Tortured Artist in the Enduring Chill

In O'Conner's "The Enduring Chill," the main character Asbury has to return home due to an illness which he believes is going to be the death of him. Within "The Enduring Chill," the relationship between Asbury and his mother is developed, however Asbury is very vague to why he continuously goes against his mother's will. Asbury consistently tries to defy his mother every opportunity he gets. Asbury seems to get a rise out of contradicting his mother like when he gets Randall and Morgan to smoke and then he tries to get them to drink the milk for many days in a row. Asbury even hurts himself by drinking unpasterized milk to try to get the "Negros" to defy his mother with him. Asbury even writes a letter for his mother to read as soon as he passes away which he says will be a private way and getting to her rather than him killing himself which would be public. So I am just curious to why Asbury seems to have such disgust for his mother especially when all she does is try to take care of him and please him?

I also thought it was interesting that Asbury is so determined that he is going to die but he does not try to get better he just accepts the fact and refuses doctors and going to the hospital even though it might help. This goes along with the themes in O'Conner and Porter's stories as the disabled or sick person whom becomes completely absorbed in their own pity for themselves. Also the fact that Asbury is an artist is another way that the themes are similar the tortured artist whom just wants to die and does not really produce any creativity and is completely obsessed with their own self pity. I think this goes along with how his mother treat him because she gives him pity maybe to much too and he pretends to despise this but he feeds off of his mother's attitude toward him.

Holiday

As with any piece of literature, I try and find someone to sympathize with; someone whose side I can stand on and be able to understand more than any other character. It took me a while to find a character in “Holiday” who I could feel a connection with. I eventually began to sympathize with Ottilie. I chose this character because even though she is not the narrator or the focal point of the story I am drawn to her. I feel sorry for her and her situation. She lives with a family who does not appreciate her. Not only does she live with this horrible disfigurement, which cripples her physically but she also lives with the abandonment of her family. Some may argue that her family has not abandoned her because they still let her live with them. But, they abandon her in the sense of alienating her from the rest of the family. They do not acknowledge her presence nor do they acknowledge her contribution to the family; they treat her as if she were a complete stranger. She is a servant and nothing more. I feel for Ottilie because I do not understand how a family can simply discard one of their own; they get rid of her. I find this upsetting.

The Muller family is described as very strong and hard working; they work from dawn until dusk everyday. Even though Ottilie is alienated from this family and portrayed as weak because of her disfigurement I believe she is the strongest member of the Muller family. She deals with a constant neglect from her family. She bears this burden every single day of her life and who knows how many years this has been going on before our narrator arrives. She has put up with this feeling of never being good enough and she never falters. She carries on her daily chores and routine as if nothing were wrong with the current situation. This ability to carry on proves her strength. She may not be out in the fields or working with the animals in the barn but she is still strong.

Holiday

In “Holiday” there is such an earnest pity that comes from the narrator that really we don’t get from the author often, if at all. Ottilie I think may be a character that imitates Porter’s own life. Porter then felt muted, and taken advantage of even in her works, felt misunderstood. Her narrator has such empathy for Ottilie that I can’t help but see the over the tones of sorrow and grief. When the revelation that Ottilie is in fact the eldest daughter, and neither deaf nor dumb you see the inward reflection of Porter’s narrator and the idea of self worth.

I think it is also telling that the ailments Ottilie has are ones that limit expression. I am not sure if Porter then is making a commentary on women being restricted by their families, or if it is more of a broad social message of women oppression. Or perhaps it is even the lack of dignity given to these that fail to assert them selfs properly, and that society then blames them rather than their environment. Either way Ottilie is a completely pitiful, sad and helpless character and maybe ven a little bit of an emotional "low blow" for Porter.

disappointing

 

I had a difficult time getting through this text. Honesty, this is the first of Katharine Ann Porter’s short stories that I found dry, and boring. So perhaps, for my online blog discussion, I will start with delving into what made this text so unappealing? The lack of character depth triggered my instant detachment. Never do we learn of the narrator’s back-story, interests, or even her name. Why did she feel the need to go on such a holiday? Why did she distrust her friend, Louise, so much? To briefly touch on the subject of Louise, I do not condone Porter for mentioning a character who could potentially have been a sneaky liar but never referring back to her. Louise served no purpose other than providing the narrator with a vacation spot. Why even mention her? The other characters, in the story, furthermore were unrecognizable as people, much less individuals. The narrator received the impression that her host family was “one human being divided into several appearances”  and that she could not tell one member from another, but they acted as one person. I disagree to the extent that I could not even mentally create one person from this family. All I know from them is that are blonde with blue eyes, hardworking, continually hungry, and calloused toward Ottilie. I felt their description of interests—dancing at the Turnverein, reading “Das Kapital” etc.—delved into shallow depth of who they were as people. Dialogue, in my opinion, could have helped readers recognize their humanity instead of categorizing them as a hardworking, dancing, stereotypical German family. To the extent of character analysis, the narrator suffers the most from lack of psychological depth. The one point where I felt we were about to penetrate into the mind of the narrator came when Fraa Mueller died. The narrator began to think about the circumstances around her and “realized for the first time, not death but the terror of dying.” My expectations fell with the truncation of the narrator’s introspection. Perhaps we were supposed to infer from her taking Ottilie away in the carriage that she acted upon this courageously upon this enlightenment, but truly, I felt like her self discovery came too late and was anti-climatic. Furthermore, unlike other Porter stories where the subtext creates a type of understory, the plot truly incorporated almost nothing exciting until the very end. Porter blatantly comments on Ottilie and her treatment as a social commentary and breaks the first rule of great narrative fiction writing: show us, don’t tell us exactly what you want us to know. The  superficial narrator, the stereotypical characters, the dry, uneventful plot, and Porter’s preachy overtones provoked  me to distance myself from “Holiday” and judge it—perhaps to harshly?—as one of Porter’s least developed works. 

Holiday

One of the things that interested me a lot in this story was this passage after the narrator sees Ottilie as a small girl, "Let her sit down quietly in her rickety chair by the stove and fold those arms, and let us find her like that, with her head fallen forward on her knees. She will rest then. I would wait, hoping she might not come again, ever again, through the door I gazed at with wincing eyes, as if I might see something unendurable enter through it" and also, "...for in some way that I could not quite explain to myself, I found great virtue and courage in their steadiness and refusal to feel sorry for anybody, least of all for themselves" (Porter 428). This passage got me thinking about how disabled and handicapped people are treated in the stories we have been reading. We have touched on this in class, but I thought I would post on the topic. In a lot of these stories there is a person who has some sort of a disability, whether it is a sever disformity or a missing leg. These things go along with the grotesque, but I am wondering why these authors choose to include people with physical (and sometimes mental) disabilities so often in their stories.

Another issue brought up by this passage is if people that are handicapped or disabled are better off dead than alive. Though the passage I quoted does not come out and say that that is what the narrator is thinking, I think it alludes to this line of thinking with the way she says, "She will rest then" and "ever again." Especially since her family treats her as a slave and do not care for her or respect her. I do not think that O'Connor and Porter are trying to say that people with disabilities are better of dead rather than alive, but I think it is interesting to consider why they do this in their stories and what effect it has on the reader.

I think these authors include people with disabilites so often in their stories so that we feel sympathy for these people. They give voices to these people that do not usually have voices and let us see their side of the story and how they are treated. I think they also let us come to understand thes people, and with understanding usually comes a sense of what is right. They are not able to step completely into the shoes of a person with disabilities, but by showing us how the people around them react, we start to reflect on how the people in our lives treat others, and also how we react to these people. I think overall they are trying to bring an awareness to something that they feel is important.

Any other ideas on why Porter and O'Connor include people with disabilities so often in their stories?

Style and Silence

The most noticeable stylistic element in Holiday is voice. In this short story,
Porter employs a first person narrative, something we have not yet seen in either Porter of O’Connor’s works.

Furthermore, the voice of the first person narrator is distinctly male. Something about this voice sounds formal and Victorian, reminiscent of the narrator in Wuthering Heights. This voice ultimately serves to put distance between the narrator and his world and the world of the German immigrants. Thus, despite the narrator’s involvement with the family (pulling weeds with Hatsy etc.) he still maintains the viewpoint of an observer.

The distant viewpoint of the narrator helps to maintain the motif of silence that is so prevalent in Holiday. This motif of silence is especially prevalent with the character of Ottilie. Although the audience is compelled to feel sorry for Ottilie, we cannot evoke a sense of ethos because she does nothing to help herself and simply resigns herself to her fate. After one scene where Ottilie takes the narrator and shows him a picture of herself as a child, before she was deformed, she simply pretends as though nothing has happened between them. The author however, cannot see Ottilie in the same way as he did previously and is confused as to what this woman feels and sees and thinks in her own silent world.

Class and Hypocrisy in "Holiday"

One element of "Holiday" that stood out for me was the role of class and Father Mueller's reading of "Das Kapital." At first, the narrator describes the family as salt-of-the-Earth folks, but slowly we begin to see there is more going on. And it seems Father Mueller is not the giving socialist he imagines himself to be.

The hint that all is not as it seems is the big meal on page 415, which continues Porter's theme of gluttony. "The children ravened and gorged and reached their hands into the sugar bowl to sprinkle sugar on everything they ate..."

Earlier in this same section, Porter begins a theme where she contrasts passages of idyllic scenery with suffering servitude: "In the large square room the whole family was gathering at a long table covered with a red checkered cotton cloth, with heaped-up platters of steaming food at either end. A crippled and badly deformed servant girl was setting down pitchers of milk."

Here Porter uses language to show how out-of-place Ottilie appears to be. (Her displacement is addressed more directly on page 417: "The crippled servant girl brought in more food and gathered up plates and went away in her limping run, and she seemed to me the only individual in the house... But the servant, she was whole, and belonged nowhere.")

