Welcome to a site dedicated to the greatest southern writer ever to have lived. Sure Faulkner was good. But Flannery O'Connor had the talent of capturing southerners and the core of their religious beliefs in a way that has never been emulated. Included on my page will be reviews of her short stories, theme paper topics, an account of my trip to Milledgeville, and every book written by or about Flannery O'Connor available to order. If you have any comments, feel free to email me. Please don't email asking for help on paper assignments. If you're writing me for help on your thesis, you're going into the wrong profession.
Everything that Rises Must Converge
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Everything That Rises Must Converge is a title O'Connor borrowed from the French paleantologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. After reviewing his book The Phenomenon of Man, O'Connor was especially fascinated with his scientific explanation of the Omega Point-a continual ascent towards a greater consciousness with oneself and the world that eventually ends in Christ. O'Connor never understood the whole of his argument but nonetheless found it "very stimulating to the imagination" (Whitt 111).
The story centers around Julian and his mother's weekly trip to the downtown YMCA. Julian braces himself for the outing and in a bit of comic imagery is compared to Saint Sebastian, "waiting for the arrows to begin piercing him" (O'Connor 405). Their relationship is mired with constant conflict because Julian is far too self-absorbed to appreciate the many sacrifices his mother has made for him. In his mind she is a "little girl" ignorant of the changing times. He comes to view himself as her savior who must teach her a thing or two about her outmoded viewpoints. And although Julian's criticisms of his mother do have merit, she is not the oblivious southern racist he makes her out to be. And either is he the free-thinking poet he struggles so hard to make his mother believe he is. In reality, Julian's mother has sacrificed a great deal for her son's well-being. She's allowed her own teeth to rot to afford him braces, has worked hard so that he might attend college, and makes excuses for his unemployment. Although she talks only through a string of cliches, Julian's mother is all too eager to please her son and obviously lives through him. This makes Julian's harsh view of his mother even more irritating to the reader.
The theme of Old South vs. New South fuels the conflict between Julian and his mother. Ms. Chestny has been raised all her life too behave in the gentile southern manner. She was once the grandaughter of the governor so position and wealth rank high in importance. She dismisses the plight of blacks with the stereotypical southern response, "They should rise, yes, but on the own side of their fence" (O'Connor 408). This attitude most likely resulted from being taught to talk this way all her life. And although she makes thoughtless remarks, her genuine affection for her childhood nurse Caroline shows that she has no real malice towards the black race. On the other hand Julian daydreams about making black friends and even bringing home a black lover. This dream is impossible though, mainly because of his refusal to deal with the outside world and "the general idiocy of his fellows." Julian lives "in the inner compartment of his mind...safe from any kind of penetration from without" (O'Connor 411). His view of the world is too cynical and ironically every attempt he makes with blacks has failed. Julian only concedes to talk to "some of the better types" and the men he deems "distinguished-looking." And he is annoyed when the black woman sits next to him on the bus. Thus Julian judges just like his mother.
Another point of disagreement is culture and outward appearances. Julian asserts that, "true culture is in the mind,"(O'Connor 410) while his mother argues culture is in the heart. Ironically it is what Julian argues for that his mother could use improvement on and vice versa. Julian's clinical view of his mother reveals his total absence of heart. Ms. Chestney lives in the past refusing to come to terms with the here and now opening her mind in the process. And while they both battle it out, they remain oblivious to what they could learn from each other.
Ms. Chestney truly meets her match when the black woman who boards the bus with her son refuses her charity. Julian becomes overjoyed when he notices that the woman's hat is identical to his mothers. Thus Ms. Chestney's fears materialize-she truly meets herself coming and going. When her attempts at inane conversation with the woman fail, Julian becomes furious that his mother is too ignorant to understand she is being condescending. So he shows no sympathy when his mother lies on the concrete dumbfounded by the woman's blow. He seizes his chance to teach his mother a lesson and begins lecturing her. But his mother is looking for a deeper message than what is offered in Julian's sermon on race relations. She wants to return to the sweet smelling mansion of her childhood that she views as a safe haven where she will be welcomed. Her son has nothing to offer her except reminders that the world is changing-which she'd just as soon forget. As a result, Ms. Chestny regresses to childhood calling out for Caroline and her grandpa to come get her (O'Connor 420). And when she finally dies in his arms, the love he has been unable to express comes out when he cries, "Darling, sweetheart, wait." For while his mother spent the last moments of her life reverting back to childhood, Julian has been thrust into adulthood. He is now left to fend for himself in a cold world he is no more prepared to handle than a job in writing. O'Connor leaves the reader to guess whether or not Julian can make it without the one person who has stood by his side all his life.
