Story

life, left by the loved who have deserted us! These are the vacant places we water

with our bitterest tears. Had sophy died, Andrew would have said, “it is the

lord; let him do what seemeth right in his sight. “but the manner and the

means of his loss filled him with a dumb sorrow and rage; for in spite of his

mother’s and sister’s urginig, he would do nothing to right his own self-respect

at the prince of giving sophy the slightest trouble or notoriety. Suffer! Yes, he

suffered at home, where janet and christina continually reminded him of the

insult he ought to avenge; and he suffered also abroad, where his mates looked

at him with eyes full of surprise and angry inquiries. But though the village

was ringing with gossip about sophy and young braelands, never a man or

women in it ventured to openly question the stern, sullen, irritable man who

had been so long recognized as her accepted lover. And whether he was in the

boats or out of them, no one dared to speak sophy’s name in his presence.

Indeed, upon the whole, he was during these days what janet binnie called

“an ill man to live with–a man out of his senses, and falling away from his

meat and his clothes. “this misery continued for about two weeks without any

abatement, and janet’s and christina’s sympathy was beginning to be tinged

with resentment. If seems so unnatural and unjust, that a girl who had

The Essay on Of Mice & Men: Forced Isolation

Everyone in their lifetime desires the comfort of a friend, but will settle for the attentive ear of a stranger. In the novel, Of Mice and Men, Steinbeck shows how lonely people were during the 1930’s. He teaches a grim lesson about the nature of human existence, and how the characters in the story had to admit at one time or another to having a profound sense of loneliness and isolation. Although ...

already done them so much wrong, and who was so far outside their daily life,

should have the power to still darken their home, and infuse a bitter drop into

their peculiar joys and hopes.

“I am glad the wicked less isn’t near by me,” said janet one morning, when

Andrew had declared himself unable to eat his breakfast and gone out of the

cottage to escape his mother’s pleadings and reproofs. “I’m glad she isn’t near

me. If she was here, I could not keep my tongue from her. She should hear the

truth for once, if she never heard it again. They should be words as shapes as

the birch rod she ought to have had, when she first began her nonsense, and her

airs and graces.” “she is a bad girl; but we must remember that she was left

much to myself–no mother to guide her, no sister or brother either.” “it would

have been a pity if there had been more of hem. One scone of that baking is

enough. The way she has treated our Andrew is abominable. Flesh and blood

can’t bear such doings.” As janet made this assertion, a cousin of sophy’s came

into the cottage, and answered her. “I know you are talking of sophy, “she

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