On Sundays, the entire family goes to a community gathering while Ottilie stays home and prepares the Sunday spread. On page 421: "Her muteness seemed nearly absolute; she had no coherent language of signs. Yet three times a day she spread that enormous table with solid food, freshly baked bread, huge platters of vegetables, immoderate roasts of meat, extravagant tarts, strudels, pies--enough for twenty people."

It is later revealed that Ottilie is a member of the family that, due to her condition, has been designated a servant, one who is better off forgotten.

This makes it all the more ironic that Father Mueller fancies himself a socially conscious Marxist. On page 422 he reads from "Das Kapital," which is ironic as he is the richest man in their area and has bought up all the land to rent to other farmers. In his mind, he sees this is a public service, but then uses this as political leverage to get his son-in-law elected as sheriff.

The narrator addresses the cognitive dissonance between his socialist thoughts and his capitalist actions: "And here was this respectable old farmer who accepted (socialism's) dogma as a religion--that is to say, its legendary precepts were just, right, proper, one must believe in them, of course, but life, everyday living, was another and unrelated thing." (422)

Mueller doesn't even practice his principles in his own home as witnessed in the treatment of Ottilie: "It was not a society or a class that pampered its invalids and the unfit." (427)

It seems that the narrator is the first person to even reach out to her on a human level, which exposes Father Mueller's principles as a sham.

Silence in Holiday

In the Holiday, I was interested in the ways in which silence and speech define and reinforce communal boundaries and the boundaries of the individual. First of all, this is the first time we've read a Porter story in the first-person: a hint at the importance of the ability to speak, and to tell one's narrative, an ability which Ottilie conspicuosly lacks. The narrator is able to reinforce her place in the narrative, and by proxy, her place in the family. She uses the act of narration to maintain the distance of an observer, and specifically celebrates her semi-solitary state, occassioned, tellingly, by the language barrier.
There is a great silence from our narrator on the subject of her past--we are conspicously never told why she has come to the farm, but we do understand that some great, personal pain has occasioned her need for a solitary holiday, where none of her present connections can trace her. It seems strange that someone who wished to be left alone would seek out lodgings in a house full of strangers. However, Porter’s narrator makes clear that she appreciates her sense of distance from the family’s daily communications: they “were not talking to me and did not expect me to answer” (413). She finds explicit comfort in this niche, remarking that “it was good not to have to understand what they were saying. I loved the silence which means freedom from the constant pressure of other minds and other opinions and other feelings” (413). Usually, language acts as a social lubricant, but here, it anchors the narrator firmly in her social role as outsider. (Interestingly, she gradually transcends this barrier and becomes part of the family circle not through communication, but through a shared communal physicality: she begins helping Hatsy in the garden, and during the flood, she helps save a drowning lamb and sweeps broken glass in the kitchen. )

I think a deep concern in the story is whether language can actually create real bonds between humans—whether it can truly allow them to communicate their deepest selves—or whether another mysterious, extra-lingual factor must be at work. Of note is the lack of dialogue in the story, including unquoted thought dialogue: much of the narrator’s delivery is reportage of her immediate, physical world—the descriptions of trees, the landscape, fireflies, etc. These descriptions of nature—though they come to us directly from the narrator herself, have less quality of reflection, thought and language, and more the quality of physical impressions (supposedly, though artificially, unmediated by language within the necessary context of a piece of literature). In fact, the narrator initially compares her inability to understand the language of her hosts to the “music” of the sounds in the natural world. She “could be moved and touched but not troubled by [German], as by the crying of frogs or the wind in the trees.

At the beginning of the story, the narrator believes that silence will bring her to her consummate, individual self: she remarks that the linguistic barrier which initially leaves her in such pleasing silence will allow her the “freedom to fold up in quiet and go back to my own center” (413). Her linguistic isolation as an individual is contrasted to the communal physicality at dinner. The family is tied by language, certainly, but also more emphatically by “the enormous energy” and “animal force that was like a bodily presence itself in the rooms” (416). The emphasis on shared familial features (blond hair, blue eyes, high cheek-bones) posits a very physical interpretation of communal (Porter even uses the word “tribal”) bond. They communicate as a family as much through shared physical characteristics and shared physical labour as much as through common language. (And while they are brought together as a family in shared German
conversation, they are also bonded by shared, emotional silence—inarticulate, shared weeping—at the death of the mother).


I am interested in the role of Ottilie as a crux between physical and linguistic communication, and as a crux between the individual and the communal. She shares the physical traits of the family, but they have been marred by childhood disease. Yet her inability to communicate seems to place her apart—she is, in parallel to the narrator, linguistically isolated. She, however, does find her place in her family through a fixed, physical role as a producer of tangible foodstuffs. The narrator writes that, in her lonely silence, Ottilie “seemed to [her] the only individual in the house” (417).
Remarkably, she notes that even she herself “felt divided into many fragments,” but her following descriptions of fragmentalization are all implicitly physical in nature: she had “left or lost a part of myself in every place I had travelled, in every life mine had touched, and…in every death…that had carried into the grave some part of my living cells” (417). The narrator seeks the silence of the linguistically isolated individual, because her unavoidable physical presence in the human drama has caused her so much pain. Yet in Ottilie, she finds an object of pity for her inability to communicate, at the same time she herself sets about gradually creating physical bonds with the family through aforementioned housework.
Ottilie’s isolation upsets the narrator, who feels uncomfortably about the servant/daughter’s seeming neglect. She is frustrated that “nothing could make her seem real, or in any way connected with the life around her” (425). It is only when she feels Ottilie’s actual skin under her belt that she realizes the woman is a real, physical object. Paradoxically, she had realized in her previous encounter with Ottilie (in which she is shown the photograph), that Ottilie has a real, interior consciousness of her own identity—in short, that she is real in the sense that she has a mind. But strangely, here in the carriage, the narrator only realizes Ottilie’s reality by dint of her physical presence.
When the narrator here realizes that Ottilie’s emotions are not necessarily connected to having been left behind her mother’s funeral procession, the narrator has a jarring realization of her ultimate inability to communicate with Ottilie—to have a mental communion on any level, even an extra-lingual one. By this unexpected “ironical mistake,” we see the intrenched tension between the individual and the communal—a connection that perhaps cannot be breached by an outsider, either by acquisition of shared language, shared physicality, or shared silence.

Holiday by Porter

I think the biggest theme in Porter's "Holiday" is alienation, which we can see in Ottilie but also in the narrator. Of course, the readers see Ottilie's alienation from the Muller family right away when she serves dinner to them and no one acknowledges her presence. They obviously treat her like a servant that should be invisible. I found this behavior interesting because, although they are a wealthy farming family, they work hard everyday and are not the cliche upper class family that would have servants. They are working class so I would have thought they would acknowledge Ottilie's hard work as well. However, she simply doesn't exist to them. She serves dinner and they don't interact with her unless they need something, like needing her to make dinner for the narrator when she is out late. Ottilie is obviously alienated from the Muller family but the reader doesn't find out just how alienated she is until it is revealed that she is actually one of their daughters. She is the eldest daughter but since she is mute and deformed she is shunned from everyday interaction with her family and is forced into a position of servitude.

Ottilie's alienation is mirrored in the narrator. First of all, she is not a member of the family and is just visiting them for a holiday from her "real life." She does not interact with them as a member of the family but more as an observer. Like Ottilie, she is not able to speak to the family since they speak German. She is not expected to understand them or answer them so her interaction with them is limited to begin with. Her lifestyle also alienates her from the Muller family. She is a single and childless woman in a bursting family. She does not fulfill the female role in the family so they are unsure how to interact with her. In fact they force her into the role that is closest to how she behaves, having her sit with the men at the table since she does not fulfill the role of women in the family. Dinner time is when the family comes together, all except Ottilie. The narrator actually misses dinner one night and that is what brings her together with Ottilie. Both of them are alienated from the family.

When Mother Muller dies, neither Ottilie nor the narrator are included in the funeral. The narrator is left behind in her attic room and Ottilie is left in the kitchen. Together they go out in the wagon to catch up with the funeral party, together in their alienation. Abnormal people in this story are alienated from everyone else. Ottilie is abnormal because she is deformed and mute. The narrator is abnormal because she chooses not to live the stereotypical female role of society of the time, being a wife and a mother.

Malice Versus Ignorance

My first thought after reading these two short stories was why O’Connor wrote two extremely similar stories. What is the difference between the two? Multiple parallelisms run between the two texts that seem to address the same concerns. Both texts portray New York as an unsettling, unnatural environment. Both Tanner and Old Dudley resent their daughters for taking them away from their homes and treating them as invalids. Both daughters feel more of an obligation to their fathers rather than an altruistic desire to serve them and are married to truck drivers. Tanner and Dudley each feel attached to one black friend back at their homes, but disdain the black Northerners after an attempt to befriend them as inferiors. They feel—and Tanner actually is—abused by them. So why does Tanner deserve to die in the end while Dudley lives? Perhaps the degree of racism each man holds toward the black Northerner contributes to the type of punishment he receives. Tanner believed befriending black people can only stem from dominating them mentally. His way of “handling” a black person was to “show him his brains didn’t have a chance against yours; then he would jump on your back.” Tanner compares them to monkeys who cling to the backs of those they depend on; in my opinion, that kind of comparison is one of the worst kinds of racist thoughts. To consider African Americans an “apelike” being is to consider them, primitive, bestial, and uncivilized. I seethed when Tanner blatantly said that when his friend Coleman “was young he looked like a bear; now that he was old he looked like a monkey” but with himself, “it was the opposite.” I interpreted Tanner’s statement to mean that white people evolved from monkeys, but black people evolved back into monkeys. He uses the philosophy of the advanced intelligence of the white man to poke fun at the New York actor. Calling him “preacher” solidifies the stereotype of black people as simpleminded religious zealots—the same religious zealots who sang gospel chants in as slaves in the plantation South. Recognizing this undercut, the actor eventually employs revenge. Tanner claimed he would escape hell because he “never killed [a black person] but handled them with wits and with luck” but really, he murders the idea of equality, of their humanity, a much deeper sin than the physical. Ironically—and somewhat deservedly?—O’Connor allows the black neighbor to find a distorted justice, but a justice nonetheless. Dudley, then lives, in my opinion, not because he harbors malice toward the black race, but because he, plainly, is stupid. The geranium—according to Google search—symbolizes stupidity and folly, and Dudley focuses his entire elderly existence in New York on whether his neighbor sets out the geranium in the sun. Dudley centers himself around himself, living in his own bubble existence of fishing and pseudo possum hunting. His friend Rabie found the outdated stories of a visit to Atlanta most intriguing about Dudley. Dudley exalts his name; he is a dud. We feel pity for his embarrassment, then when his African American neighbor abuses him by helping him up the stairs. O’Connor allows Dudley to live because he is too ignorant to realize the truths of racial equality. But then, I beg the question: Is it better to live in ignorance than not at all? Is it just that Dudley lives?

