Part 4 of Book Analysis: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Steinbeck’s Intent: A Story of Struggle and Longing
John Steinbeck didn’t set out to write Of Mice and Men as a tearjerker. He wasn’t interested in sentimental tragedies wrapped in neat moral lessons. Instead, he aimed to unsettle—to hold up a mirror to a world that had little room for the weak, the dreamers, or those simply struggling to survive.
The Great Depression of 1929 had crippled the U.S. economy, leaving millions jobless and desperate. Then came the Dust Bowl, a brutal ecological disaster that turned farmland into barren wastelands. Cotton prices plummeted, crops withered, and families packed what little they had and headed west. By the mid-1930s, an estimated 400,000 migrant workers had flooded California’s fields, chasing the faint promise of work. [1]They toiled under the scorching sun, breaking their backs for wages that barely kept them fed. Their dreams—of owning land, of security, of something more than mere existence—often remained just that: dreams.
Steinbeck, both a journalist and a novelist, saw this suffering up close. But Of Mice and Men isn’t just a novel about economic despair. Beneath its rugged exterior, it is a story about loneliness, dignity, and the primal need for human connection. George and Lennie’s bond stands in stark contrast to the cutthroat world around them. They dream—however naively—of a future where they belong, where they are more than disposable laborers in an unfeeling system.
Through their journey, Steinbeck asks a question that still echoes today: What happens to those who can’t compete in a world built on ruthless individualism? Do we owe each other kindness in a society that so often prioritizes profit over people?
Though Of Mice and Men is a slim novel, its weight lingers. It refuses to offer easy answers. Instead, it leaves us with an unsettling truth: some dreams are fragile, and the world does not always make room for them.
Why Of Mice and Men Still Matters
Nearly a century after its publication, Of Mice and Men refuses to fade into literary history—it remains as relevant as ever. Economic hardship may look different now, with the gig economy replacing itinerant farm labor, but the underlying instability lingers. People still struggle for fair wages, affordable housing, and the kind of security that doesn’t feel as flimsy as a house of cards. Consider disability employment: according to Pew Research, only 4% of employed Americans have a disability, and in 2021, their median income was $28,438—far below the $40,948 earned by those without one[2]. Our modern world has made strides in protecting its most vulnerable, yet it is still not enough. Like George and Lennie, many continue chasing dreams that always seem to hover just out of reach.
But Steinbeck’s novel isn’t just an economic critique—it delves into something even more profound: the fundamental need to belong. In an era where social interactions are often reduced to fleeting digital exchanges, the novel’s themes of loneliness and exclusion hit closer to home than ever. Lennie, Curley’s wife, Crooks, Candy—each is isolated, each pushed to the margins in different ways. Their stories force us to ask: Who are today’s outsiders? Who do we ignore, dismiss, or silence? And what does that reveal about the society we’ve built?
The novel’s meditation on marginalization—whether due to disability, race, gender, or poverty—has lost none of its power. The American Dream remains fragile, isolation still stings, and the yearning for companionship is a universal human experience. Again and again, history has shown that economic downturns, environmental crises, and social divides hit the most vulnerable the hardest—a truth Steinbeck laid bare in the Dust Bowl era and one that remains unchanged.
For modern readers, Of Mice and Men is more than a literary classic; it’s a call to awareness. It reminds us that empathy and human connection aren’t luxuries—they are survival tools.
A Novel Praised, Banned, and Studied
When Of Mice and Men hit the shelves in 1937, it was met with widespread acclaim. Critics praised Steinbeck’s sharp realism, emotional depth, and unvarnished portrayal of hardship. Almost instantly, it became a cornerstone of American literature. But, like many great works, it wasn’t without controversy. Over the decades, the novel has been challenged, censored, and even banned from schools and libraries—criticized for its coarse language, depictions of violence, and unfiltered exploration of racism and ableism.[3] Ironically, the very themes that make it essential reading—its fearless depiction of human suffering and social injustice—are the same ones that have made some want to silence it.
Yet Of Mice and Men endures. It remains a staple in high school curricula, dissected in classrooms, debated in book clubs, and analyzed in essays. Why? Because it’s more than a novel about two migrant workers—it’s a window into a defining era in American history. Steinbeck doesn’t just tell a story; he captures the raw experiences of those left behind by the American Dream. He forces readers to grapple with difficult questions about morality, dignity, and survival.[4]
George’s final act remains one of the most unsettling moral dilemmas in literature. Some see it as an act of mercy, others as a tragic necessity. But one thing is certain: Steinbeck’s compassion for characters like Lennie is palpable. Of Mice and Men does not offer easy answers, nor does it allow us to look away from the uncomfortable truths of its time—or our own. That’s precisely why it continues to matter.
Personal Takeaways: Lessons from George and Lennie
Few books leave readers as emotionally torn as Of Mice and Men. It is both tender and unrelenting, beautiful and devastating. At its core, George and Lennie’s friendship is more than just two men traveling and working together—it is a fragile lifeline in a world that offers little kindness. Their bond, however flawed, underscores the fundamental human need for connection. What struck me most was how deeply I wanted them to succeed—to finally own that little ranch, to carve out a place where they truly belonged. Candy, too, deserved the dignity of a home where he wouldn’t be discarded like his old dog. As I reflect on the novel, one thing becomes clear: Steinbeck reveals truths we might otherwise overlook, forcing us to see the world in a way we hadn’t before.
But Steinbeck does not write fairy tales. Of Mice and Men is, at its heart, a cautionary tale—one where fate is neither just nor merciful. The dream remains just out of reach, not because the characters lacked determination, but because the world was never built for them to win. The novel warns against blind optimism, the kind that refuses to acknowledge the forces working against us. Lennie’s tragedy isn’t that he was unkind or undeserving; it’s that a world built on cold pragmatism had no space for someone like him. And George? He is left to wander through a landscape that punishes both the weak and those who try to protect them.
Steinbeck leaves modern readers with an unsettling question: Do we live in a society that values people for who they are, or only for what they can produce? Long after turning the final page, I find myself wrestling with this thought—and I suspect I always will.
And most importantly—what did Of Mice and Men mean to you? Let’s discuss. Share your thoughts in the comments. Did Steinbeck’s portrayal of friendship and loneliness move you? Do you think the American Dream is still an illusion for many? Let’s keep the conversation going.
[1] Patrick J. Kiger, “How the Dust Bowl Made Americans Refugees in Their Own Country,” HISTORY, August 11, 2023, https://www.history.com/news/dust-bowl-migrants-california.
[2] Rebecca Leppert and Katherine Schaeffer, “8 Facts about Americans with Disabilities,” Short Read, Pew Research Center (blog), July 24, 2023, https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2023/07/24/8-facts-about-americans-with-disabilities/.
[3] “Banned Books 2022 – Of Mice and Men,” Report, Marshall Libraries (blog), August 16, 2022, https://www.marshall.edu/library/bannedbooks/of-mice-and-men/.
[4] Jan Whitt, “‘To Do Some Good and No Harm’: The Literary Journalism of John Steinbeck,” The Steinbeck Review 3, no. 2 (2006): 41–62.