A Good Man Is Hard to Find
Click here for my brother Eric's interpretation of the story. This story was the first I read by O'Connor and probably my favorite to date. Every time I read it I catch myself laughing out loud at the grandmother who exemplifies southern women to a tee.
The story begins with the typical nuclear family being challenged by the grandmother who doesn't want to take the vacation to Florida. She has read about a crazed killer by the name of the misfit who is on the run heading for Florida. Unfortunately, she is ignored by ever member of the family except for the little girl June Star who can read the grandmother like a book. The morning of the trip the grandmother is ironically dressed in her Sunday best and the first one in the car ready to travel as June Star predicted she would be. Notice the grandmother's dress is very nice for a trip she was horrified to take only a day earlier. This is the first of O'Connor's attempts to knock the superficialness of southern culture. The grandmother was decked in white gloves and a navy blue dress with matching hat for the sole purpose of being recognized as a lady in case someone saw her dead on the highway. This logic may seem absurd to anyone who is foreign to southern culture, but I can assure you there are plenty of women who still subscribe to this way of thinking. The reader is now clued into the grandmother's shallow thoughts of death. In the grandmother's mind, her clothing preparations prevent any misgivings about her status as a lady. But as the Misfit later points out,"there never was a body that gave the undertaker a tip." The grandmother's perceived readiness for death is a stark contrast to her behavior when she encounters the Misfit; for she shows herself to be the least prepared for death.
As the trip progresses, the children reveal themselves as brats, although funny ones, mainly out of O'Connor's desire to illustrate the lost respect for the family, and elders.The reader should notice when the family passes by a cotton field, five or six graves are revealed, perhaps foreshadowing what is later to come. Some interesting dialogue takes place when John Wesley asks, "Where's the plantation", and the grandmother replies, "Gone With the Wind." This is perhaps another statement by O'Connor at the breakdown of the family and the subsequent absence of respect and reverance for the family unit illustrated by the two children. Around this time, June Star and her brother begin slapping each other and the grandmother keeps the peace by telling them a story of a black child mistakenly eating her watermellon with initials from a suitor carved in it reading E.A.T. Now here is where I think some of the reviewers are mistaken on the grandmother's character. They claim her story was racially motivated as well as her comment made about the "pickaninny" on the side of the road. I have read reviews saying that the grandmother is a racist; but I think it is important to make the distinction between a racist and a good-hearted ignorant white woman. In order for her comment to be racist, there must be some intent to denegrate blacks present-which there isn't. When O'Connor interpreted this story, she told of a teacher she ran into who determined that the grandmother was evil, but that his southern students resisted his interpretation. The teacher didn't understand why and O'Connor explained to him that the students resisted because, "they all had grandmothers or great-aunts just like her at home, and they knew, from personal experience, that the old lady lacked comprehension, but that she had a good heart...the Southerner is usually tolerant of those weaknesses that proceed from ignorance."
The family 's encounter with Red Sammy Butts serves as another outlet for O'Connor to express how trust and respect have begun to wear away. The reader should note the name of the town "Toombsboro" which the family passes through. It is then the grandmother makes the mistake of telling the children about a house with secret panels that is nearby. The children scream until Bailey concedes to visit the house. But the newspaper concealing the cat moves causing Pitty Sing to lurch on Bailey's shoulder resulting in the car being overturned. Just as everyone is getting there bearings, a car slowly approaches revealing three men. When the men get out of there car, the grandmother recognizes the Misfit at once. Immediately he reveals himself to be polite and sociable and even apologizes to the grandmother for Bailey's rudeness to her. But he also doesn't waste any time as he asks one of his cronies to escort Bailey and John Wesley off into the woods to meet their fate.