The Geranium and Judgment Day: I need you to need me

Something that I thought was very interesting was how the two men in these stories, Tanner and Old Dudley, both felt the need to be needed. One of the bigger examples of this is when Old Dudley in The Geranium remembered when he would go fishing, "He liked to come in at night with a long string of them and slap them down in the sink. 'Few fish I got,' he'd say. It took a man to get those fish, the old girls at the boarding house always said" (703). Now that he is living with his daughter in New York, all he is needed for is to get patterns from the woman downstairs and looking at the geranium. He needs a lot of help as well when he is trying to get around New York, and when he falls on the stairs. In Judgment Day, the story opens up with Tanner having been dressed by his daughter. I find it interesting that O'Connor wrote a story from the perspective of a couple men who still want to be needed, after we have read so many stories with "absent men" or men who are unsympathetic characters.

I think these two stories are also interesting to consider with what was talked about in class on Wednesday about the absent men in the stories we have been reading. Although the two men these stories were physically present in these stories and the stories were told from their perspectives, I feel that since they were not needed, they could fall under the category of "absent men."

The Geranium and Judgement Day: Transplantation from Rural to Urban Life

In both The Geranium and Judgement Day, the theme of transplantation from rural to urban life is pervasive. Moreover, both of these stories deal with elderly men from the south who are “forced” to live with daughters in the city. These men spend a great deal of time staring. The men stare most notably at things directly across the street from them, in neighboring apartment complexes. More importantly, these actions create discomfort in the people who live around these men. Consequently in The Geranium, the owner of the geranium pushes the geranium from the window and it shatters on the ground. The man in the window expresses his displeasure with Dudley for gazing at the flower every day. Similarly, in Judgement Day, the elderly man stares at the African-Americans whom have moved in next door and as a result, is pushed and injured by one of them.
Besides the theme of transplantation, we see a theme of race in both stories. In these stories the elderly white men treat African-Americans as something that can be possessed, and moreover, can be calculated. This manner of thinking ultimately ends up hurting the elderly men in these stories.
The notable difference in these two stories occurs in their endings. In Judgement Day, the final paragraph seems forced and unnecessary. The old man dies, but then, suddenly, the final paragraph is from the daughter’s perspective. That seems odd because we could almost entirely assume that she would bury her father in the city despite his wishes. In The Geranium, the ending is quite different and more fitting. The man tells Dudley not to invade his privacy, Dudley looks down and the shattered geranium, and the man warns him that he only tells people once. I think the biggest thing to think about between these stories is not their similarities, but rather, their differences.

Symbolism. Why only in "The Geranium"?

Yes, these stories are so similar that it's almost hard to distinguish them. After reading both of them I found myself preferring "The Geranium." I think I liked it better because Old Dudley was a more likable character than Tanner for me. He spends much of his time staring out the window at a geranium across the alley. The geranium, by this association, is a symbol for him. Having a flower as a symbol for him makes him a very delicate and weak character. As the reader, I felt sorry for him and almost slightly protective of him in this strange world where he feels so alienated. This weak personification of him continues when he gets lost in his own apartment building and has to be helped up the stairs by the black man that lives next door.

Even though the black man was perfectly nice to him and kindly helping him up the stairs and is even well groomed, Old Dudley is unable to get past his previous racist beliefs and see the black man as an equal. He is trapped in the beliefs that he was able to keep in the old South. The only problem is that he's not in the South anymore. He's in the North now and he would have to change his beliefs to grow. When he returns upstairs he cannot break away from his shallow beliefs. This is mirrored in the geranium falling from the window. It smashes on the ground where it is uprooted like Old Dudley is in New York. It is unable to grow anymore just like Old Dudley because he is unable to let go of his racism. Eventually it's going to die, just like Old Dudley will be unable to continue his happy life in New York.

So I think that the geranium symbolism is why I enjoyed "The Geranium" more than "Judgment Day." My question is, why did O'Connor include the geranium in "The Geranium" and not in "Judgment Day" when there were so many other similarities in the stories.

Stairs

I agree with all of the posts so far that have found the stories to be extremely similar. While I found the story topic interesting, once was probably enough.

That said, there is one particular aspect of the two stories that really struck me: the significance of the stairs.

In a very literal sense, the stairs are an impediment for both Tanner and Old Dudley, who are physically challenged by their age. Their sense of displacement and powerlessness is enhanced by the stairways that keep them prisoners in their daughters' high-rise apartments.

But more significantly, I think O'Connor utilizes the stairs another way. As an archetype, stairs represent transition or change, moving from one phase to another. On one hand, this can represent Tanner and Old Dudley's moves to New York from the South. But more significantly, I think the stairs represent the transition from one era to another culturally speaking.

Tanner and Old Dudley have lived with a particular world view of race. Not only is race viewed differently in New York, but the times themselves are changing. Tanner and Old Dudley can't believe they live in a time and place where African-Americans live next door to their white daughters. Both are ill-equipped to change with the times, and each attempt unsuccessfully to reconcile their circumstance with their outdated world view.

It's no accident that O'Connor brought both Tanner and Old Dudley to their moment of reckoning on the stairs. Neither could maintain their footing in this new world with their old ideas. Their attempts to do so led to costly falls.

"The Geranium" in particular makes great references to this:

"You better be careful," the negro said. "You could easily hurt yourself on these steps." (710)

The steps dropped down like a deep wound in the floor... He wouldn't go down and have niggers pattin' him on the back. (712)

Old Dudley, the Geranium

Old Dudley sees a lot of himself in the geranium, I think. He spends a lot of the story feeling vulnerable, starting with his daughter, who "made his eyes feel like his throat" (701). He lies in fear in his new surrounding, "always afraid that when he went out in the dog runs, a door would suddenly open and one of the snipe-nosed men that hung off the window ledges . . . would growl, "What are you doing here?" (708) It's a feeling of displacement, much like his take on the geranium. He condemns the owners, saying that "[t]hey set it out and let the hot sun bake it all day and they put it so near the ledge the wind could almost knock it over. They had no business with it" (701). Old Dudley feels like he could get by back home, as "[h]e had been doing all right. There was his pension that could feed him and odd jobs that kept him his room at the boarding house" (702). Old Dudley makes a similar judgment about the geranium, noting that "Lutisha could have taken [it] and stuck it in the ground and had something worth looking at in a few weeks" (701). Reminiscing on the south, Old Dudley finds an unlikely companion in the geranium, engaging in a pathetic fallacy to draw a distinct line between where he was and where he is now. Fuming, ailing, Old Dudley can't make heads or tails of this place, where "a damn nigger that patted him on the back and called him "old timer" lives next door to his daughter, and to have done that to Old Dudley, of all people - "[h]im that knew such as that couldn't be. Him that had come from a good place . . . A place where such as that couldn't be." (711) Old Dudley feels bizarrely exposed, covering his mouth when he "realize[s] that he had made a noise" in the hall (708). He strikes a figure so much like that of the geranium at the end of the story, "at the bottom of the alley with its roots in the air" (713), upside down, his frailties exposed, uprooted and wasting away besides. Old Dudley's failed attempt to retrieve the geranium becomes representative of his plight in the city. Despite his repetition of the sentiment that he "wouldn't be trapped[, h]e wouldn't be" (711), he is overcome by fear and pride and so won't descend the stairs to retrieve the geranium. "He wouldn't go down and have niggers pattin' him on the back." (712) Instead, he returns to the room to look at the geranium, farther away than it has ever been before, six stories below. It is in this way that O'Connor makes the geranium not only a sympathetic figure to Old Dudley, but in fact a representation of the South, a place that he is too afraid to return to on his own and so only distantly recalls, wistfully reflecting on that wasted opportunity.

I have perhaps too much of a crush on "Judgment Day" to analyze it at all right now, but it seems that glasses feature prominently in both stories. Old Dudley's memory of Lutisha's glasses, reflecting on his neighbor's own, on page 708, has parallels to the actor neighbor with horn-rims (688) and Tanner winning over Coleman with a pair of glasses (683). I'm at a loss as to how they function in these stories. Any ideas?

