Part 3 of Book Analysis: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Introduction
When I first read Of Mice and Men, I couldn’t shake the feeling that John Steinbeck infused each character with profound compassion, as if he didn’t just craft them for the sake of a story but to reveal the raw, aching vulnerabilities of real people. Through their struggles, he delivers an undeniable truth: human connection is both essential and heartbreakingly fragile.
In this post, I want to turn the spotlight on the novel’s characters—their flaws, their dreams, and the burdens they carry. Each one faces a particular limitation, whether physical, societal, or emotional. But rather than overcoming these obstacles, they shoulder them, shaping their fates as they navigate a world that often seems indifferent. Their lives intertwine, creating a tapestry woven with hope, loneliness, and quiet sacrifice. And long after the last page is turned, their struggles don’t simply fade—they linger, like the echo of an old wound that never quite heals.
Protagonist Focus
Of Mice and Men doesn’t have just one protagonist—it has two, bound together by necessity, loyalty, and a shared dream of a better life. Drifting from ranch to ranch in search of work, George Milton and Lennie Small are an unlikely pair. They watch each other’s backs, navigating a world that offers little kindness, all while clinging to the hope of owning a ranch where they can finally be free.
George Milton is the reluctant guardian, a man toughened by hardship but softened by responsibility. Practical, sharp, and fully aware of the harsh realities of the world, he understands both the limits of their circumstances and the risks that come with Lennie’s presence. Though he often complains about the burden of caring for Lennie, his actions reveal the depth of his loyalty. He ensures Lennie is fed, calms his anxieties with stories of a better future, and ultimately faces an agonizing moral dilemma—choosing mercy over fate. His journey is one of deep internal conflict, balancing frustration, duty, and an unbearable sacrifice.
Lennie Small, ironically named, is both the strongest and most powerless figure in the novel. His immense physical strength contrasts sharply with his childlike innocence, making him a tragic force—both a gentle soul and an unintentional threat. He clings to George’s promises of a peaceful life where he can tend rabbits, a dream representing safety, belonging, and simplicity. Yet, Lennie’s inability to control his strength sets in motion a chain of tragic events, reinforcing one of Steinbeck’s most devastating themes: the cruel reality that some dreams, no matter how beautiful, remain forever out of reach.
From the very first chapter, George and Lennie are presented as foils to each other—opposites in both body and mind. Where George is wiry and quick-witted, Lennie is large and slow to grasp the world around him. One is a protector, the other a dreamer. Their differences not only define their relationship but also shape the novel’s emotional core, making their story all the more poignant.
Curley: The Antagonist
Curley, the boss’s son, is a walking storm of insecurity wrapped in aggression. Small in stature but overflowing with hostility, he prowls the ranch looking for fights, desperate to prove a strength he doesn’t truly possess. Though he fancies himself a skilled boxer, his real battle isn’t with his fists—it’s with his own inferiority complex.
Nothing fuels Curley’s resentment more than men who are taller, stronger, or more naturally confident—qualities he sorely lacks. Lennie, with his towering frame and quiet demeanor, becomes an easy target. The moment Curley realizes Lennie isn’t quick-witted enough to fight back, he seizes every opportunity to assert dominance, mistaking cruelty for power. But for all his bravado, Curley is more pitiful than fearsome. His unchecked jealousy and relentless need to prove himself don’t just make him an antagonist—they make him a tragic figure, forever fighting a battle he’s already lost.
Secondary Characters
Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men doesn’t just center on George and Lennie—it’s filled with characters whose struggles reflect the harsh realities of their time. Each secondary character embodies a different form of isolation, shaped by societal biases that strip them of agency and dignity.
Candy, the aging ranch hand, is a heartbreaking symbol of lost potential. His value to the farm diminishes with every passing year, just like his old, crippled dog—his only real companion—who is deemed worthless and put down. In the unforgiving landscape of the 1930s, an injured, aging worker like Candy has little hope of securing a future. Desperate to reclaim a sense of purpose, he clings to George and Lennie’s dream of owning land, pouring his savings and hopes into their fragile vision. But when that dream slips away, so does his last chance at meaning. His story underscores the brutal realities of ableism and ageism, showing how society discards those who are no longer deemed useful.