Now here is where the fun part begins. The grandmother and the Misfit engage in a conversation which is supposed to convey a message which I believe no one person besides O'Connor will ever fully understand. I will give it my best though. At this point in the story, the reader should analyze what he knows of the grandmother's character thus far. She will prove to be no match for the Misfit's quick wits. After the grandmother tries to appeal to the Misfit by stating that he isn't a bit common, he goes into a story about his family and how he was the type of child to question everything. At every plead by the grandmother, he talks about different periods of his criminal life. Nothing she has said up until this point has affected him. The Misfit's terse responses to the grandmother's prayer advice reveal that these two individuals are on two very different levels with concern to religion. The Misfit has a much deeper understanding of religion and his belief system than does the grandmother. O'Connor likens him to a prophet gone wrong. I prefer to liken him to the character of Kurtz in Conrad's "Heart of Darkness." Both of the men have the potential for greatness but as the result of seeing mankind at their worse, they have become jaded to individual suffering. As the two continue in conversation, the Misfit asks the grandmother if it seems right that Jesus was punished and he has escaped punishment. The grandmother responds in the only way she knows how to by clinging to her superficial beliefs about "good blood" and behaving as a gentleman would. She has a limited understanding of religion and cannot even begin to connect with the Misfit who by now has gone off on a tirade about how Jesus' raising of the dead threw the world off balance. But then the grandmother observes the Misfit as he were about to cry. She reaches out to him and remarks, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children." The Misfit, who is obviously affected, rears back and shoots her three times. I think O'Connor explains it the best when she writes,"The Grandmother is at last alone, facing the Misfit. Her head clears for an instant and she realizes, even in her limited way, that she is responsible for the man before her and joined to him by ties of kinship which have her roots deep in the mystery she has been merely prattling about so far. And at this point, she does the right thing, makes the right gesture..."
Over the past year many people have sent me their take on the Grandmother and Misfit. Here are two of what I consider to be the best.
Ruben de Tal writes: I thought the conversation at the end had at its core the primary discussion of animal vs. metaphysical human nature. In other words, when the Misfit says of Jesus, "I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't..." and "It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known...if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now..." he is in effect expressing the basic plight of human awareness: while we are conscious and aware of ourselves, we are also basically animals with violent and primal drives at our cores, so part of that awareness demands so rise above the animal. However we derive this, it must give us some sense of value beyond the physical constraints of our bodies and world; otherwise, as the Misfit puts it, "'...it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can--by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some othermeanness to him. No pleasure but meanness,' he said and his voice had become almost a snarl."
However, the problem is that since no one has definite physical evidence of anything beyond what we see around us (note the Misfit's observations: "'Ain't a cloud in the sky,' he remarked, looking up at it. 'Don't see no sun but don't see no cloud neither...'" and, "'Turn to the right, it was a wall,' The Misfit said, looking up again at the cloudless sky. 'Turn to the left, it was a wall. Look up it was a ceiling, look down it was a floor...'"), any belief in our metaphysical value as human beings--in the value of human life--must therefore be just that: a belief, and nothing more. Even the grandmother feels it: "Alone with The Misfit, the grandmother found that she had lost her voice. There was not a cloud in the sky nor any sun. There was nothing around her but woods. She wanted to tell him that he must pray. She opened and closed her mouth several times before anything came out. Finally she found herself saying, 'Jesus, Jesus,' meaning, Jesus will help you, but the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing."
It is a leap of faith we must take, however we want to word it, whatever religious or spiritual (or anti-religious, anti-spiritual) ideology we wish to use. And ultimately, what the Misfit sees (and eventually the grandmother as well) is that when we live in a world where the religious and spiritual dogma of yesterday are no match for the scientific, coldly observation-based and amoral context of the modern world, and when there are no other adequate answers to this question of how to place higher metaphysical value on human life, we are left with nothing but what we can see around us, and we have no means with which to answer the animal violence of someone like the Misfit. His frustration in not being there to see whether or not Jesus really did personify the metaphysical is the deep frustration and sense of loss that the modern world feels in not having Proof, in not having something adequate with which to approach these questions in the face of cold science and observation, and in being asked to perform the quaint, somewhat silly act of simply putting faith in something we cannot see with our own eyes. When the grandmother faces him for the last time and makes one final attempt to answer him, the futility of this is demonstrated starkly, coldly, and with all the animal violence and despair and nihilism inevitable in such a world: "'I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't,' The Misfit said. 'I wisht I had of been there,' he said, hitting the ground with his fist. 'It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen lady,' he said in a high voice, 'if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now.' His voice seemed about to crack and the grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured, 'Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!' She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest."
