؟»
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قصة قصيرة ، كانت ضريفة ولكن انتهت نهاية غير متوقعة.!!!
كان يجب أن تكون رحلة عائلية بسيطة ليس فيها تعقيد أو صعوبة مجرد رحلة استرخاء قصيرة ولطيفة، ولكن من الصعب أن يكون هنالك اكثر من قبطان لسفينة واحدة، وهنا كانت المشكلة ، حينما يتحكم شخص آخر في كل قرار يمكن أن تفكر فيه ، ويحاول أن يفسد كل مخطط تقرره ، لايمكنك سوى أن تتوقع نهاية سيئة لهذه الرحلة العائلية.
نصيحة لكل شخص يقود السيارة في رحلة مع عائلته، لا تستمع إلى كلام كبار السن ولا الأطفال .
😅 تقيد بجدولك ولا تكن مشدودًا وعصبياً الى هذه الدرجة ..
الغريب بالموضوع أن شخصيات القصة تشبه أشخاص اعرفهم، وكنت معهم في رحلات كثيرة ولكن الحمدلله ان نهاية رحلتنا لم تكن مثل نهايتهم . 😅
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«كانت لتصير امرأة جيدة، لو كان هناك أحدًا ليطلق عليها النار في كل دقيقة من حياتها».
February 21, 2018
It is a wonderful story. One is immediately drawn to the characters as they are so well etched out. With a striking use of dialogues, the readers can almost visualize the nameless grandmother, around whom the story revolves, her son Bailey and his wife and their three children. Very quickly we see how this family is, and what is their life like. One important feature is that there is no genuine communication between any one of them. The parents, for instance, hardly talk to their loud-mouthed children, nor do they correct them when they are so utterly rude. The grandmother, on the other hand, the oldest member of the family, dwells in her own nostalgias of both past and present. She manipulates others in different garbs.
At home, we see that on the surface it is just like any other family. However, a close look reveals damaging imperfections. It shows the unconcerned and manipulative adults who have nothing really to contribute to their children's lives. The mother is hardly seen talking to her loud-mouthed children or engaging with them in any way. Even the car trip makes the choppy father nervous.
Later in the car, we see the same pattern. The children, as usual, indulge in their own whims. The grandmother, as usual, plays word games with her grandmother children and remains only concerned with her things, her wishes.
In the next scene, we see them in some sort of roadside eatery. Here again, the children are being rude. The grandmother talks to the owner of the property about 'goodness.' It is just a superficial talk. In her head, she is occupied with the thoughts of 'the runaway man.' She is scared of all this and at the same time she is thrilled about it.
Furthermore, there is hardly any difference between the kids and their grandmother. Just like the grandmother, the kids pursue what fancies them with absolute disregard any hindrance. The parents, too, are absorbed in their own mundane stuff. So the adult who can, or should, positively influence the children are just not 'there.' There is a 'moral' vacuum that no one is qualified and eager to fulfill. Modernity has turned everybody into consumers. Even the old good 'religion' has just mutated into a babble of sorts.
In the last scene, we again see the lack of communication or concern, both within the family and among people in the outer world. The misfit's accomplices kill Bailey and his son. The gunshot is heard but the grandmother, and Bailey's wife too, hardly responds in any 'familiar way.' Grandmother's entire focus is on to save her life. In the second round, Bailey's wife and her remaining two children are killed. The grandmother, until now, has done her best to thaw the misfit and turn him around. She only thinks about her life. Just a few moments before when Bailey and her son are shot, we hear no cries and repentance of any kind from the still alive family members. They hardly respond. The only remaining family member–the grandmother– hardly mourns these deaths but instead, she begs for her own life.
The misfit and his helpers go about their 'task' without a shred of remorse. The story sharply suggests that the outer world is just the bigger, cruder, and much crueler version of the family.
At home, we see that on the surface it is just like any other family. However, a close look reveals damaging imperfections. It shows the unconcerned and manipulative adults who have nothing really to contribute to their children's lives. The mother is hardly seen talking to her loud-mouthed children or engaging with them in any way. Even the car trip makes the choppy father nervous.
Later in the car, we see the same pattern. The children, as usual, indulge in their own whims. The grandmother, as usual, plays word games with her grandmother children and remains only concerned with her things, her wishes.
