80 pages • 2 hours read
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O’Connor describes writing as a process of getting to “sit at my desk and pour my memories of my Southern childhood into my stories” (O’Connor). Although O’Connor has lived in other parts of the country, such as California and the Northeast U.S., when she imagines the feelings and experiences of childhood, she returns to the kind of setting that resembles the place where she grew up in South Carolina. The South is a consistent background motif in How to Steal a Dog, which is set in the real small town of Darby, North Carolina. The setting becomes apparent in the unchecked kudzu vines which “snaked their way up the chimney and across the roof” of the old creepy house where Georgina and her family squat, and in Georgina’s fear of rising temperatures as early as April, which will make car-living even more uncomfortable (42). Thus, while a child in the North of the United States might still worry about freezing in a car in springtime, Georgina’s concern is typical of a Southern climate.
However, most of all, the motif of the South appears in the speech of all the characters, who adopt regional diction and turns of phrase. Frequent use of colloquialisms such as mama, gonna, ain’t, dern, ole, and y’all, situates the novel firmly south of the Mason-Dixon line. Additionally, expressions such as “well, if that don’t put pepper in the gumbo” reflect Southern culture (155). Here, Mookie refers to putting pepper in the spicy Creole dish of gumbo to allude to Georgina’s hypocrisy when she accuses him of stealing.
As the novel takes the first-person perspective of a child who has known nothing different from the South, details of climate and dialect are conveyed in a natural manner, with no attempts to translate or explain to readers from outside the region. Southern speech even penetrates Georgina’s private thoughts, for example when she thinks how “I was gonna steal me a dog” (12). There is no distinction between her interior world and the outside world, inviting readers to immerse themselves in the sounds and associations of a particular region.
The novel navigates the tension between its universal themes, which are relatable to kids everywhere, and the particulars of its Southern context. O’Connor shows that you can still empathize with and learn from people who inhabit a world that is markedly different from yours.
The mobile home, whether the Hayeses’ Chevrolet or the transitory resting places that Mookie reaches on his bicycle, is a key motif in the novel. The fact that Georgina and her family are living on wheels rather than in a fixed abode is a symbol of shame for them. Georgina does not appreciate how carefully her mother has tried to make the car into a miniature version of a real home, as she uses beach towels to create the partition of separate bedrooms for her two children and packs all the provisions they will need in a Styrofoam cooler.
While Georgina’s mother accepts the situation and tries to make life as comfortable as possible, Georgina wholeheartedly rejects it, expressing her annoyance and even breaking the law to end it. The restricted environment of the car heightens the tension between fighting family members, as they cannot spread out and escape one another. As a result, silence and non-communication are the devices used by Georgina and her mother when they want to get away from each other. When the Chevy breaks down, probably from overuse and not enough maintenance, it is a metaphor for a breakdown in family relations. The Hayes need the intervention of third parties, by way of Mama’s friend Patsy and Mookie, to help them get on the road again.
Georgina never gets a sense that she can escape from the car, as she carries its stale smells and sense of confinement everywhere she goes, through her scent and wrinkled clothes. She dreads the thought that the car is parked close enough to school for others to discover her secret. Her attempt to lead a double-life in keeping her car-dwelling a secret from people at school is perfect training for when she steals a dog.
Mookie also lives a mobile existence, using his rusty old bicycle to get around. Unlike Georgina, he frames his homelessness and means of transport as an advantage. Mookie jokes that his bike is “easy to park and I don’t need gas” (107). Instead of demanding a lifestyle that will make him like everyone else, Mookie is grateful that his bike enables him to get on his way and do what is most important to him: helping others. He is thus able to leave a good trail behind him, without conforming to the mainstream notion that a consistent, stationary home is necessary to participate in society. While Georgina never adjusts to living in a car, she adopts Mookie’s maxim that where you live is less important than the kind of person you are.
The color pink acts a symbol of the privileges of middle-class girlhood that Georgina is excluded from, owing to her family’s economic precariousness. In commercial terms, pink is associated with little girls, as merchandisers produce a special line of rose-colored products for this demographic. A family’s ability to afford such customized products for their daughter indicates their relative affluence. In O’Connor’s novel, sheltered, middle-class Luanne is surrounded by pink. When Georgina is suffering in the car, she frequently imagines Luanne “snuggled in her pink-and-white quilt” or treading on her soft pink carpet (11). It galls Georgina that while she must make do with whatever shelter is available to her, Luanne exists in a soft, florid universe that has been tailored to the preferences dictated to her by a patriarchal society.
Although prior to her car-living Georgina did not have the privilege of occupying her own pink room, items such as her Party Girl Pink nail polish symbolized her ability to participate in such commercial girlishness. When Georgina’s mother insists that she should reduce her amount of stuff to one bag, the nail polish gets tossed out and Georgina has no way to top up the color that will make her feel that she can aspire to be as pretty and acceptable as Luanne. Georgina’s inability to take care of her physical appearance and to seem as neat and polished as everyone else affects her confidence and her willingness to participate in school life. Now that she cannot be like the other girls, she figures that she may as well take being an outcast to the extreme, devoting herself fully to the maintenance of her dog-stealing scheme.
Georgina’s inability to access pink things runs alongside her exclusion from other privileges of middle-class girlhood, including Girl Scouts and ballet lessons. While being unhoused means that she has to give these up in favor of adult responsibilities such as caring for her brother and doing laundry, as soon as her mother announces that they are to have a house, Georgina fantasizes about reclaiming her girlhood. She imagines reuniting with Luanne and “painting our toenails and sharing our secrets” (168). Georgina’s eagerness to feel accepted by her peers is such that she is willing to overlook Luanne’s coldness to her in her time of need.
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