In the end, O'Connor is putting to us the same disturbing question the Misfit puts to the grandmother: how do we answer this nihilism in a way that makes sense within the context of the modern world? Judging by the state of affairs, I'd say we still have not come up with anything much better than the grandmother's pitiful response, and our society and world have the shotgun wounds to prove it.
As an agnostic (that's about as much as I'll commit to any sense of "religious" belief) I have struggled with this same question myself and have only come up with the idea that there are expedients--some more worthwhile and valuable than others (art, love, human interaction)--but that ultimately, there is no answer to O'Connor's question other than to persist in asking it. I think it comes down to the sense that as long as we keep asking the question, we maintain our value as humans because we not only exercise our uniquely human ability to question, but we also keep some kind of hope alive by simply implying that there is a question to ask and an answer to seek. When the Misfit describes himself in the following, "'My daddy said I was a different breed of dog from my brothers and sisters. "You know," Daddy said, "it's some that can live their whole life out without asking about it and it's others has to know why it is, and this boy is one of the latters. He's going to be into everything!"'"
He is making clear that there was a time when he WAS good--when he still did care enough to ask the questions that matter, that make us human. But somewhere along the way, something happened, and he lost that and became what he is today--not necessarily a good man, not necessarily a bad man--just an amoral man, and that is the worst kind of man of all, because that is not so much a man as an animal, with no sense of value for human life and no possibility for redemption. The scariest part of it all, of course, is that The Misfit is not a misfit at all--he is our world, he is a reflection of ourselves--our own amorality, our own loss of humanity, our own spiritual emptiness.
Nancy Barendse writes: The conversation between the grandmother and the Misfit gets the grandmother to the point where she can see and accept the action of grace in her own life and extend it to another. The Misfit gets her to the place where she *can* be a good woman (as opposed to a lady), making him in a sense a good man. I think a more obvious foreshadowing of the family's future than the graveyard is the description of the grandmother's attire. She dresses so that anyone finding her dead on the side of the road would know she is a lady.
The Life You Save May Be Your Own
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If you're anything like me, The Life You Save... will leave you with an unsettling feeling, but is nonetheless a good read.
The story opens with Mrs. Crater and her retarded daughter Lucynell being paid a visit by the one and only Mr. Shiftlett. At first sight of Shiftlett, the old woman sizes him up as a "tramp and no one to be afraid of." But from the onset, everything about Mr. Shiftlett screams nastiness. Even his name conjours up the word "shifty," suggesting an evasive, deceptive personality. (The reader should note the names in the story are packed with symbolism. The name "Crater" shared by Lucynell and her mother suggests a giant hole. And in the case of the old woman, we shall see a gaping moral hole in her personality as she later pawns her daughter off on Shiftlett.) Shiftlett is a skinny, gaunt, one-armed man whose figure "listed slightly to the side as if the breeze listed him." Shiftlett, like Mrs. Crater, is also a character of moral weightlessness.
Notice everyone in this story has some physical or mental abnormality: Shiftlett with his arm, Lucynell with her mental limitations, and Mrs. Crater with her moral bankruptcy.
O'Connor goes on to describe Shiftlett with almost animal-like features: "He had long black slick hair that hung flat...his face descended in forehead more than half its length...and ended over a jutting steeltrap jaw." And although Shiftlett appears as little more than a well-scrubbed rube, O’Connor goes on to say, “He had a look of composed dissatisfaction as if he understood life thoroughly.” Indeed, Shiftlett is an extremely jaded man who has been around the block a few times and knows how to get along in the world despite his physical deformity.
When Mrs. Crater greets Shiftlett, he throws his arms up against the sun and forms a “crooked cross.” He later reveals his occupation to be a carpenter. O’Connor is likening Shiftlett to a backwards Christ figure. Notice also that Shiftlett talks in cliché about the evils of the world and evades Mrs. Crater’s questions by answering in non-sequiters.