In the next scene, we see them in some sort of roadside eatery. Here again, the children are being rude. The grandmother talks to the owner of the property about 'goodness.' It is just a superficial talk. In her head, she is occupied with the thoughts of 'the runaway man.' She is scared of all this and at the same time she is thrilled about it.
Furthermore, there is hardly any difference between the kids and their grandmother. Just like the grandmother, the kids pursue what fancies them with absolute disregard any hindrance. The parents, too, are absorbed in their own mundane stuff. So the adult who can, or should, positively influence the children are just not 'there.' There is a 'moral' vacuum that no one is qualified and eager to fulfill. Modernity has turned everybody into consumers. Even the old good 'religion' has just mutated into a babble of sorts.
In the last scene, we again see the lack of communication or concern, both within the family and among people in the outer world. The misfit's accomplices kill Bailey and his son. The gunshot is heard but the grandmother, and Bailey's wife too, hardly responds in any 'familiar way.' Grandmother's entire focus is on to save her life. In the second round, Bailey's wife and her remaining two children are killed. The grandmother, until now, has done her best to thaw the misfit and turn him around. She only thinks about her life. Just a few moments before when Bailey and her son are shot, we hear no cries and repentance of any kind from the still alive family members. They hardly respond. The only remaining family member–the grandmother– hardly mourns these deaths but instead, she begs for her own life.
The misfit and his helpers go about their 'task' without a shred of remorse. The story sharply suggests that the outer world is just the bigger, cruder, and much crueler version of the family.
Read
December 1, 20199.0/10
1. The Life You Save May Be Your Own 10/10
Grandma gets what she deserves.
2. A Temple of The Holy Ghost 10/10
A big moon-faced nun came bustling to the door to let them in and embraced her mother and would have done the same to her but that she stuck out her hand and preserved a frigid frown, looking just past the sister's shoes at the wainscotting. They had a tendency to kiss even homely children, but the nun shook her hand vigorously and even cracked her knuckles a little and said they must come to the chapel, that benediction was just beginning. You put your foot in their door and they got you praying, the child thought as they hurried down the polished corridor.
A Circle In The Fire 8/10
The homecoming gone awry. One's notion of home is never what one remembers.
Good Country People 8/10
The girl had taken the Ph.D. in philosophy and this left Mrs. Hopewell at a complete loss. You could say, "My daughter is a nurse," or "My daughter is a school teacher," or even "My daughter is a chemical engineer." You could not say, "My daughter is a philosopher." That was something that had ended with the Greeks and Romans. All day Joy sat on her neck in a deep chair, reading. Sometimes she went for walks but she didn't like dogs or cats or birds or flowers or nature or nice young men. She looked at nice young men as if she could smell their stupidity. ... And lost a leg because of it!
The Displaced Person 8/10
1. The Life You Save May Be Your Own 10/10
Grandma gets what she deserves.
2. A Temple of The Holy Ghost 10/10
A big moon-faced nun came bustling to the door to let them in and embraced her mother and would have done the same to her but that she stuck out her hand and preserved a frigid frown, looking just past the sister's shoes at the wainscotting. They had a tendency to kiss even homely children, but the nun shook her hand vigorously and even cracked her knuckles a little and said they must come to the chapel, that benediction was just beginning. You put your foot in their door and they got you praying, the child thought as they hurried down the polished corridor.
A Circle In The Fire 8/10
The homecoming gone awry. One's notion of home is never what one remembers.
Good Country People 8/10
The girl had taken the Ph.D. in philosophy and this left Mrs. Hopewell at a complete loss. You could say, "My daughter is a nurse," or "My daughter is a school teacher," or even "My daughter is a chemical engineer." You could not say, "My daughter is a philosopher." That was something that had ended with the Greeks and Romans. All day Joy sat on her neck in a deep chair, reading. Sometimes she went for walks but she didn't like dogs or cats or birds or flowers or nature or nice young men. She looked at nice young men as if she could smell their stupidity. ... And lost a leg because of it!
The Displaced Person 8/10
December 1, 2024
Years ago my wife was listening to a song that Jim White recorded on Ms O’Conner’s porch. My wife asked me about the significance of the author and hence location. We read this story together. It is one of my favorites and yesterday when the first whispers of snow fell outside our window, I read it again for at least the fifth time.
