Character Arc in Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find

Moment of Grace: the ending of " A Good Man is Hard to Find "

Over the final pages of Flannery O'Connor's short story "A Good Man is Hard to Find," the grandmother has a long exchange with the serial killer known as "The Misfit ." She begins by appealing to his kindness and his chivalry, but he brushes off these approaches. Finally she appeals to his faith: to religion. Just as her manipulation seems to be working on her would-be killer, the grandmother falls into a moment not of begging but of complete sincerity, and the Misfit, spooked, immediately shoots her through the chest so that she will be unable to reach him. After a lifetime of hypocrisy the grandmother, faced with her death, experiences one brief moment of enlightenment; and her killer is unwilling to share in it, as it would rock the foundation of the worldview he has set down for himself. All in a moment the woman is saved by grace, and condemned for it.

Before looking any closer at the climax of this story, let us first understand the characteristics of the old woman; and, as she remains nameless throughout, we shall refer to her simply as " Grandmother ." "Grandmother," then, is a liar, first and foremost. Mary Jane Schenck says that the lady's personality "is built upon the fictions she tells herself and her family" (470). A pretty damning accusation, but not altogether undeserved. The most blatant example of this is in the story when Grandmother wishes to visit an old plantation she knew in her youth, but knows her son will not want to go. Her first instinct is to tell a lie:

"There was a secret panel in this house," she said craftily, not telling the truth but wishing that she were, "and the story went that all the family silver was hidden in it when Sherman came through, but it was never found... It's not far from here, I know," the grandmother said. "It wouldn't take over twenty minutes... It would be very educational for [the children]" (435).

Grandmother is the sort of person who will say anything to get her way, going so far as to lie to the children in order to gain their support. Of course once the prospect of hidden treasure is brought into the picture, the entire family is forced to conform to Grandmother's wishes. Now, as usual, she gets her way.

It is no surprise, then, that upon being confronted by an escaped killer, Grandmother slickly falls into the role of ambassador. She is not truly concerned with the Misfit's soul, but uses it, as she did the secret panel in the plantation, as the means to an end. O'Connor later said of her character that "[Grandmother] is facing death. And to all appearances she, like the rest of us, is not too well prepared for it. She would like to see the event postponed. Indefinitely" (460). This is evident as during her talk with the Misfit, her tone becomes immediately flattering and manipulative: "You don't look a bit like you have common blood," "You shouldn't call yourself The Misfit," "I just know you're a good man" (438-439). We can hardly blame Grandmother for her attempts, but this time the attempts "are thwarted by her encounter with a character who understands there is no reality behind her words" (Schenck 471). And the Misfit does understand.

The Misfit is not a man entirely void of ethics; he merely lives by a different code than most of us. J. O. Tate says that "he insisted there was no balance between guilt and punishment" (470). To clarify, the Misfit does say something similar to that, but as a complaint. He wants there to be a balance, but he can't find it; he wants justice, but it escapes him. "I don't want no help," he says at one point, "I'm doing all right by myself" (440). Later he states that "Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead, and He shouldn't have done it. He thown everything off balance" (441). Simply put, the Misfit does not want grace, even for himself. He doesn't believe in it. What he wants is sin and judgment: an equal punishment to match each crime. He calls himself "The Misfit" because he feels that his punishments have not reflected, have not "fit" his crimes. "We should not fail, therefore, to note that The Misfit's 'borrowed' blue jeans are too tight" (Tate 468). Nothing in the Misfit's life matches up. There is no balance. "You can hold up the crime to the punishment and see do they match," he tells Grandmother, "and in the end you'll have something to prove you ain't been treated right" (441).

Throughout the conversation between Grandmother and the Misfit, the Misfit is content to listen to the old woman's talk about prayer and Jesus; it isn't until he sees that she believes what she's saying that he leaps back and shoots her. Flannery O'Connor wrote of this story, "you should know what's going to happen in this story so that any element of suspense in it will be transferred from its surface to its interior" (459). She is referring to the story here in general terms of plot and theme, but these words can also be applied to Grandmother herself. The Misfit probably knows that she is only trying to save her own life, and he's alright with that; but when he looks through the surface to the interior, he is shocked to see that Grandmother has found herself "joined to him by ties of kinship" (O'Connor 461).

The grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!" She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest (442).

For the first time since the beginning of the story, Grandmother has dropped her manipulating facade. In his surprise, the Misfit does the only thing he knows how to do, to make the mystery go away. He kills her.

Grandmother could only experience this moment of redemption by coming face to face with her own death. O'Connor is right when she says "There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored" (462). Unfortunately, this cannot happen simply by chance. "Violence," writes O'Connor, "is strangely capable of returning my characters to reality and preparing them to accept their moment of grace" (461). For Grandmother, it took the sound of her family being killed in the woods, and an armed man sitting before her discussing murder. Even after all her talk of religion, there comes a part where Grandmother questions her own faith; perhaps in despair, or perhaps just in hopes of pleasing the Misfit. Then, just before her death, she sees for a brief second "the Divine life and our participation in it" (O'Connor 460). Upon acceptance of her helplessness, the proud old woman finally sees the grief-wracked man as part of her own family.

After killing Grandmother, the Misfit tries to compose himself. He cleans his glasses, swaps sarcastic comments with an accomplice, and grumbles that there's "no real pleasure in life" (442). However, I think we can believe that Grandmother has left an impression upon him. She certainly tapped into something deeper than either one of them had expected, as evidenced by the Misfit's sudden actions. It is possible that the final lines of the story are the last thoughts he will give to the old woman, but maybe, just maybe, he will remember. Flannery O'Connor certainly hoped he would, when she wrote that "the old lady's gesture, like the mustard-seed, will grow to be a great crow-filled tree in The Misfit's heart, and will be enough of a pain to him there to turn him into the prophet he was meant to become" (461). And honestly, I can think of no better response than one borrowed from Dickens: "May that truly be said of us, and all of us!"