He’s not a hero. Not in the cap-and-cape sense, anyway. George Milton is just a small, wiry guy with "sharp, strong features" and a heavy burden that most of us couldn't carry for a single mile, let alone across the dusty Salinas Valley during the Great Depression. If you’ve ever felt like you’re responsible for someone who just can’t keep up with the world, you know George.
John Steinbeck didn't write George of Mice and Men to be a saint. He wrote him to be a man caught between the crushing weight of reality and a thin, fragile dream of "living off the fatta the lan’."
Most people remember the ending. It’s the gunshot that echoes through high school English classrooms forever. But if you focus only on that final, mercy-killing moment, you miss the actual tragedy of George’s character. He is a study in loneliness, even though he’s never actually alone. He’s the brains of the operation, the protector, and—ultimately—the executioner of his own happiness.
The Real George Milton: More Than Just a Caretaker
It’s easy to look at George and see a mean-spirited guy. He yells. He loses his temper. In the very first chapter, he goes off on Lennie about how much easier his life would be if he didn't have a "big vegetable" following him around. He talks about sitting in a "cat house" or playing pool all night without a care in the world.
But look at what he does, not just what he says.
George stays.
In a world where every other ranch hand is a solitary drifter—guys like Slim or Carlson who move from job to job with nothing but a bindle—George chooses companionship. It’s a radical act in 1930s America. The "bindle stiffs" of the Depression were notoriously isolated. They didn't have families. They didn't have 401(k)s. They had a bunk and a whiskey bottle.
George’s relationship with Lennie Small is the only thing that gives him a sense of identity. Without Lennie, George is just another face in the bunkhouse. With Lennie, he’s a guardian. He’s a storyteller. He’s the architect of a future that, deep down, he probably knows is never going to happen.
The Power of the "Dream"
"Tell me like you done before," Lennie says. And George complies.
This isn't just a bedtime story for a man with an intellectual disability. It’s a mantra for George. When he describes the little house, the cows, the pigs, and the rabbits, he’s building a wall against the cruelty of the ranch. He needs the dream just as much as Lennie does.
Professor Susan Shillinglaw, a leading Steinbeck scholar, often points out that George’s tragedy is rooted in his awareness. Unlike Lennie, who lives in a perpetual present, George sees the "no-exit" sign over their lives. He knows that in the 1930s, men like them don't get the farm. They get the dust.
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Why George and Lennie Are Such a Weird Duo
Think about the physical contrast. Steinbeck describes George as "small and quick, dark of face, with restless eyes and sharp, strong features." He’s the definition of "street smart." Lennie is his polar opposite—a "huge man, shapeless of face... with wide, sloping shoulders."
They are the original "odd couple," but without the sitcom laughs.
George is the parent who never asked for a child. He’s the older brother who stayed behind when everyone else ran away. He’s short-fused because he’s exhausted. Imagine the mental load of keeping someone like Lennie safe in a world that views "weakness" as a capital offense.
One of the most telling moments is when George tells Slim about the "joke" he played on Lennie years ago. He told Lennie to jump into the Sacramento River, and Lennie did it, even though he couldn't swim. Lennie almost drowned, and when George pulled him out, Lennie was just grateful. He forgot that George was the one who told him to jump.
That was the turning point. That’s when George stopped being a bully and started being a protector. It’s a moment of profound guilt that fuels his loyalty for the rest of the book.
The H2: The Impossible Choice in Of Mice and Men
When we talk about the climax, we have to talk about Curley’s wife.
George knew it was coming. He warned Lennie. "Lennie!" he says, "You remember what I told you? You leave her be." He senses the danger because he understands the social hierarchy of the ranch. He knows that a guy like Curley—insecure, aggressive, and empowered by his father’s status—is looking for an excuse to break someone.
When Lennie accidentally kills her, George’s world collapses. But it’s not just because Lennie is in trouble. It’s because the dream died the second her heart stopped.
Mercy or Murder?
The debate over George’s final act hasn't cooled down in nearly a century. Is he a murderer? Or is he the ultimate friend?
If George lets the mob catch Lennie, Lennie will be lynched. Curley wants to "shoot him in the guts," which is a slow, agonizing way to die. If Lennie is locked up, he’ll be put in an asylum of the 1930s—places that were little more than torture chambers for people with mental disabilities.