Race Relations Differences Between the North and South

These stories both had similar plots and thematic devices and what I thought was most interesting about both of them was the way that neither protagonist could understand the way that blacks and whites interracted with each other in New York. Both of them had had incredibly close black friends in the south, but were unable to adapt to the way that people behave in a big city. Old Dudley and was extremely close to Rabie and had spent almost all of his free time with him in the south, but when he came to North and met a black person who was friendly with him but who behaved as if he believed they were equals he was upset that things weren't the way that he thought they should be. Tanner was also disturbed by the way that his black neighbor didn't respond to his desire to become fast friends. Tanner was dependant on his constant companion Coleman and couldn't deal with being rejected by a black man who he wanted to be friends with. It was interesting that while both of these men were racist and acted in a totally dominant manner towards their new black neighbors in the North, they both had depended on their relationships with blacks in the South.

Similarity

The similarities between the two stories is rather obvious. To old men from the south move up to New York to live with their daughters. The daughters in both stories seem to find it difficult to live with their fathers because they do not share the same view points, regarding black people, as their fathers do. In “Geranium” Old Dudley says “he didn’t know his own daughter that was raised proper would stay next door to them” to himself (O’Connor 707). Old Dudley, knowing not other way of life than the south way of life believes he raised his daughter “properly”; he believes he raised her to know that letting a black person live next you was simply wrong. Living in the north gives Old Dudley and Tanner a new point of view; they are now able to see how the other half, the north, lives. Both of these old men are shocked by what they see, which is a black person moving into an apartment that is just as nice as the ones they are visiting. They are amazed that these black neighbors are almost equals to their daughters.

Coming from the south is not the only reason why these old men do not accept the north’s way of life; Old Dudley and Tanner come from a different generation than their daughters, obviously. So, naturally this plays a role in how these men handle situations regarding black people. Even though they may have brought their daughters up believing in the same principle, the girls obviously more accepted of another race. Growing up in a different time period than their fathers and living in the north helped contribute to the girls’ understanding and knowledge of others.

Geraniums/Judgement Day

Looking up these stories online, I read that O'Connor intended Judgement Day (1965) as a direct rewrite of Geraniums (1947); she had already rewritten this story, and published the results, twice. I think it is fascinating that a writer could find so much interest in the same scenario over a period of years. Maybe she saw a depth in this character that could not be conveyed by a single expression.

Anyways, I think she succeeds in that both of these stories have distinct differences in tone and, to a certain extent, characterization. I feel Old Dudley is a bit more sympathetic than Tanner: though both men seem to consider black people to be their "pets", Tanner's quasi mastership of Coleman is more grotesquely inhuman, as shown in the reference to Coleman being "curled up...at the foot of Tanner's bed, a stinking skin full of bones, arranged in what seemed vaguely human form." (p. 679) Though Tanner is a poor squatter himself, he still dominates his black companion through some influence that isn't really shown. Tanner's relationship with Coleman hinges on his expectation that all black people should/will show white people deference, because if they do not he or someone else may punish them with impunity. In fact, that is why the two men initially meet: Coleman is sleeping near Tanner's job site one day, and Tanner, who attempts to run Coleman off, seems ready to violently hurt Coleman if he finds it necessary. At no point during this does Tanner seem worried about any personal consequences to his maiming/killing Coleman, because at that time in that place a white person could rarely be brought to justice for harming an African American.

I found Old Dudley more human (which I guess just means likable) because he seemed less vitriolic and just generally softer: his fixation with geraniums, his make-believe gun on the stairs, and his weeping, which ends the story. O'Connor shows both Tanner and Old Dudley crying, revealing the depth of their fragility and desperation, but her lingering on Dudley's weeping and the broken flower pot at the end of Geraniums makes me think she intended the reader to feel more for this man's condition than Tanner's.

In terms of tone, Judgement Day (written in a time of greater social unrest than the late 40's), is by far the darker, more pessimistic for its violence/macabre, as well as the racial interaction it displays. There is no real violence in Geraniums other than the breaking of the pot and the neighbors threat at the end; in Judgement Day there is one act of near violence with a knife to Coleman and two acts of serious violence done to Tanner. The epiphanic moment of contact in both stories, when the old men encounter their black neighbors, is socially optimistic in Geraniums: a black man helps a white man up the stairs. Though Old Dudley still reacts in a racist manner, no violence occurs and it is a rather benign encounter for one party, at least. In Judgement Day, Tanner is aggressive in his confrontation with the neighbor and the neighbor is aggressive in his response. This seems appropriately cynical for a time of notorious racial violence and upheaval. In Judgement Day, it seems no one will ever get along.

Another interesting aspect of these stories is the portrayal of Northern racism. Yes, Old Dudley and Tanner hold disgusting and hurtful views on race, but so too do their daughters "up north." Both daughters, and their husbands, are just as hateful, perhaps more so in that they practice a strict social separation between themselves and others, though they live in the unsegregated North. I believe O'Connor is trying to point out that racism is not a solely southern problem; the North is just as racist, but hides that fact behind a facade of gentility. Once again, I found the earlier version more optimistic in this regard.

Wait... those were TWO different stories, right?

I honestly could not keep these stories straight. I kept thinking about geraniums in Judgment Day, because they mention him looking out a window a lot. I was just confused most of the time. Actually, the only thing that I could tell one story from the other was that the old man in Judgment Day wanted to make friends with city black people. Both daughters were against the idea though.

I also, like other people, was confused about time setting. Eventually I just gave in and let the story take me wherever and I stopped trying to figure it out. It was making me crazy! I was actually more confused about Geraniums because of the story with Rabie and hunting. It seemed to pop out of nowhere, and I was completely confused. Then I realized I didn't know where he was living, because I thought it was in the South. (Wait, I have the right story, right?) Both stories had similar structures, both jumping around and introducing their "black sidekicks" at the middle of the story in sort of a flashback way.

My biggest reaction to Judgment Day was complete sadness. I felt so incredibly bad for the main character because he was going to live out his days in a foreign place. I remember how I felt when I first moved out west and how scary it was (I came from a VERY small town in N. Carolina where it was miles to your next door neighbor). Even though he's in a busy place, he lives in isolation. I love window references in literature because they usually indicate some sort of romantic ideal - and he has one for the South.

Confusion about the endings?

As ya'll have mentioned, the stories were indeed very similiar, and I found myself thinking along the same lines as Dana: Why are both stories necessary? In both, we get the sense of mourning the "death" of the "Old South" and the old ways of living, replaced by the city lifestyle. Of course the difference is in how the old Southerner interacts with the "city negro" in each. The geranium represents this for Old Dudley, as he looks at it and sees people and details from back home (pg. 707).

I had a bit of confusion concerning the endings. In "The Geranium," the neighbor tells Old Dudley that he only tells people once not to stare at him (pg. 713). This is something of an eerie way to end the story. Does a confrontation emerge? Is fear struck in Old Dudley? It just seems like a detail that O'Connor doesn't do anything with. Earlier in the story, the narrator lets us know that Old Dudley could only say things once to his daughter too, for she would not listen the second time (pg. 704). It's a nice structure, but what could she be doing with it? I think maybe O'Connor is getting at the fact that city life is so busy, people here won't give you the time of day to tell you a second time. Danger or violence would be in the place of a second warning, perhaps?

The end of "Judgement Day" was more enigmatic for me. The daughter finds Tanner dead, with his limbs hanging out of the banister, with the hat on his head (pg. 695). I am sure O'Connor is being purposefully vague, but do we think that the "negro actor" left him to die rather than getting him to a hospital? Did they watch him die and set him up purposefully in the disgraceful pose in the stairwell? I am guessing this is his "judgement," but what is he being judged for? And also, no mention of any legal action against the "negro actor" for the violence is given. He did not seem to have to pay any consequences for what he did. I was wondering if anyone else noticed this as well.

Pick One Already!

I was also extremely confused by "Judgment Day". I was having a lot of trouble telling the past from the present-- maybe this was a technique that was supposed to imitate an old person's trouble with separating memory and reality (or the beginning phases of Alzheimer’s).

I almost feel as though O'Conner thought the template of this story could lend itself well to both stories. However, I felt as though there might have been a creativity problem. There were undeniable similarities down to the detail of the daughters' husbands being gone multiple days of the week. I did feel slightly let down by the fact that I had to read two almost identical stories that dealt with similar themes. I wonder which story worked better or provoked more feelings in the reader. I think O’Conner could have chosen one of the stories. What do you guys think? I personally liked “The Geranium” better because I was less confused and I loved the reaction of the man in the window when he tells the father to mind his own business and that he would not ask twice—adding insult to injury after all that has happened to him. Also, I like that the beginning does not start from the father’s most desperate moment, which is the case in “Judgment Day”. The father in “The Geranium” does not cry until the end, and his crying is mixed with the conversation about the flower with the man across the alley, whereas the father in “Judgment Day” is crying from the outset and has also written a suicide note.

Geranium and Judgment Day

While reading “The Geranium” and “Judgment Day,” I thought it was interesting that the two stories were so similar, both stories dealt with an older gentleman that had to move from the South to live with his daughter in a New York apartment. I thought this was interesting because it seemed that the fathers had to give up control and become a dependant on the very people that they had cared for, and the old men seemed to despise this situation as well as the daughters. The daughters not only seemed inconvinced by the situations that they are placed in but are at a complete lost in how to be around their fathers.

It was also odd that when the old men lived in the South they befriended “negros” and felt more comfortable with them than their own families which show how the times were changing while O’Conner wrote this story. The African American population was becoming independent of their stereotype. The difference between the old men within the two stories is in “Geranium”, Old Dudley cannot believe that the black man whom moves into the building is actually renting an apartment within the same building that his daughter lives in, and he is shocked that a black man is at the same economic status as his daughter. Also the difference between the black men within the stories is that the black man in “Geranium,” not only does not hurt Old Dudley but takes care of him and helps him to the door. It seems to me that the black men in the stories and the old men within the stories seem to flip flop positions on how they react to one another when first meeting, even though the old men still have odd stereotypes about the men moving into the apartment building.