Curley’s Wife is defined not by her own identity but by her husband’s name—a woman without a name, reduced to being someone’s wife. Until relatively recently, married women were often addressed solely as “Mrs. [Husband’s Name],” a custom that erased individuality. But beneath her flirtatious exterior lies a young woman aching for connection, trapped in a loveless marriage that offers neither companionship nor respect. Steinbeck offers little about her past, but her loneliness is palpable. The men dismiss her as trouble, yet she is no more dangerous than they are—just more visible in her desperation. Her tragic fate isn’t merely the result of Lennie’s uncontrollable strength; it is the consequence of a world that refuses to see her as anything more than an object. She embodies the crushing effects of sexism, a reminder that women, too, had their dreams—dreams just as easily shattered.
Crooks, the Black stable hand, exists on the fringes of ranch life, isolated by racism and hardened by years of exclusion. His cynicism is both a shield and a wound—self-preservation against the pain of being unwanted. Yet, for one fleeting moment, he allows himself to believe in George and Lennie’s dream. He dares to imagine a world where he isn’t just tolerated but truly belongs. But the reality is swift and merciless. When Curley’s Wife cruelly reminds him of his place, the hope is extinguished as quickly as it was lit. More than anyone, Crooks understands that some dreams are not meant for people like him. His story is a stark reflection of racism, a painful reminder of how systemic injustice can make even the smallest hopes feel impossible.
Through these secondary characters, Of Mice and Men paints a world where exclusion—whether by age, gender, or race—is an unyielding force. Their struggles may be different, but they all share the same silent yearning: to matter to someone, to belong, to escape the fate society has written for them.
Relationships
At the novel’s core is the relationship between George and Lennie—a bond of deep loyalty and sacrifice. Their friendship is rare in a world where men drift from one job to another, alone and untethered. George is both protector and prisoner of this bond, caught between genuine affection and the weight of responsibility. Lennie’s faith in George is absolute, a trust that remains unshaken even in the novel’s final moments.
In contrast, Curley’s relationship with his wife is built on control rather than care. Curley treats her as property, enforcing her isolation rather than offering companionship. She, in turn, seeks attention from the ranch hands—not out of malice but out of sheer desperation for human connection.
Crooks and Candy serve as mirrors, both outsiders in their own way. Crooks is physically segregated due to his race, while Candy is socially discarded due to his age. Their loneliness underscores the novel’s bleak reality—those who cannot contribute are left behind, whether they want to be or not.
Strengths and Flaws
George’s intelligence is his greatest strength, allowing him to navigate the harsh realities of the Great Depression. However, it is also his greatest curse, as it forces him to recognize the inevitability of Lennie’s fate long before the novel’s end. He is capable of envisioning a better life but knows that it is just beyond his grasp.
Lennie’s innocence is both endearing and tragic. He operates purely on trust and instinct, believing the world to be as kind as he is. But his lack of control turns that innocence into a threat. He never intends harm, but harm follows him nonetheless, making his arc all the more heartbreaking.
Key Moments
The dream of the farm is the novel’s shining beacon, a fragile hope that binds George, Lennie, and Candy together. It represents freedom, safety, and belonging—a place where Lennie can care for the rabbits and where Candy won’t be discarded. But, like so many dreams of the American West, it is an illusion. The closer they get, the further it slip away.
And then there is the final, devastating moment. Knowing the alternative, George takes Lennie’s life in the most merciful way he can. It is an act of love disguised as an act of betrayal. In doing so, George loses not only Lennie but also the dream they shared, left to face a world that is just as lonely as it was before—but now without his one true companion.
Conclusion
The characters in Of Mice and Men are more than just figures on a page—they are echoes of real people battered by the Great Depression, each carrying a weight of vulnerability unique to their struggles. Their dreams flicker like distant stars, often swallowed by the harsh reality of a world that favors survival over sentiment. Steinbeck masterfully intertwines longing and loss, reminding us how fragile hope can be when set against the grinding wheels of fate.
He offers no tidy endings, no grand gestures of justice—only the raw, unvarnished truth. No matter how fiercely we fight, some forces remain beyond our control, much like the trembling mouse in Robert Burns’ poem, To a Mouse. Yet, in crafting these characters with all their fears, flaws, and quiet aspirations, Steinbeck’s deep empathy radiates. He does not condemn them; he merely unveils their struggles, allowing us to glimpse the quiet dignity of those whom history might otherwise forget.