It is the story of a mother and son taking the bus and thus positioning themselves in a coded social space. It is a story of generational aspirations and of petty comparison. The significance of fashion and small change should not be overlooked in a tale such as this.
It is the story of a mother and son taking the bus and thus positioning themselves in a coded social space. It is a story of generational aspirations and of petty comparison. The significance of fashion and small change should not be overlooked in a tale such as this.
July 10, 2019
A story that teaches us no more about humanity than a quip in the newspaper regarding yet another senseless homicide.
Post interpretations of this tale are more disturbing than the story itself; with overall feelings that the family nearly deserved to be slaughtered because they were rude, narrow minded and irksome. Paradoxically, these killers apparently possessed some sort of romantic mystique, and thus deserve more empathy and reflection.
Before becoming a serious writer, I was a paramedic in Philadelphia for quite a while. Having seen my share of brutality, rape, murder and worse, I had a real problem with the author’s cheeky handling and compass free telling of the murderess demise of an entire family.
I have to wonder if O’Connor had ever been victimized/brutalized or had even known someone who was. Her tune might have changed a bit.
Sorry so harsh. Just rubbed me the wrong way.
Post interpretations of this tale are more disturbing than the story itself; with overall feelings that the family nearly deserved to be slaughtered because they were rude, narrow minded and irksome. Paradoxically, these killers apparently possessed some sort of romantic mystique, and thus deserve more empathy and reflection.
Before becoming a serious writer, I was a paramedic in Philadelphia for quite a while. Having seen my share of brutality, rape, murder and worse, I had a real problem with the author’s cheeky handling and compass free telling of the murderess demise of an entire family.
I have to wonder if O’Connor had ever been victimized/brutalized or had even known someone who was. Her tune might have changed a bit.
Sorry so harsh. Just rubbed me the wrong way.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 2, 2014
What the...? Well that was unexpected. Man that grandma. I want to punch her.
November 9, 2021
The story is described as funny, but I found it creepy and scary for the most part - definitely overshadowing the grandmother's moderately humorous peccadilloes. I'm not sure if FOC is my style but the story was brilliant (if you can believe the coincidence of "the Misfit" conveniently driving down the same isolated road as Baily et al).
Anyone interested in reading this story online can do so here
Anyone interested in reading this story online can do so here
November 18, 2012
"Those who love their lives will lose them, and those who hate their lives in this world will keep them forever." - John 12:25 (Common English Bible)
"The dragon is by the side of the road, watching those who pass. Beware lest he devour you. We go to the Father of Souls, but it is necessary to pass by the dragon." - St. Cyril of Jerusalem (Quote at the beginning of the story)
This one required 2 quotes; my first Flannery O'Connor.
I will probably spoil but I won't tag this whole review; nor will I summarize the story here because she is throwing things in my face which I have to address.
So immediately as the story reached its heavily foreshadowed climax and ending (short stories rarely have the length needed to go down after the climax to reflection/in-story analyzes like a novel/novella) The first quote from above shot into my head and than the "antagonist"-macguffin plot-device quoted some of it. So I was thinking okay and than when the (in)famous last scene is reached I was very bewildered and had to read a good part of it over again and I was than able to catch some of what was happening.
The title itself is something like a subverted misnomer. A "good man" or "the good man" could be said to be hard to find but it is a subjective declaration here. The protagonist's view of a good man was based on her own (finally realized) flawed logic on what constituted "good".
Salvation by grace is the big theme here in my opinion. The antagonist (called The Misfit) IN.M.O. only serves as a means to an end for the protagonist to finally discern true grace and not the false one that society had taught her to have. O'Connor makes the family realistic enough that we don't hate them but don't become to attached. As the protagonist tries to manipulate and dominate, not in a mean sort of way, but in an old-lady sort of way, we see as her actions lead to the story climax and see that she is still trying to manipulate and pose her ideal on the antagonist with him almost eerily savvy to everything she is saying. But the resolution does not occur until she herself finally realizes the error of her logic and realizes what true divine grace is. The Misfit of course realizes this almost before she does and comments on the irony of this to his companions as well as his general statement about life that again invokes the biblical quotation at the beginning of the review.