I also thought in the “Judgment Day” that the way she lays out the story is very different from how O’Conner usually lays out the story. In O’Conner’s stories she gives you each thing in linear form, one thing after another but in “Judgment Day,” everything seems mixed up like it is coming in segments and he does not know what is happening I wonder if she sets it up like this because Tanner has a stroke.

Malebranche and Hulga

Melebranche was a French philosopher who argued that “we see all things in God” and knowledge about the world is not possible except through a relationship between man and God. What we see in the physical world comes from our God. According to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy Melebranche’s thesis is in his section of Vision of God “we see external objects by means of ideas in God.” Our thoughts, therefore, would be God’s thoughts and what we see would be the sensation of God’s ideas. Knowing this about Melebranche, the dramatic point of Katharine Ann Porter’s “Good Country People” where Hulga screams at her mother to look introspectively and understand she is not God presents a huge statement about our roles as human beings and how we should think of each other. Mrs. Hopewell believes her interpretation of her daughter aligns with God. Women should smile and act beautiful, even if they are not beautiful. Mrs. Hopewell believed there “was nothing wrong with [her daughter’s] face that a pleasant expression wouldn’t help…people who looked on the bright side of things would be beautiful even if they were not” (267). Obviously, Mrs. Hopewell’s thoughts trod against God’s, for God sees every person as beautiful according to his own standards, rather than society’s standards. If Melebranche’s philosophy existed ideally, every person would see the people in this world as beautiful because God’s thoughts were supposed to infiltrate our own and determine how we interpret the external/physical world. Because our humanity prevents that kind of humility in our eyes, we must admit as humans that we are flawed and unable to see the world through holy lenses. Pride breaks us down as we simultaneously feel lifted up by own our own opinions and desires. Pride, the worst of the seven deadly sins, is Mrs. Hopewell’s flaw. Because she truly believes her own ideas about beauty and about femininity to be of God’s, she turned her own daughter away from her and most likely influenced Hulga’s rejection of her faith, of her name, and metaphorically of finding joy in the world.

Good Country People

In O'Connor's works as a whole thus far I am seeing her "false" labeling as more or less a love hate relationship with the South. Like with Helga, or the old woman in AGMIHTF, there is a disconnect between justification and virtue, and a misunderstanding between the characters identity and there actions.
Much like the boy who is a "Christian" or the fact that she doesn't "believe" in God, and yet O'Connor gives them different defining traits as such.

"Good Country People" vs. "The Life You Save May Be Your Own"

Or rather, Tom T. Shiftlet versus Manley Pointer. These two characters both appear to women living without men, though the impressions of men remain. As Michelle pointed out, "The two women in this story were referred to as Mrs. the whole way through, even though we do not see their husbands in this story. Because they are referred to as Mrs. they become identified by their marriage and by their husbands instead of by their own identities and their first names." Further, Glynese has suitors, and Carramae, "only fifteen but already married and pregnant," has a husband and father somewhere, though just where is left to the reader's imagination (264). Compare this to "The Life You Save," where the two Lucynells live with the phantom of their husband/father in the spectre of the car. The elder Lucynell shares, "That car ain't run in fifteen year . . . The day my husband died, it quit running." (173)

As the only male characters in the story, a lot can be interpreted about Pointer and Shiftlet's roles in these women's lives. Shiftlet's repair of the car is a feat of manliness: "With a volley of blasts it emerged from the shed . . . Mr. Shiftlet was in the driver's seat, sitting very erect." (178) It's a moment of male potency, both in the field of autorepair (traditionally masculine) and Shiftlet's posture. His role as husband to Lucynell the younger after their marriage is thereby conflated with his role as father to her, and husband to Lucynell the elder, the repair of the car being rather Elektric.

Pointer's role to the Hopewells seems far less Greek. To Mrs. Hopewell, he is an annoyance. She says, "'[H]e bored me to death but he was so sincere and genuine I couldn't be rude to him.'" (274) But to the younger Hopewell, Hulga/Joy, he is some kind of romantic hope. So excited for their picnic, she "didn't take anything to eat," and spruces herself up by putting "some Vapex on the collar of [her shirt] since she did not own any perfume" (276-77). Pointer's role as a romantic interest to Hulga/Joy seems to be more than similar with the misguided pairing of Shiftlet and the Lucynells, each female party seeing in this new male an opportunity and being terribly mistaken.

Because Pointer's theft of Hulga/Joy's leg puzzles me, I'd like at this time to continue in an analysis of Shiftlet - specifically as a kind of perversion of the Christ figure. Lucynell the elder's insistence on Shiftlet's marriage to her daughter purports him to be, in her eyes, some kind of savior - and who could blame her for thinking so? He is, after all and in his own words, a carpenter (175), famously the vocation of Jesus. And, before even introducing himself, Shiftlet turns to face the sunset: "He swung both his whole and his short arm up slowly so that they indicated an expanse of sky and his figure formed a crooked cross." (173) Shiftlet is put on the cross before word one to Lucynell! That notion of the cross being crooked is a masterwork of foreshadowing, as Lucynell puts all her egg's in Shiftlet's basket only to have her salvation ruined beyond recognition. Shiftlet as the crooked Christ figure becomes complete when he perverts Luke 23:34. "Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Compare this to Shiftlet's line at the end of the story, "'Oh Lord! . . . Break forth and wash the slime from this earth!'" (183) Shiftlet's prayer is antithetical to Jesus' plea, one requesting the forgiveness of sinners, and the other the purging of them. The irony, of course, lies in it beginning to rain on Shiftlet. Water is a cleansing force, and Shiftlet, perhaps realizing that the slime that needs washing may be himself, "race[s] the galloping shower into Mobile." (183)

Yet, Shiftlet as the crooked Christ figure does not necessitate Pointer as all that. Where one could draw a comparison between Jesus healing the sick and Pointer robbing the maimed, calling the Bible salesman any kind of Jesus is probably giving him too much credit. Certainly Hulga/Joy sees him as some kind of salvation, but not in a Christian sense. After all, she sees herself as already saved - "'We are all damned,' she said, 'but some of us have taken off our blindfolds and see that there's nothing to see. It's a kind of salvation.'" (280) Instead of pat Christian saving, Hulga/Joy sees Pointer as a kind of avenue to intimacy, to experiencing what about life is enjoyable before her prophesied premature death. In imagining her seduction of Pointer, she fantasizes "that she took his remorse in hand and changed it into a deeper understanding of life," (276) the irony here lying in Hulga/Joy's own virginity - "[s]he had never been kissed before and she was pleased to discover that it was an unexceptional experience" (278) - and so this foray into sexuality could lead to a deeper understanding of life for her.

It is too bad that Pointer is no full-blown Christ figure, because Hulga/Joy makes no secret of her atheism (278). (Neither does her mother, 270.) It could have lessened the ache of being forsaken in that hayloft, cut off and alone. But in my mind, still, Pointer and Shiftlet are two very like peas - both are strange men with ulterior motives who crash a girls-only party. What is O'Connor saying about men in a world of women? On one level she says that they can't be trusted, that they are deceptive and ultimately no good. Are these stories an advocation of nunnery - of cloistering yourself from that foul sex - or, in fact, the opposite? Of exposing yourself to men, and becoming the better for it? Of course we have no way of knowing if Hulga/Joy makes the best of this situation, if she learns from it. She can be awfully dense for a genius.

And, a tad off-topic, I think O'Connor's choice to have Mr. Paradise fail to save Bevel and, one page later, title a story "The Life You Save May Be Your Own" just excellent.

Contempt in Good Country People

It seems to me that there exists between the character's of "Good Country People" a hierarchy of contempt by which they measure themselves and one another. Mrs. Hopewell has a kind of patronizing contempt for the Freemans because of their lower social class and the implied subordinant status of tenants. Mrs. Freeman has a quiet contempt for Hulga that expresses itself through her prodding use of her legal name, and is contemptuous of the bible sailsman's supposed "simplicity." Hulga is contemptous of the other three, openly and directly, for their perceived ignorance and the annoyance their interactions cause her. Finally, the bible salesman has contempt for Mr. Hopewell and Hulga because he knows he has tricked them and, in fact, seems to derive his contempt from the knowledge of theirs; his humiliation of Hulga is an act that turns her patronizing contempt around on her. The salesman makes Hulga stop thinking of him as a country bumpkin but instead as an equal and possible companion, which puts him in a position to dominate her and throw the contempt she held for him back upon her tenfold. Its an act of revenge with no real goal but to demonstrate his cleverness to those who think themselves intelligent.

Disillusionment and the Double Meaning of Good Country People

I found Flannery O’Connor’s Good Country People to be ironic. In this story, we have Joy-Hulga, the archetypical O’Connor character. However, unlike O’Connor’s other characters who share similar traits, Joy is an intellectual who is brought to her own demise through naivety and disillusionment.

Disillusionment in this story is very important and Manley Pointer, a simple country folk, is its main proponent. Manley says that he is selling Bibles and speaks often of Christianity. However, in the end he proves to be the story’s protagonist. Manley has succeeded in tricking “good country people” into believing that he is like them and moreover, that he is a Christian, simply by using the word. Thus, the role of the phrase “good country people” in this story takes on another connotation. Disillusionment also occurs with the character of Joy. Rather than being fooled by Manley, she brings herself to her own demise. By instantly assuming Manley to be what he says, a good Christian country folk, she instantly assumes her intellect is superior to any of his motives. By regarding her own mental capabilities too highly, Joy’s guard is let down and she is taken advantage of by Manley.

As a whole, Good Country People is about taking first impressions as face value and the disillusionment that ensues when no questions are asked of character.