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George chooses the only "kind" option available in a cruel universe. He uses Carlson’s Luger. He tells Lennie to look across the river. He tells him about the rabbits one last time.
"And I get to tend the rabbits?"
"An’ you get to tend the rabbits."
The hands that killed Lennie were shaking. George isn't a cold-blooded killer. He’s a man performing a surgical extraction of a soul to save it from further pain.
The Loneliness of George Milton
After the shot, Slim—the only truly "wise" character on the ranch—comes over and says, "You hadda, George. I swear you hadda."
Slim is the only one who understands the weight of what just happened. The other men, like Carlson and Curley, are baffled. "Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin' them two guys?" Carlson asks as George walks away.
That’s the core of the book.
George is now part of the "other." He has entered the ranks of the lonely men he spent his whole life trying to avoid being. He has no Lennie. He has no dream. He just has the trail, the next ranch, and the crushing silence of the Salinas Valley.
Why We Still Read This
Steinbeck was writing about the "dispossessed." He was writing about people who had no agency. George represents the human struggle to maintain a moral compass when every direction leads to a dead end.
We see George in modern caregivers. We see him in the people who work three jobs to provide for someone else. We see him in every person who has ever had to make a "least-worst" decision.
Honestly, it’s a depressing read if you take it at face value. But there’s something weirdly beautiful about the fact that George cared enough to stay until the bitter end. In a world that wanted him to be selfish, he was stubbornly, tragically communal.
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Real-World Context: The Great Depression
To really get George, you have to get the 1930s.
- Unemployment: It hit 25% at its peak.
- The Dust Bowl: Thousands of "Okies" and "Arkies" flooded California looking for work that didn't exist.
- Social Safety Nets: They didn't exist for people like Lennie. You worked or you starved.
George was fighting a war against the economy, the social structure, and human nature itself. He lost. But the fact that he fought is why we still care about him.
Misconceptions About George
- He hated Lennie: False. His anger was a byproduct of stress and fear. If he hated him, he would have left him in Weed.
- He was a leader: Only by default. George was just as trapped as everyone else.
- The ending was easy for him: Read the description of his hands. He couldn't even hold the gun steady. It destroyed him.
How to Analyze George Milton Today
If you’re studying this for a class or just revisiting it as an adult, look at the concept of "The Brother's Keeper." It’s a biblical reference that Steinbeck uses throughout his work (most notably in East of Eden). George is the answer to the question "Am I my brother's keeper?"
His answer is a resounding "Yes," even when it costs him everything.
Actionable Insights for Readers and Students:
- Compare George to Candy: Both men have to deal with the "mercy killing" of a companion (Candy’s dog vs. Lennie). Note how George learns from Candy’s regret about letting a stranger kill his dog.
- Track the Dialogue: Notice how George’s tone changes when he’s talking to Lennie versus when he’s talking to the Boss. He is a master of code-switching to survive.
- Evaluate the Ending: Don't just accept it. Ask yourself if there was any other way out. Could they have run? Where would they go? This helps you understand the "enclosed" nature of the setting.
- Observe the Hands: Steinbeck uses hands as a motif. Lennie’s "paws," Curley’s "vaseline-filled glove," and George’s "small, strong hands." The hands tell you who a person is before they even speak.
George Milton remains one of the most complex figures in American literature because he is us. He’s the person trying to do the right thing in a world that doesn't reward "right." He’s the guy who loses the farm but keeps his humanity, even if that humanity is stained with the blood of his best friend.
When you finish the book, don't just put it back on the shelf. Think about the Georges in your own life. The people who carry the silent burdens. The ones who make sure the "Lennies" of the world get to hear about the rabbits one last time.
That’s the real takeaway. Empathy isn't always pretty. Sometimes it’s a heavy, shaking hand in the brush by the river.
Next Steps for Deepening Your Understanding:
Read Steinbeck’s "The Harvest Gypsies" to see the real-life people he based George and Lennie on. It provides the journalistic foundation for the fiction of Of Mice and Men. Additionally, watch the 1992 film adaptation starring Gary Sinise; his portrayal of George captures the specific, jittery exhaustion that defines the character better than almost any other medium.