I think I got the geist of this story quicker than I should have because I had read Joyce Carol Oates' "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" which had some interesting similarities to this one in the case of the protagonist vs. the antagonist and especially similar are Arnold Friend and The Misfit, the two could have been the same person from one point of view or have similar world views (they definitely share the same profession/inspiration). I recommend reading this story with that one and see how they match up.
I read this story from Literature and the Writing Process, same with the Joyce Carol Oates story.
"The dragon is by the side of the road, watching those who pass. Beware lest he devour you. We go to the Father of Souls, but it is necessary to pass by the dragon." - St. Cyril of Jerusalem (Quote at the beginning of the story)
This one required 2 quotes; my first Flannery O'Connor.
I will probably spoil but I won't tag this whole review; nor will I summarize the story here because she is throwing things in my face which I have to address.
So immediately as the story reached its heavily foreshadowed climax and ending (short stories rarely have the length needed to go down after the climax to reflection/in-story analyzes like a novel/novella) The first quote from above shot into my head and than the "antagonist"-macguffin plot-device quoted some of it. So I was thinking okay and than when the (in)famous last scene is reached I was very bewildered and had to read a good part of it over again and I was than able to catch some of what was happening.
The title itself is something like a subverted misnomer. A "good man" or "the good man" could be said to be hard to find but it is a subjective declaration here. The protagonist's view of a good man was based on her own (finally realized) flawed logic on what constituted "good".
Salvation by grace is the big theme here in my opinion. The antagonist (called The Misfit) IN.M.O. only serves as a means to an end for the protagonist to finally discern true grace and not the false one that society had taught her to have. O'Connor makes the family realistic enough that we don't hate them but don't become to attached. As the protagonist tries to manipulate and dominate, not in a mean sort of way, but in an old-lady sort of way, we see as her actions lead to the story climax and see that she is still trying to manipulate and pose her ideal on the antagonist with him almost eerily savvy to everything she is saying. But the resolution does not occur until she herself finally realizes the error of her logic and realizes what true divine grace is. The Misfit of course realizes this almost before she does and comments on the irony of this to his companions as well as his general statement about life that again invokes the biblical quotation at the beginning of the review.
I think I got the geist of this story quicker than I should have because I had read Joyce Carol Oates' "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" which had some interesting similarities to this one in the case of the protagonist vs. the antagonist and especially similar are Arnold Friend and The Misfit, the two could have been the same person from one point of view or have similar world views (they definitely share the same profession/inspiration). I recommend reading this story with that one and see how they match up.
I read this story from Literature and the Writing Process, same with the Joyce Carol Oates story.
July 1, 2024
This is America in the fifties. How was it all? An article says: During the 1950s, a sense of uniformity pervaded American society. Conformity was common, as young and old alike followed group norms rather than striking out on their own. Though men and women had been forced into new employment patterns during World War II, once the war was over, traditional roles were reaffirmed. Men expected to be the breadwinners; women, even when they worked, assumed their proper place was at home. Sociologist David Riesman observed the importance of peer-group expectations in his influential book, The Lonely Crowd. He called this new society "other-directed," and maintained that such societies lead to stability as well as conformity. Television contributed to the homogenizing trend by providing young and old with a shared experience reflecting accepted social patterns. That a minor piece of fiction can have so many layers of meaning and symbolism, is brought to the fore when one reads this story. In many ways, the Grandmother represents old America – its bigotry and prejudice and shallow meanness all come together in her portrayal. Misfit presents the forces of change, so very lush in the America of the fifties.
October 31, 2022
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor
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Short story published in the1950s. Set in the south about a family on a roadtrip which turns for the worse. This story has a disturbing twist you don't see coming. Dark, cruel American tale.
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3.5
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Short story published in the1950s. Set in the south about a family on a roadtrip which turns for the worse. This story has a disturbing twist you don't see coming. Dark, cruel American tale.
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3.5
March 28, 2023
A 5⭐️ favorite
I used to hate Southern Literature because it reminded me of home. A place where I grew up knowing people just like the grandmother in this story. Too many people going to Church on Sundays and making sure not to mow their yards or do any work on the Lord’s Day, but only outside where anyone could see them. Smilin’ and being friendly to someone’s face and then talking about what one of their kinfolk did last week, as if someone’s sins covered the whole family. And heaven help us all if somebody walked in Wal-Mart without their make-up on. Needless to say, it was too hard for me to be a “good” person in the South. (I was raised in a small town where everybody knows everybody and everything.)