Good Country People

While I was reading this, I kept wondering who the reader was supposed to sympathize with and what we were supposed to take away from this story. O'Connor seemed to be making a statement with this story, but I am just not sure what the statement was. At first, it seems like O'Connor is making a statement about how mothers think that the only way their daughters can be valuable in society is if they are married (like Carramae) or desired (like Glynese), instead of educated like Joy. The two women get duped by the Bible salesman. What is this saying? It could be taken as some sort of comment on religion. Then Joy gets duped by the salesman. What is this saying? That she is book smart but not exactly street smart?

I also thought the names in this story were interesting, and I think the names play into what the statement of the story is. The two women in this story were referred to as Mrs. the whole way through, even though we do not see their husbands in this story. Because they are referred to as Mrs. they become identified by their marriage and by their husbands instead of by their own identities and their first names. Their names were also interesting choices: Freeman and Hopewell. Both of these names indicate their personalities. I also thought this was an interesting sentence too, "One of her [Joy's] major triumphs was that her mother had not been able to turn her dust into Joy" (267).

I honestly do not know how to respond to this story. I am so appalled by "Pointer". I guess I should have expected a twist to the story, but this ending was just too much. I agree with the previous post in that my attention was drawn to the names, however, I am more involved in the idea of blindness and ignorance. Mrs. Hopewell seems as though she can read every person that walks into her life. She explains that she likes good country people, and despises white trash. It seems that she is so confident in understanding other people, explaining that she has no faults, and she finds faults in everyone else. However, she is completely blind to the evil side of the boy she invites to dinner. As her daughter is left alone, helpless, she looks after the boy, wishing everyone could be "good country people," more like him. I found the story to be extremely upsetting, and I was not expecting such a turn.

An "intellectual's" POV

This is kind of the first story where we get most of the story through the college educated character. I was convinced that this would be entirely through Mrs. Hopewell, but it does this very subtle shift to Hulga's story. I actually thought that Mrs. Freeman was going to be a major character, rather than a side character, and act kind of like Mrs. Shortley in The DP. This was brought up in the last class (I think Dana) that many of the evil characters in O'Connor's stories are overweight women. And the college educated, big girl was crazy. Hulga still fits the role of the bitter, rude intellectual that is going no where in life, but she still seems down to Earth a bit more (maybe because we see her side more?). Her wooden leg adds extra sympathy to her character, but makes her bitter and has frozen her in time to be a little girl.

The scene in the barn with Pointer had me very tense the entire time. I honestly thought he was going to rape her. Mainly because he pulled out the box that said "only to be used in prevention of disease" (i.e., condoms). When he finally took her leg, I actually let out a nervous laugh. Who would do something like that? Where is his pleasure in stealing women's artificial body parts? Obviously, it's some form of control, as is highlighted by the condoms and rape insinuation. But it's weird. The dynamic between religion and the characters in this story is much different from the others. He pushes his way into their home by making them at ease by being a good Christian, yet he ACTUALLY wins over the only Atheist in the house! Is it because he is simple? Hulga couldn't have really believed in him when he said he liked to have "serious thoughts." College graduates don't talk like that, from any time period. So what was his charm? Maybe she was happy that someone was attracted to her despite all her physical problems. Maybe it was their common condition. Maybe she thought she could manipulate him. That's how I saw it anyway. She really wanted to manipulate him into putting down the Bible and pick up another book but instead she got a lesson of her own. Even though she had all this higher learning, it still didn't erase all the stereotypes she had in her mind. She really wasn't any better or smarter than the country folk.

RE: Names

Yes, I also thought that there must be something big going on with the names. In addition to those you have greatly explained, Manley Pointer is also a very odd name. What, if anything, is so manly about him? And also, I am suspecting that in O'Connor's South, it would have been very rude to point, so here is this person described as being so nice and simple while at the same time having a very rude name. What's he pointing at, figuratively? Could O'Connor be using his character to point to what's wrong with the world? (i.e. he's a charlatan, he's putting on a front) Also, I noticed something interesting about Joy/Hulga. We all know what the character chooses to call herself: Hulga, and we also know that the mother still calls her Joy. That's pretty straightforward, but what about O'Connor's narrative voice? The narrator seems to be shifting back and forth from calling her Joy to calling her Hulga. There seems to be something of a rhythm, and I am wondering if this flip-flopping is just random or if it indeed means something. After we know that the character changed her name legally, the narrator begins calling her Hulga except for when we get a window into Mrs. Hopewell's point of view. We get the first instance of this at the bottom of page 267, and this would make sense, since she continues to call her Joy, when we get her thoughts and beliefs, it makes sense to use Joy. Then during the initial meeting scene with Manley Pointer, the dinner scene, the narrator refers to her as Joy every time (pgs. 270-273), even when we are not "in Mrs. Hopewell's head." Then as if flipping a switch, on pg. 274 we get "Hulga had cracked her two eggs...," and for the rest of the story, the narrator's voice only uses Hulga or "the girl." Joy is never used again. I am reminded of "The River" and how there as well, the narrator seemed to be making a very conscious choice of calling the boy not by his God-given name. So what is going on here? On page 273, we get the scene in which the girl and Manley Pointer are talking at the gate, and Mrs. Hopewell is pondering what they are talking about. This feels like a crucial moment. Mrs. Hopewell is astonished that they are talking, and it is the next scene the next morning that the shift in name occurs for the narrative voice. Like Mrs. Hopewell, I am left wishing to hear the particulars of that conversation. Did the character change, and is O'Connor showing us this by the conscious shift in appellation? And since "Joy" is obviously a hopeful, very positive name while we know that "Hulga" is meant to be an ugly name, is this change in character supposed to be a negative one? Did the character maybe fall from grace here? Is this supposed to mark when the character begins to give in to Manley Pointer, who will eventually be her downfall? It is almost like the character is losing her "joy" to succumb to the full embodiment of Hulga, meant to be ugly, and this can be a foreshadowing of Manley Pointer's putting one over on her. I was wondering if anyone else noticed this, and again, it may be a small insignificant detail, but I think we have read enough O'Connor now not to trust any such details to randomness.

Grotesque in Good Country People

This is one of the stories we discussed in my Grotesque class because it hits that uncomfortable crossroads of humor and aversion, and because the imagery is anchored in the body.
Hulga's encounter with Pointer is disturbing, but also humorous in that "I can't believe this is funny-I-feel-a-little-sick-and-uncomfortable-laughing-about-this" kind of way.
The first time I read this story as a freshman, I remember thinking it would be kind of romantic to be a chilly intellectual like Hulga- finish a phD in philosophy and then retire as a sort of hermit to the country. Yet each time I read the story for a new class, I am struck more and more intensely by the perverted nature of Hulga's unsociable behavior. Presumably, she comes home to live with her mother because of a heart condition, and makes no effort to make herself sexually appealing (at least, before Pointer). Her existence is supposedly predicated on her nihilism--she accepts her fate in the country, because she believes that the world is without permenance or meaning. For her, their is no salvation of any kind. With all this in mind then, it seems strange that a nihilist would attach so much psychic energy to a material object as Hulga does with her leg. O'Connor writes that Hulga "took care of it as someone else would his soul, in private and almost with her own eyes turned away" (281). Hulga professes a belief in Nothing, yet when her leg is actually taken from her (when she is left with Nothing, instead of Something), she is faced with a true instance of vacuum--nothingness. Perhaps on an intellectual level she had convinced herself that she believed in Nothing, but Pointer's acknowledgment and theft of her leg rob her of her illusions of a purist's nihilism: her leg is a totem endowed with mystical powers, a fetish that "makes [her] different." Only when she experiences the loss of her leg, "like losing her own life and finding it again, miraculously, in his," does she realize that she values Something (perhaps a Something entirely outside of her articulation, but a Something none the less) that can be taken away or lost. The story remains Grotesque in the sense that we cannot resolve what that Something might be, or what the moral consequences of the story might be, for her or for Pointer.

Names in "Good Country People"

I took a particular interest in the names of the characters in “Good Country People”. I think many of the characters are cleverly labeled. Each name seems to describe, in some way, a certain characteristic or personality trait of that specific individual. Mrs. Hopewell, a lively and happy woman, believes just as her name implies; she hopes that all goes well or better yet she hopes that all is well that ends well; in other words, problems to not matter as long as the outcome is good. Mrs. Hopewell believes in the good country people, like Manley Pointer. She believes that “good country people are the salt of the earth” (O’Connor 271). I found Joy Hopewell’s name particularly interesting. Her name was Joy however she changes it to Hulga, which is described as “the ugliest name in any language” (O’Connor 266). After Joy loses her leg as a child she no longer has joy or hope in her life and therefore has the need to change her name to show how she feels. Since, Hulga is described as ugly, she must see herself as ugly. The Freeman family, however, does not portray what their name suggests. Instead, they are the opposite of their name. Mr. Freeman works for Mrs. Hopewell as a farmer, so in a way he is not a free man because he works under someone; someone else controls his money and living arrangements. O’Conner uses this name play very skillfully, because it adds to the readers understanding of the characters.

Manipulation in Good Country People

While reading “Good Country People,” I was so surprised that the only thing that Pointer did was steal her leg. Which I assume was a symbol of her vulnerability since that was the only part of Hulga that was weak. Hulga was intelligent, rude, and cynical and then the one time she lets down her guard and thinks hat she has found an innocent person in which she is worried about seducing and taking advantage of, he turns in to this completely different person that destroys her only hope that there are good people in the world.
I also thought is was really interesting that her mother believe that Pointer is such a good kind person too so he not only manipulates Hulga, but her mother as well. It was really ironic at the end of the story when her mother say that she wishes she was a simple good person like him, where really he just tricks Hulga into believing that he is this honest Christian whom just wants to help the world and preach the word of God while he is still live since he apparently has a heart condition. Which could be true seeing as he is always panting and tired but it seems like a way to get to Hulga and her mother due to Hulga’s heart condition; so they have something in common which is an easy way to intrude into someone’s life.
I also thought it was interesting that it was not the first time that he has taken advantage of someone with a disability; he admits that he has stolen a glass eye from another girl. So I just have to wonder why he goes after people with disfigurements. Maybe if he does have a heart condition he feels as if he has been abused and wants to do it to other people with problems. Or maybe he just goes after people with eccentricities because they have weaknesses in which they are self-conscious about and they become easy targets.