Only a few minutes after Shiftlett arrives, he is scoping out the place. With his “pale sharp glance” he notices the car, which might as well have been a pot of gold the way he is mesmerized with it. And just as Shiftlett is eyeing the car, Mrs. Crater has been sizing him up from the start as a potential son-in-law. Shiftlett knows this, however, and plays it as his trump card for the rest of the story. So throughout the story, Mrs. Crater and Shiftlett subtlety negotiate with each other to achieve their ultimate desires: Shiftlett’s car and a husband for Lucynell.
Shiftlett hangs around the place serving as a sort of Bob Villa, fixing things up and sleeping in the car at night. Interestingly, Shiftlett teaches Lucynell to say the word “bird.” As a drifter, more than anything Shiftlett values his freedom, much like a bird has to go anywhere it pleases. As we’ll see, Shiftlett’s conscience would probably way to heavy on him if he couldn’t just pick up and leave whenever he pleases. Mrs. Crater witnesses this and suggests he teach Lucynell how to say the word “sugarpie”-hint hint.
So as the story progresses, Shiftlett uses Mrs. Crater’s desire for a son-in-law to get money to fix up the car. And when Mrs. Crater finally comes out and voices her desires for a marriage, Shiftlett becomes uneasy and jacks up his demands by using the excuse that he doesn’t have enough money to “take her to a hotel and treat her.” Finally, Mrs. Crater gets fed up with Shiftlett’s resistance and says, “There ain’t any place in the world for a poor disabled friendless drifting man.” With those words, Mrs. Crater has said the worst thing possible to Mr. Shiftlett. He knows he has a disability, but has reasoned he is just as good as any other man.
Mr. Shiftlett ,upon hearing the goodies he’ll get in return for marriage, perks up a bit. His smile, “stretched like a weary snake waking up by a fire.” This man is a snake. All his life he has felt, and probably been treated inadequate. He’s learned to get along and make up for his inadequacies at the expense of others. Mr. Shiftlett is really kidding himself with all of his moralistic sayings and tirades. As Christ practiced what he preached, Shiftlett does just the opposite. And even though he knows he’s spewing out a bunch of garbage, Shiftlett has probably convinced himself that taking advantage of others to get where heÂ’s going requires trickery and deception. And that’s why Mrs. Crater’s words cut so deep into his ego: she calls a spade a spade. Shiftlett knows he’s the scum of the earth, but nonetheless, he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.
After the marriage, Shiftlett “looked morose and bitter as if he had been insulted while someone held him.” And someone has. Shiftlett has been broken of his spirit and his birdlike wanderlust has been halted for the time being. He now has responsibilities tying him down-Shiftlett’s worst nightmare. He tries to make himself feel better by claiming that the ceremony wasnÂ’t a real marriage-”just paper work and blood tests.”
After the deal is done, and Lucynell’s fate is sealed, Mrs. Crater has a tearful goodbye with her daughter, still oblivious to her own fault in Lucynell's victimization. Shiftlett stays in the car disgusted while his new traveling partner is unaware to what’s going on around her.
As Shiftlett and Lucynell drive, his daydreams about his new car are interrupted by thoughts of depression everytime he looks at Lucynell, who is humorously picking the cherries off her hat and throwing them out the window. As the day wears on, Shiftlett stops at a greasy spoon and Lucynell dozes off on the lunch counter. The waiter remarks that Lucynell “looks like an angel of Gawd.” The comment resonates true, for Lucynell is the only innocent person in the story amidst the snakes around her.
Shiftlett is meanwhile on his way-but not without feeling guilt. Whether or not the guilt is over his actions we can only guess. He drives untill he spots a hitchhiker and picks him up. The reader should note that Shiftlett feels right at home with aimless people like himself. It is said that Shiftlett “felt that a man with a car had a responsibility to others and kept his eye out for a hitchhiker.” Ironically, Shiftlett feels no responsibility towards a helpless creature like Lucynell.
Shiftlett begins on another tirade, but only now Mrs. Crater isn’t there to halfway listen to him. The hitchhiker, who hasn’t spoken a word, turns to Shiftlett, tells him to go to hell, and then leaps out of the car into a ditch. Shiftlett is of course stunned at the kid's rudeness and can’t understand how someone could resist his attempts at conversation. Two clouds appear the shapes of turnips descending in front and behind of him. The turnips are tornadoes, and the reader senses that Shiftlett is going to meet his fate as he “raced the galloping shower into Mobile.”