What is a “good” person? The grandmother mentions several things in this story that she believes are good:
1. Wearing a nice dress and white gloves and a hat will make anyone who sees the grandmother dead aware immediately that she is a lady. This reminds me of when I informed my mother that I did not want to be a lady; I am glad I fought hard against those panty hose if it means you have to wait until you are dead for them to do you any good. Though what good, I am not sure.
2. Oh look at the cute little pickaninny. The grandmother shares many racist comments on a road trip with her family. This is one of the hardest things to swallow, right? Hearing this from the same people who claim to be Christians, or to be “good” people. This affects everybody in the community. Though try being a third-grader and saying this and you will not be saying anything else for the rest of the day. Maybe longer.
3. The grandmother lies about a secret panel in a plantation house in order to get her son to make a small detour on their road trip. Tsk. Tsk. Ok. I am guilty of a lie of omission every now and then. Didn’t the government teach us this was ok with, “ Don’t ask, Don’t tell .”??
4. The grandmother shows us her love of money when she tells the story of E.A.T. (More ugly racism also. ) I’m sure I spend my money on what a lot of you do. Unless some young lady says “shoes”, then no, I do not like to spend my money on shoes.
5. I know you’re a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have common blood.
Is this because he has strong white teeth? He’s been in the pen and did not have many choices of things to do…brushing my teeth sounds productive, not classy.
One can also do a character profile of the misfit, but this is about the grandmother and her ilk. Those who say one thing and act another. In the end of her story, I’d like to believe (based on actions and statements in story) that she realizes she is not better that anyone else. We are all God’s children. We all sin, love, and DIE. She realizes how she looks is not the most important matter after all. Screw the hat.
I’m glad that enough years have passed that I can read these Southern stories and be thankful for the Southerner in me. Now I only wear make-up when I want to (likewise so does my 30 year- old daughter who has never known the pressure to do otherwise :-)
I used to hate Southern Literature because it reminded me of home. A place where I grew up knowing people just like the grandmother in this story. Too many people going to Church on Sundays and making sure not to mow their yards or do any work on the Lord’s Day, but only outside where anyone could see them. Smilin’ and being friendly to someone’s face and then talking about what one of their kinfolk did last week, as if someone’s sins covered the whole family. And heaven help us all if somebody walked in Wal-Mart without their make-up on. Needless to say, it was too hard for me to be a “good” person in the South. (I was raised in a small town where everybody knows everybody and everything.)
What is a “good” person? The grandmother mentions several things in this story that she believes are good:
1. Wearing a nice dress and white gloves and a hat will make anyone who sees the grandmother dead aware immediately that she is a lady. This reminds me of when I informed my mother that I did not want to be a lady; I am glad I fought hard against those panty hose if it means you have to wait until you are dead for them to do you any good. Though what good, I am not sure.
2. Oh look at the cute little pickaninny. The grandmother shares many racist comments on a road trip with her family. This is one of the hardest things to swallow, right? Hearing this from the same people who claim to be Christians, or to be “good” people. This affects everybody in the community. Though try being a third-grader and saying this and you will not be saying anything else for the rest of the day. Maybe longer.
3. The grandmother lies about a secret panel in a plantation house in order to get her son to make a small detour on their road trip. Tsk. Tsk. Ok. I am guilty of a lie of omission every now and then. Didn’t the government teach us this was ok with, “ Don’t ask, Don’t tell .”??
4. The grandmother shows us her love of money when she tells the story of E.A.T. (More ugly racism also. ) I’m sure I spend my money on what a lot of you do. Unless some young lady says “shoes”, then no, I do not like to spend my money on shoes.
5. I know you’re a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have common blood.
Is this because he has strong white teeth? He’s been in the pen and did not have many choices of things to do…brushing my teeth sounds productive, not classy.
One can also do a character profile of the misfit, but this is about the grandmother and her ilk. Those who say one thing and act another. In the end of her story, I’d like to believe (based on actions and statements in story) that she realizes she is not better that anyone else. We are all God’s children. We all sin, love, and DIE. She realizes how she looks is not the most important matter after all. Screw the hat.
I’m glad that enough years have passed that I can read these Southern stories and be thankful for the Southerner in me. Now I only wear make-up when I want to (likewise so does my 30 year- old daughter who has never known the pressure to do otherwise :-)
September 8, 2025
Jesus, Lady!
