All along reading “Of Mice and Men,” I always think that Leannie is a very big man with a naive mind.  He never has the intention to harm anyone, yet this is what gets him in trouble and/or ending up “hurt” others (such as George, the mouse, his pup and Curley’s wife).

I was surprise and had a bad feeling when Curley’s wife comes and talks to Leannie and offer him to feel the softness of her hair.  With Curley’s wife’s offer, I feel like she will end up as one of the mice that Leannie petted.  The mice do resemble Curley’s wife.  In this story, Curley’s wife is the “little” ones just like mice.  They both struggle to live among other creature/human beings.  I feel like Curley’s wife is so “small” that she feels lonely and therefore she seeks for attention.

For George to kill Leannie at the end is sad but benefits both of them.  Leannie is benefited since getting kill by George is way better than being capture by Curley.  If Curley catches Leannie, I can’t imagine how horrible his death will be.  This way at least Leannie is died with the dream in his head (dream to have his own place and able to tend the rabbits) and without being terrify that he is going to die.  George is benefited from killing Leannie that he now can live his life the way he always said he would if he wasn’t with Leannie.  This ending is kind of a relieve for both George and Leannie, at the same time Curley got what he was there for.

Here I am at the ending. My questions have been answered and my worst fears confirmed yet I don’t feel any remorse for Lennie. Am I evil? Maybe.

Lennie seemed doomed from the start and George appeared powerless to stop the inevitable. George was genuinely distraught at the end but at the same time I think it was release for the both of them. The future for them was always going to be bleak and hollow. There really was no future in their occupation and no real hope for a better life. Steinbeck often kills the characters we love the most or the ones we want to see succeed. I think as readers we never want to be disappointed but that’s what life is about. This ending reminds me of the Pearl in which the main character’s infant son dies – it seemed senseless but at the same time its reality. Lennie’s innocence was ultimately what destroyed him, through no fault of his own it was his ignorance that caused the deaths. It was his innocence that caused his own.

Curley’s wife in my opinion is a tragic figure, as we later would learn she was full of vibrancy and life. This vibrancy was crushed once she married Curley and ultimately she became a non-entity. When anyone is robbed of their happiness, of their dreams and aspirations they often become bitter and hollow shells of themselves. I think Curley’s wife used what was at her disposal to hide the emptiness she felt on the inside. She became the temptress, the instigator and the blight on the farm because there was no role for her, no place for her other than being Curley’s trophy. What kind of misery could she have been in that she sought to take it out on others. Being married to someone is trouble enough but being married to someone you don’t like would make any rational woman murderous and perhaps evil. I think its unfair to call her a whore – she might have been flirty, devious and generally an unkind person but labeling her like that is unfair.

First, on formality: everything I say is opinion – not fact. If it were
otherwise, I imagine I’d be head of my own church by now. Or possibly a cult.

That said, Morrison’s Sula was an engaging piece of literature. I am
not as well read as some, but I have trudged through my share of
Nobel laureates and can safely say that, though as evocative, Ms. Morrison
was a far more enjoyable read. My proof? I staved off hours of sleep to finish
reading: I don’t do that for any old book.

Next on the pearly-shit: Morrison’s writing was enjoyable; a pleasant concoction
of the poetic and the obscene that didn’t belabor the point. In fact, rather
than lecture, she seemed just along for the ride: as if we were experiencing the
same story from two opposing points of view. Her meaning, if there was one,
was swaddled in enough good prose to make the whole narrative pill that much
easier to swallow.

Lastly, on Arthur Ignatius: Sherlock Holmes (the concept – not
the character) is one of a handful of literary constructs that I aspire (and,
thus far, fail utterly) to emulate. One of his principle guidelines to abide by is
selection of input: deciding what information warrants absorption and what is better
off ignored.

To me, books – good books, books you enjoy – are like old friends or
familiar places. Years after you last pick one up, you can dive right in and recognize
the landmarks. For better or worse, they become part of who you are…

If it were left up to me, I wouldn’t have read this book. Like others we have read
thus far and, I suspect, ones we will read in the remainder of the course, they do
not offer anything I couldn’t have done without.