"The Displaced Person"

My initial reaction after reading “The Displaced Person” was discomfort and a little anger as well. There were a couple of parts in the story where I was extremely frustrated with the characters and their behavior. When Mr. Shortley, for example, is explaining how if he could travel he would go to Africa or China only because people would be able to tell the difference between him and the natives. He says, “You go to these other places and the only way you can tell is if they say something” (O’Connor 324); I am assuming “these other places” that he is speaking of are Germany and Poland given that he has repeatedly says there is no difference between the two. This is a very rude and almost vulgar thing to say. It is amazing to think that someone could say that there is no difference between people from Germany and people from Poland simply because they look alike especially during this time period. Why do we feel the need to distinguish ourselves from those who are different from us? Are Mrs. McIntyre and Mr. Shortley any better than the Guizac family? No. However, it matters to Mr. Shortley; he wants everyone to know that the Guizac family is different and where they come from.

I found all of this rather disturbing; Mr. Shortley would not have this foreigner outdo him and the only way for him to keep Mr. Guizac down is to spread rumors because it is evident that Mr. Shortley is no where near as good of a worker as Mr. Guizac. Therefore, since he cannot surpass him in physical labor he will try and hold him back through horrible gossip. This is irritating because Mr. Shortley has no right to do this simply because Mr. Guizac is a displaced person and he takes advantage of his “American” status to hold Mr. Guizac back.

Ordinary Folk

A common theme throughout the O'Connor stories we've read is that people--Southern people specifically, with her work--are dichotomous.

On the one hand, her characters subscribe to a loosely defined code of social decency, focused more on meeting these criteria than actually acting decent. On the other, her characters feed off each other like parasites. Exploitation is a common theme, and if there is a character that I believe best fits O'Connor's view of the typical person, it's Pointer.

I say this because he is able to work within this social construct not with an idealistic bent but rather an opportunistic one. He looks after his own best interests while conforming to an acceptable image. In the end, he has it both ways.

Pointer stands in contrast to Mrs. Hopewell and Joy (funny names), who are each idealistic in their own way. In Mrs. Hopewell's case, she subscribes to the social mores, at least superficially. Like most of O'Connor's characters she sees herself as moral and looks down on "trash" who don't subcribe to the mores.

Joy is equally idealistic, though in opposition to her mother. She realizes that the "code" of "Good Country People" is a farce, and she is too intelligent to be aussaged by the contradictions of her mother's life.

Both, however, are subscribing to a moral code: Mrs. Hopewell to one of social mores, Joy to one of truth. This makes them both susceptible to the advances of Pointer, who is equally adept at hocking Bibles to housewives and stealing the limbs from their daughters.

While there are plenty of Mrs. Hopewells and Joys in the world--or at least people who fancy themselves as such--I believe O'Connor believes that there are more Pointers in the world. While Mrs. Hopewell's "Good Country People" are a myth, Pointer is all-too real.

Two Sides of Immigration

With the character of Guizac, O'Connor touches on our somewhat schizophrenic relationship with immigrants, and shows that the xenophobia surrounding immigration issues is a timeless topic.

As has always been the case in this country, immigration is vital to the success of our economy. Though this can lead to exploitation, American businesses rely on low-income workers to come in from other countries desperate to do the dirty work Americans don't want to do.

At the same time, Americans complain that the immigrants are taking our jobs.

How true is this with Guizac! At first, he's a godsend for Mrs. McIntyre, as he's grateful for any work, and unlike her American laborers, who are prone to loafing, he is a hard, uncomplaining worker.

The initial suspicion of him comes not from Mrs. McIntyre, but rather from the other characters who feel threatened by his work ethic. They eventually convince Mrs. McIntyre to act against her own best interests, and not with logical reasons, but rather suspicion and xenophobia.

This type of thinking has permeated immigration issues, and still does. The absurdity of it would be comical were it not so tragic.

Paranoia in The D.P.

What stood out in my mind while and after reading The Displaced Person was Mrs. Shortley's idea of herself. She liked portraying herself as a strong person, loving the feeling of putting other people down. Despite her best efforts, I found her to be a completely insecure, paranoid individual. She confided in her husband, most likely for his approval of her insecurities and theories, yet she couldn't keep her mouth shut around the others. The one section of the story that really stood out for me was when Mr. and Mrs. Shortley were in bed, and Mr. Shortley was pretending to be a "dead man." While Mrs. Shortley had an incredibly low opinion of black people, she confessed, "I aim to take up for the niggers when the time comes." She talks in circles, in an attempt to find reason in her fear of "them poles." Mrs. Shortley's constant paranoia branches from the threat that they have more knowledge than they let on. My question is...if she views herself as being so much better than them, speaking poorly of them behind their backs, then what is she afraid of? And why would she even speak of her fears out loud? It seems that with her pride, she would keep these emotions bottled up.

The Displaced Person from a Sociological Standpoint

I cannot help but think that O’Connor’s sole purpose for “The Displaced Person” was to simply shock American culture into awareness of its own intolerance toward the victims of the Holocaust. She most definitely suceeded into shocking into awareness of how American culture pervertedly percieved the horrors of the war. In her writing however, O'Connor never mentions the words ‘concentration,’ ‘Hitler,’ or ‘Nazi’ but the absence of those key words only heightens the importance of the subtext in sentences like “I’m a logical practical woman and there are no ovens here and no camps and no Christ Our Lord.” Obviously Mrs. McIntyre alludes to the mass murder of the people in Europe, but her own misconstrued notions of right and wrong persuade her to believe Mr. Guizac deserves nothing—not even the chance to make a living after fleeing his home. She believes she solidifies the true system of America when she refuses to allow her black worker to send for Mr. Guizac’s cousin, and rebukes him saying “I cannot understand how a man who calls himself a Christian could bring over a poor innocent girl over here and marry her to something like that.” She calls her black worker a “that.” As if he were less than human.” Forget that this young woman has been in a “camp” for three years. Forget that she may be starving and dying. It would not be worth it to Mrs. McIntyre to derail her reputation and allow a mixed marriage to occur under her nose. Racism, again, championed over basic moral reasoning. She should let this young woman suffer, obviously, because it would be better to die than to marry a black person? What?! The simply ironies in this story were bitter and sickening. Was the American mindset really too proud to welcome these displaced families—these suffering families uprooted from their homes and torn away from their loved ones— with open arms? Did Americans refuse to believe in moral obligation? Is the reason O’Connor wrote this story to shake our society into recognizing that we fit the mold of either Mrs. Shortley, a person motivated by greed and ignorance, or Mrs. McIntyre, a person motivated by greed, pride, and dangerous ideology. I really do not even know what to write about after reading this story. I feel such animosity toward these women because I know that women in my own country harbored these xenophobic fears toward people who truly had nothing. Nothing. The nonchalant way Mrs. McIntyre and Mrs. Shortley women speak of these refugees—“the Pole and his family were getting fat; she pointed out that the hollows had come out of their cheeks” or “every time Mr. Guizac smiled, Europe stretched out in Mrs. Shortley’s imagination, mysterious and evil, the devil’s experiment station.” Mrs. Shortley claimed “Mr. Guizac came from the devil”, and that unlike him, she was one of God’s chosen ones with a “special part in the plan because she was strong.” Her so-called strength eventually gave her a stroke. Her husband blamed her death on their devil-contaminated Poles. In contrast, Mrs. McIntyre initially claims that Mr. Guizac is her “salvation” and again, in her conversation with the Priest, Mr. Guizac is recognized as a Christ figure who “didn’t have to come in the first place” but “came to redeem us.” Mr. Guizac and his family worked only to find a home with Mrs. McIntyre, but she rejected him and his tireless, perfect work. She rejected perfection, and in a sense, rejected Christ. Again, this piece seems to serve entirely as O’Connor’s social commentary of America’s hypocrisy. We say we believe in freedom, but we reject the oppressed. We say we believe in a loving Christian God, but we reject his principles.

The religious overtones in this story seemed to saturate every part of the story. The peackock stood as another metaphor for Christ. Mrs. Shortley prophesized “the children of wicked nations with be butchered,” foreshadowing the death of Mr. Guizac. Both Mrs. Shortley and Mrs. McIntyre claim to be Christian women but condemn the priest as one who “comes to destroy.” The women use religion to appease the guilt they would otherwise have felt toward the Polish family. If I had more time, I would dig more into the religious themes of this short story.

Rich or Poor, Everyone Fears Industrious Immigrants

I thought that "The Displaced Person" exemplified the fear of immigrant workers that pervades both working class and upper class Americans through the fears of Mrs. Shortley and Mrs. McIntyre. Initially Mrs. McIntyre was able to appreciate Mr. Guizac's strong work ethic and multitude of job skills because she viewed him as non-threatening but mysterious. The Shortley's thought that they could escape from his problematic presence, but the need for forced Mr. Shortley to try to reclaim his job. However, rather than try to prove his worth to Mrs. McIntyre, Mr. Shortley only attempts to reinforce her racially motivated distrust of Mr. Guizac. However, I had a strong impression that if Mrs. McIntyre hadn't feared that Mr. Guizac would upset the strict Southern social structure by ignoring racial boundaries, she would have continued to benefit from his presence. This story shows how economic pressure and a desperate desire to maintain established social norms can cause rich and poor Americans to hate and fear immigrant laborors regardless of the possible positive impact that they could have on our society.