Mr. Bailey, his wife and children John Wesley and June Star, along with their grandma, decide to take a vacation family car-trip to Florida, making as few stops as possible. Yet sadly, during their way, their car suffers a freak accident and ends up in a ditch, busted up. Fortunately, they all survive.
Not to be judgemental or anything, because I think this sort of thing can happen anywhere (just highly less frequently), but I've seen enough documentaries, movies and news to feel this is one of the most North-American short stories I've EVER read in my life.
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PERSONAL NOTE :
[1949] [18p] [Fiction] [3.5] [Recommendable]
-----------------------------------------------
★★☆☆☆ A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories [2.5] <--
-----------------------------------------------
¡Jesús, Señora!
El Sr. Bailey, su esposa e hijos John Wesley y June Star, junto con su abuela, deciden hacer un viaje familiar de vacaciones en automóvil a Florida, haciendo la menor cantidad de paradas posible. Sin embargo, lamentablemente, durante el camino, su coche sufre un extraño accidente y acaba en una zanja, destrozado. Afortunadamente todos sobreviven.
No quiero juzgar ni nada por el estilo, porque creo que este tipo de cosas pueden suceder en cualquier lugar (solo que con mucha menos frecuencia), pero he visto suficientes documentales, películas y noticias para sentir que esta es una de las historias cortas más norteamericanas que he leído mi vida jamás.
-----------------------------------------------
NOTA PERSONAL :
[1949] [18p] [Ficción] [3.5] [Recomendable]
-----------------------------------------------
Mr. Bailey, his wife and children John Wesley and June Star, along with their grandma, decide to take a vacation family car-trip to Florida, making as few stops as possible. Yet sadly, during their way, their car suffers a freak accident and ends up in a ditch, busted up. Fortunately, they all survive.
Not to be judgemental or anything, because I think this sort of thing can happen anywhere (just highly less frequently), but I've seen enough documentaries, movies and news to feel this is one of the most North-American short stories I've EVER read in my life.
-----------------------------------------------
PERSONAL NOTE :
[1949] [18p] [Fiction] [3.5] [Recommendable]
-----------------------------------------------
★★☆☆☆ A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories [2.5] <--
-----------------------------------------------
¡Jesús, Señora!
El Sr. Bailey, su esposa e hijos John Wesley y June Star, junto con su abuela, deciden hacer un viaje familiar de vacaciones en automóvil a Florida, haciendo la menor cantidad de paradas posible. Sin embargo, lamentablemente, durante el camino, su coche sufre un extraño accidente y acaba en una zanja, destrozado. Afortunadamente todos sobreviven.
No quiero juzgar ni nada por el estilo, porque creo que este tipo de cosas pueden suceder en cualquier lugar (solo que con mucha menos frecuencia), pero he visto suficientes documentales, películas y noticias para sentir que esta es una de las historias cortas más norteamericanas que he leído mi vida jamás.
-----------------------------------------------
NOTA PERSONAL :
[1949] [18p] [Ficción] [3.5] [Recomendable]
-----------------------------------------------
March 28, 2023
My low rating is based on my enjoyment of the material, and my reluctance to give it only one star.
The story starts out with a promising voice, a folksy grandmother wanting to go to east Tennessee instead of Florida. She is worried about events in the news in Florida (a timeless detail) but is outvoted by the family. Notably, the children's mother (the grandmother's daughter-in-law) is always referred to as the children's mother, as if she does not have a name. That device is a tidy bit of foreshadowing.
The folksy grandmother turns out to be a nasty piece of work, and the plot depends on a remarkable coincidence. It is largely the grandmother's baked-in nastiness, the coincidence, and the ending which has earned this low rating.
The story starts out with a promising voice, a folksy grandmother wanting to go to east Tennessee instead of Florida. She is worried about events in the news in Florida (a timeless detail) but is outvoted by the family. Notably, the children's mother (the grandmother's daughter-in-law) is always referred to as the children's mother, as if she does not have a name. That device is a tidy bit of foreshadowing.
The folksy grandmother turns out to be a nasty piece of work, and the plot depends on a remarkable coincidence. It is largely the grandmother's baked-in nastiness, the coincidence, and the ending which has earned this low rating.
