Much has been made about the great Southern motif: land, religion, family, tradition, the past. Some writers have embraced it while others have turned it on its ear. Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find is of the latter sort. It begins in the tradition of a Norman Rockwell painting and transmogrifies into a comical, inhumane nightmare; such is the world of Southern grotesque, where the region is seen in its starkest terms of savagery and forgone nobility.

Of course, O'Connor incorporates the great Southern themes, but she does so with a sneer. The ideal of the decorous belle is put face-to-face with "the Misfit” a nihilistic monster. The concept of the family, or lack thereof, is satirized with accuracy. Yet, the harshest light is shone upon Southern gentility; the South is portrayed as a desolate nowhere, a land of people that only incidentally come in contact. Her story is essentially one of spiritual revelation told through the Grandmother, a vessel of ignorance and religious platitudes. This revelation is sparked by emotional contact, and it allows the Grandmother to understand her own beliefs, if only briefly.

There is a void of substantial human interaction throughout the story (though that void is perversely filled within the closing passages). But within the opening of the story the disintegration of the family stands out the most. When the Grandmother tries to dissuade her son, Bailey, from taking the family on a trip to Florida, he responds by ignoring her; his wife responds in the same manner. Her grandson, John Wesley, finally retorts, "If you don't want to go to Florida, why dontcha stay at home?" Her granddaughter, June Star, then chimes in, and the two children proceed to berate her. "She wouldn't stay at home to be queen for a day," the granddaughter says (O'Connor 852). Later, when they stop at a restaurant, the Grandmother asks Bailey to dance. The author notes, "he only glared at her" (O'Connor 856). The family's coolness towards each other is further amplified by the way author presents the characters.

O'Connor begins the story with stock characters from a recognizable family vacation: an irritated father, a tired, indifferent mother, mouthy backseat children, an ignored grandmother; she takes these characters and builds upon some of them, specifically the Grandmother. The story is told from a limited third-person point of view; the rest of the family is shown at a distance. Rather than being a slight in character development the author sends a message; that is, the characters are only family in namesake. They tolerate each other.

As the story progresses, one begins to see that the past is often contrasted with the present. The most important difference between the two time frames is the disparity in the sense of fellowship. The past is recalled with a sense of community, both in family and society at large. The present is noted by its distinct lack of civility. The Grandmother is the primary medium through which the two periods are contrasted. Firstly, she recollects the past, constantly. Secondly, she serves as manifestation of the past. Her thoughts and actions are only as deep as its social etiquette; she is defined by it. The story is set among a family of strangers, and the Grandmother will serve a commentator. She will critique the present by longing for the past.

The Grandmother sees herself as the voice of tradition and civility, albeit an unintentionally comical one. The tone for the Grandmother is set up early when the author states, "Her collars and cuffs were white organdy trimmed with lace and at her neckline she had pinned a purple spray of cloth violets containing a sachet. In case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady" (O'Connor 854). The character's notion of feminine decency is carried out to a preposterous extreme; she should be dressed as a genteel belle, even if she lies dead in a ditch. The Misfit will have a much different view on death: "Lady, there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip" (O'Connor 862). As the family continues on their vacation, John Wesley remarks that Tennessee is nothing more than a hillbilly dumping ground. The Grandmother responds, "In my time children were more respectful of their native states and their parents and everything else. People did right then." Her chain of thought is interrupted when she sees a black child from the car. "Oh look at that cute little pickaninny!" she exclaims (O'Connor 854). Any credence she had quickly fizzles. The point is further hammered home when the Grandmother relates the story of a black child giving into the temptation of a watermelon (O'Connor 855). From this point on, it is reasonable to assume that the Grandmother will not be the epitome of introspective thought. If there are going to be any profound insights, they will have to be forced upon her.

When the family stops at the restaurant, it marks the beginning of a transformation in the story. Within the restaurant the theme of longing for the past continues and ultimately culminates. However, when the family leaves the restaurant the story takes on a more dreadful tone. While in the restaurant the owner, Red Sam, carries on a dialogue with the Grandmother. They discuss what they see as widespread societal decay. The characters sound almost as if they are paraphrasing the book of Revelation. "You can't win, he says, these days you don't know who to trust" (O'Connor 856). Further down the page he remarks, "A good man is hard to find. Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more." The author notes, The [Grandmother] said that in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things [are] now (O'Connor 856). Again, the validity of the Red Sam's statement is undermined by the Grandmother's far-fetched ideas. It is hard to believe that the perceived Southern decay has its roots on the European continent. As the family leaves the restaurant, the story undergoes a change in themes. It ceases to be about the characters' critiques of contemporary society and transforms into the Grandmother's story of spiritual revelation.

The family gets in a car accident. As they stand along the roadside waiting for help, they see a car approaching through the dust "a big black battered hearse-like automobile” the Misfit. By coincidence, and at this time unknowingly, they have stumbled into contact with an escaped convict and his gang. The Grandmother makes the fatal mistake of recognizing him from the headlines. He replies, "it would have been better for all of you, lady, if you hadn't of reckernized me" (O'Connor 859). Then in pairs, the family is led into the woods where they are promptly shot, except for the Grandmother. In the conflict between the two, the Grandmother represents something she does not fully grasp- human connection. We have no doubt that the Misfit fully understands his words; he is quite the proactive misanthrope. He is the epitome of what Red Sam dreaded. The Grandmother exclaims, "Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady" (O'Connor 862). The Misfit ruminates:

"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but throw everything away and follow him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house"(O'Connor 863).

In desperation and without thinking, she adds, "Maybe He didn't raise the dead." Then for a moment, she sees him in a different light. She believes she recognizes some semblance of humanity within him. The author states, "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 (O'Connor 863). Her words and touch are acerbic to his skin. He responds by shooting her in the chest. For a moment, a very brief one, the Grandmother saw beyond her own platitudes. Ironically, this was the most profound moment of human interaction within the entire story.

O'Connor presents a land in tatters. Almost every esteemed tradition is shown to be in shambles or is unknowingly debunked by the characters that hold it in regard. Addie Brunden's words from As I Lay Dying are especially fitting: "people to whom sin is a matter of words, to them salvation is a matter of words." Whereas Faulkner gave his characters a certain tragic dignity, here Flannery O'Connor prods both her characters and their ideals. The conclusion is gruesome yet fitting because quite frankly, in a mind like the Grandmother's, the profound exists only briefly, like a butterfly attempting to fly across the interstate.