Displaced Person

I thought the “Displaced Person”, was a very honest story due to the fact that it is true how society teats immigrants even in today. People are constantly blaming and immigrants and acting just as Mrs. Shortely does. Mrs. Shortley is very critical and uses names to make fun of the immigrant like the Guizac’s she calls, “Gobblehook, but not to their faces. I also found it interest how she brought the “negros” into the story and showed how Mrs. Shortley acted around them as well. It showed that closed mindedness is not just to one group but rather it spreads to all groups that are unlike her. I also thought the Priest had a very interesting role in the beginning that seemed to emphasize the idea that not all people feel the same as Mrs. Shortely. I also liked the fact that this story shows that people do not change even today we still hold certain ideals that are outdated just because our parent or grandparent believe in them.

Blindness in "The Displaced Person"

This morning, when I woke up, I felt differently about the role of the peacock and what it could possibly symbolize in O'Connor's short story. I know peacocks are often associated with The Transfiguration of Christ (I've seen a lot of artwork of this in churches, particularly when I was in Greece), so it took me on a religious tangent. I did some more research today, and also found that peacocks have another, sometimes more sinister, symbolic meaning within society. The most useful sight was actually vanishingtattoo.com, which provides the symbolic meaning of peacocks throughout the ages! To this day, in many cultures, peacock feathers are not allowed inside the home because they are "the evil eye" and bring bad luck into the home; the green part at the end looks like an eye to many people. The tattoo artist also called it the "bird with 100 eyes" because of its pattering. O'Connor also draws attention to the "spots of sky" at the end of Mrs. McIntyre's bird. When I re-read the short story, I noticed that O'Connor incorporated the motif of blindness into her short story.
Many characters, one way or another, seem to suffer from poor eyesight. The first instance of blindness I noticed was with Mrs. Shortley, when the peacock is first introduced. Her "unseeing eyes [are] directly in front of the peacock's tail", and yet she is unable to see it, because she is trying so desperately to see what is beyond it. Mrs. McIntyre, perhaps more than any other character, carries on the motif of blindness. She lacks foresight, that is the ability to see how her actions will affect her and others around her, and also the ability to see people clearly for who they truly are. She wills herself to be blind to the faults of some people, while willing herself to be blind to the virtues in others in order to justify her selfishness. When Guizac tells her about Astor stealing her turkey, she responds that "all Negroes will steal". Mr. Guizac strives to bring honesty and enlightenment onto her farm, and she struggles equally against his attempts in order to remain ignorant. She also chooses to ignore Mr. Guizac's virtues and humanity, seeing him as one of a million faceless victims, in order to deny her responsibility to him. Mrs. McIntyre, Mr. Shortley, and Sulk are also blind to how their actions will result disastorously. Like many of O'Connor's works, she uses foreshadowing to alert the reader to a disastrous end; although she provides her readers with sight, her characters obliviously continue on towards a path of self-destruction.
Once again, the peacock also emphasizes the blindness that is taking place on the dairy. The bird is considered "a mythic metaphor as all-seeing witnesses to hidden transgressions" (vanishingtattoo.com), which is why O'Connor is always careful to emphasize its presence its presence in the story. The bird is all-seeing and all-knowing- once more associating it with God- and a witness to the many sins that are occurring on the farm. Ironically, it is the one character who can see everything that is taking place, yet lacks the language to communicate. I also wonder if the fact that Mr. Guizac wears "gold-rimmed glasses" is significant. He also has poor eyesight, but tries to correct his insufficiencies, his human imperfections, through glasses. While the others will themselves to be blind, he wants to see clearly. This motif of blindness ties into my assertions last night about racism. The characters allow themselves to be blinded by appearances, and are unable to see people for who they truly are.

The D.P. has made me worry

This is I guess less about the literary aspects of The Displaced Person but rather my initial reactions to it while and after reading it. First of all, I felt very tense the entire time reading the story. I cannot remember feeling that way about reading her other stories. Perhaps it was because she spent SO much time leading up to every incident that happened, it seemed more suspenseful. The constant griping about the immigrant from Poland made me uneasy. It also made me feel incredibly sad that almost nothing has changed as time has gone passed. No, we aren't really complaining about the Poles taking our jobs, but we have been complaining. Especially the language issue. I cannot help but remember all the times I've heard in conversation that people get irritated because an immigrant will not learn the English language. Honestly, I see both sides, and I've decided to remain completely neutral about this issue until absolutely forced to make a decision.

This fear of the unknown and "exotic" has pretty much been a constant theme in all our history. I feel like the peacock in the story kind of represented the Guizac family. They are such beautiful creatures, but all except for the priest, everyone seems annoyed by them and just put up with them (another mouth to feed). A part of me feels really guilty for not knowing. Why? It's part of tolerance. I feel like I'm a pretty accepting person when it comes to other people's ways of life... but I worry that there is some polite immigrant out there who sees me as a Mrs. Shortley.

I think I'm getting off track... My initial reaction I guess was just uneasiness. And not the same uneasiness that Mrs. Shortley felt in the beginning. It was the tension between the two sides. The two "white" sides anyway. I honestly do not know how I feel about the black servant representation in this story. I KNOW they have an integral part in it, but I think I'm too clouded right now about the immigrant/worker tensions that I've actually failed to think about the black workers. How should I feel about the put downs, but then when push comes to shove, it's the Shortleys that are fired? Obvious racism, but there is also obvious comfort in knowing them, making them less of the unknown. But the Shortleys were a comfort to Mrs. McIntyre too. I'm confused about this so I welcome any comments.

Displaced Jesus

Like many of O'Connor's other short stories, the Biblical allusions were especially striking to me in "The Displaced Person". Mr. Guizac plays the role of a modern Jesus throughout the story, which is particularly evident in the end, when it is his innocence and naivety that makes him an outsider, and ultimately leads to his death. Also, he is a "carpenter", so the connection here is undeniable! In my opinion, the priest played a minor part in the plot of the story, other than to emphasize the purity of Mr. Guizac through juxtaposition: while the priest should ideally represent holiness on earth, he demonstrates a deluded sense of religion. While he is religious, he is far from spiritual, and his detachment from Jesus and the true meaning of God is evident. (I will get into this more, when I discuss the peacock as a religious symbol) Unlike Father Flynn, who demonstrates his faith through pious speeches and his appearance, Mr. Guizac exudes holiness. His integrity, like when he tells Mrs. McIntyre about the stolen turkey, and his comical appearance made him an even more appealing character and someone whom I came to respect.
O'Connor's portrayal of her modern-day Jesus was refreshing to me simply because he was realistic and easier to relate to; it seems very rare that an author humanizes a Jesus figure in their literature, and Mr. Guizac therefore is more believable and carries a strong symbolic significance. She describes Mr. Guizac as "shaped like a peanut", and socially awkward in the eyes of American society; many Catholics could consider this depiction of Christ as blasphemous, and it's surprising that O'Connor would portray him as vulnerable, dislikeable, and weak. To his observers, Guizac is a pathetic character, and his appearances enable others to look past his better qualities. O'Connor seems to be playing with the dichotomy of appearances and essence: I argue this through juxtaposing the Pole and the peacock, who also symbolizes a religious character, and whose fate is also determined by its appearance. The peacock, when it is first introduced, is "like a miniature god". Father Flynn is left awe-struck by its beauty, and remarks that, "Christ will come like that", as he watches its feathers unfold before him. In religious iconography, the peacock is associated with "the Transfiguration", which the Father alludes to. Unlike Mr. Guizac, whose personality makes him a symbol of Christ, the peacock is ultimately revered by the Father because of its appearance. This struck me as extremely ironic, because O'Connor is careful to emphasize that, although beautiful, it was extremely annoying and dirty. Their contrasting fates can also be attributed to their differing appearances: while Mr. Guizac dies tragically, the peacock is able to live its life being cared for by Father Flynn. It is his appearance, its "glittering green-gold and blue" feathers that ultimately save its life.
I feel that O'Connor is exploring the dichotomy of seeming vs. being in order to comment on racism. The peacock is privileged because it appears holy; while Mr. Guizac is the Christlike figure, his unusual demeanor, accent, and exterior prevents others from seeing his remarkable qualities. It is also set after World War II, when issues of racism and appearance were at the front debates. By making her Christ figure believable, and therefore perfection attainable, she is also commenting on how tragic racism is. She reveals that it is ultimately our fears of something that is different and "ugly", and not their actions, that often separate the revered from the crucified.

"The Displaced Person"

The ending of “The Displaced Person” seems to come to a definite conclusion more than O’Conner’s other short stories. The way in which O’Conner explains Mrs. Shortley’s obesity and her physiological stress right before she leaves Mrs. McIntyre’s farm prefaces her quick death. The same is true for Mrs. McIntyre’s rapidly declining health and her eventual inability to get out of bed. I also expected Mr. Shortley to leave the farm after Mr. Guizac is killed because of his clear opposition against the Pole. Either Mr. Shortley feels guilt because of the comments he made or he is worried that people might say he had a part in the foreigner’s death. Finally, the priest continues to see Mrs. McIntyre once a week and feeds her peacock, which he has had a fondness for from the onset of the story.

I liked this story because, while O’Conner focuses on the discrimination of the Americans, she remains true to the notion that most people do not change in regard to ideals deeply instilled during their lifetimes. I think that Mrs. McIntyre was possibly struggling with her “more obligations” to keep Mr. Guizac as a worker. However, I am also convinced that she had more trouble firing him because he is the best worker she has ever had. She is forced to look at the worth of her other employees and I like the strain that is created in her character as a result.