March 28, 2016
One need not have read every short story out there to ascertain that Flannery O’Connor’s ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ is the best of all of them, in any language, and will probably remain that way until the world dries up and human beings dissolve in the dirt.
The story is unmatched in its pacing, economy of language, large cast of fully-drawn characters and suffocating dread that hangs over it like the oppressive Georgian sun. Ten times reading this story has in no way diminished the pleasure I get from reading it. Every time in its final pages I am gripping the book tightly, utterly transported to that ditch on the side of the road which might as well be a cut in the earth leading straight into hell.
Reading it for the first time, the story’s end seems surprising, almost out of place. It’s in stark contrast to the rest of the story, as if O’Connor didn’t know where she was going when she started. The first line is utterly matter of fact.
‘The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.’
It continues in this vein, commonplace though not without a tinge of strangeness, like the early-middle section of a Coen brothers’ movie. A Grandmother, her son and his wife, their two children and a cat named Pitty Sing are on a road trip to Florida. Along the way they stop at a restaurant for some ‘Co’ Cola’s’. The grandmother finds in the restaurant’s owner a kindred spirit, someone who shares her disdain for the way things are today.
‘A good man is hard to find … Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more.’
Convinced they are about to drive past a plantation she visited as a little girl, the grandmother wants to stop and look at it. She knows her son won’t want to stop and so tells a little white lie that entices the grandkids into a tantrum of demands.
‘There was a secret panel in this house … and the story went that all the family silver was hidden in it when Sherman came through but it was never found…’
Taking the detour, they have an accident. Disturbed by the grandmother, Pitty Sing leaps up onto the driver’s shoulder and the car rolls over once and lands in a ditch, right side up. It’d be a crime to spoil the most perfectly executed climax in literary history, but a line from the grandmother on the very first page tips the reader off, even if they don’t know it.
‘Now look here, Bailey … see here, read this … Here this fellow that calls himself the Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn’t take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn’t answer to my conscience if I did.’
O’Connor’s fiction, especially this story, can appear nihilistic and needlessly violent, but the Savannah Georgian did not take her readers to be fools fed literary slop. All throughout her stories, O’Connor dropped hints like breadcrumbs leading to the denouements in her stories. Characters’ motivations, mundane actions and set systems of beliefs would lead them down a path which they followed blindly. The tension between the old man and Mary Fortune in ‘A View of the Woods’—his belligerence vs her stubbornness—hurtles the two characters towards a showdown with no winners; ‘Good Country People’ plays a questionably upstanding bible salesman against an atheist PhD with a wooden leg who isn’t as sure-footed as she thinks she is. O’Connor wrote her stories like a gifted child at play with a destructive streak: she built up magnificent block towers so that when she knocked them down, the crash would be spectacular.
This ‘crash’, though, was not to punish characters for their pigheadedness or, in the case of the grandmother, her disdainful attitude. A devout catholic, Flannery O’Connor was given to showing her characters a moment of grace before God, at which point they could be redeemed. O’Connor had such a clear vision of what she wanted for her fiction that, despite its ultimate meaning, the pleasure is in the details, in how she constructs plot and character, and how she delivers payoff.
‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ is an example of what every author of short stories ought to aspire to. There’s simply none like it.
The story is unmatched in its pacing, economy of language, large cast of fully-drawn characters and suffocating dread that hangs over it like the oppressive Georgian sun. Ten times reading this story has in no way diminished the pleasure I get from reading it. Every time in its final pages I am gripping the book tightly, utterly transported to that ditch on the side of the road which might as well be a cut in the earth leading straight into hell.
Reading it for the first time, the story’s end seems surprising, almost out of place. It’s in stark contrast to the rest of the story, as if O’Connor didn’t know where she was going when she started. The first line is utterly matter of fact.
‘The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.’
It continues in this vein, commonplace though not without a tinge of strangeness, like the early-middle section of a Coen brothers’ movie. A Grandmother, her son and his wife, their two children and a cat named Pitty Sing are on a road trip to Florida. Along the way they stop at a restaurant for some ‘Co’ Cola’s’. The grandmother finds in the restaurant’s owner a kindred spirit, someone who shares her disdain for the way things are today.
‘A good man is hard to find … Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more.’
Convinced they are about to drive past a plantation she visited as a little girl, the grandmother wants to stop and look at it. She knows her son won’t want to stop and so tells a little white lie that entices the grandkids into a tantrum of demands.
‘There was a secret panel in this house … and the story went that all the family silver was hidden in it when Sherman came through but it was never found…’
Taking the detour, they have an accident. Disturbed by the grandmother, Pitty Sing leaps up onto the driver’s shoulder and the car rolls over once and lands in a ditch, right side up. It’d be a crime to spoil the most perfectly executed climax in literary history, but a line from the grandmother on the very first page tips the reader off, even if they don’t know it.
‘Now look here, Bailey … see here, read this … Here this fellow that calls himself the Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn’t take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn’t answer to my conscience if I did.’
O’Connor’s fiction, especially this story, can appear nihilistic and needlessly violent, but the Savannah Georgian did not take her readers to be fools fed literary slop. All throughout her stories, O’Connor dropped hints like breadcrumbs leading to the denouements in her stories. Characters’ motivations, mundane actions and set systems of beliefs would lead them down a path which they followed blindly. The tension between the old man and Mary Fortune in ‘A View of the Woods’—his belligerence vs her stubbornness—hurtles the two characters towards a showdown with no winners; ‘Good Country People’ plays a questionably upstanding bible salesman against an atheist PhD with a wooden leg who isn’t as sure-footed as she thinks she is. O’Connor wrote her stories like a gifted child at play with a destructive streak: she built up magnificent block towers so that when she knocked them down, the crash would be spectacular.
This ‘crash’, though, was not to punish characters for their pigheadedness or, in the case of the grandmother, her disdainful attitude. A devout catholic, Flannery O’Connor was given to showing her characters a moment of grace before God, at which point they could be redeemed. O’Connor had such a clear vision of what she wanted for her fiction that, despite its ultimate meaning, the pleasure is in the details, in how she constructs plot and character, and how she delivers payoff.
‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ is an example of what every author of short stories ought to aspire to. There’s simply none like it.
July 30, 2021
Flannery O’Connor certainly demonstrates her dismal and depressing view of humanity in her short story A Good Man is Hard to Find. After reading her novel The Violent Bear it Away last year, I knew what to expect with her dark, gothic tone and religious themes. The characters in this story represent a southern family heading out on vacation arguing and bickering. NONE of these people have any redeeming qualities. O’Connor, I believe, meant to have a self-righteous grandmother, a passive father figure, a selfless mother and two undisciplined and rude children. While their interactions on the way to Florida might seem natural and normal, almost playful at times, the ominous scene has already been set that a killer is on the loose and may be near.
I admit that O’Connor is gifted at her craft, but she definitely chose to write about some very bleak topics. She leaves you with a shocking ending if you aren’t familiar with her style. Her style is one that can be difficult for some readers to take while others can’t get enough. I merit her for her writing ability but wonder about her choice of subject matter.
I admit that O’Connor is gifted at her craft, but she definitely chose to write about some very bleak topics. She leaves you with a shocking ending if you aren’t familiar with her style. Her style is one that can be difficult for some readers to take while others can’t get enough. I merit her for her writing ability but wonder about her choice of subject matter.
February 13, 2016
Along with the darkly humorous title story, this edition includes many critical essays that offer detailed analysis and possible meanings. For me, the best was an excerpt from Flannery O’Connor’s Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose (which I now have to read), where she gives her own explanation and tells what she thinks makes a good story generally.
You just have to laugh at these mockable characters. “We’ve had an ACCIDENT.” But in the end, I found the grandmother to be a compelling if unlikely hero. At first she seems the villain, yet as an outsider in this detestable family, we maybe start to feel for her. If we look hard, we see we are a little bit like her: we want our own way, we have our prejudices and obsess about our past. Sometimes we make mistakes—big ones. If we’re lucky, we don’t have to go this far to experience our redemption.
You just have to laugh at these mockable characters. “We’ve had an ACCIDENT.” But in the end, I found the grandmother to be a compelling if unlikely hero. At first she seems the villain, yet as an outsider in this detestable family, we maybe start to feel for her. If we look hard, we see we are a little bit like her: we want our own way, we have our prejudices and obsess about our past. Sometimes we make mistakes—big ones. If we’re lucky, we don’t have to go this far to experience our redemption.
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