John Steinbeck didn't just write a book about the Great Depression. He wrote a tragedy about loneliness. When people talk about the main characters in Mice and Men, they usually jump straight to the ending—the gunshot heard 'round the world. But if you look closer at George Milton and Lennie Small, you see something much more complicated than a simple friendship. It’s a study of human survival.
George is small. He’s quick. He has "restless eyes" and strong features. He’s the brain of the operation, but he’s also a man who has been hardened by a world that doesn't care if he eats or starves. Then there’s Lennie. He’s the opposite. Huge, shapeless face, and a mind that just can't keep up with his physical power. He’s often compared to animals—a bear, a horse, a terrier. This isn't just Steinbeck being descriptive; it's a foreshadowing of how the world eventually treats him. Like a stray that needs to be put down.
The impossible dynamic of George and Lennie
Most people see George as a hero. Or a martyr. He carries the burden of Lennie, even though he constantly rants about how much easier his life would be if he were alone. "I could get along so easy and so nice if I didn't have you on my tail," he says. He’s not lying. He could stay in a "cat house" all night, eat in a decent restaurant, and keep his paychecks. But he doesn't.
Why? Because the 1930s were incredibly lonely. Most ranch hands were "bindlestiffs"—men who drifted from job to job with nothing but a blanket roll. They had no family. No future. George stays with Lennie because Lennie makes him feel like he has a purpose. Without Lennie, George is just another bitter guy in a bunkhouse.
Lennie’s role is different. He provides the "dream." He is the keeper of the vision of the little house and the rabbits. He doesn't understand the economy or the cruelty of Curley; he only understands the safety of George's voice. When Lennie asks George to "tell me like you done before," he’s asking for a bedtime story that keeps the harsh reality of the Salinas Valley at bay.
Curley and the insecurity of power
Curley is a tiny man with a giant chip on his shoulder. He’s the boss’s son, which gives him a level of security no one else on the ranch has, yet he’s the most insecure person in the entire novella. He wears high-heeled boots to prove he’s not just a laborer. He’s a "handy" guy, a lightweight boxer, and he picks fights with big men like Lennie to prove his dominance.
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He’s the primary antagonist, but he’s also a pathetic figure. His marriage is a disaster. He spends half his time looking for his wife and the other half bragging about his "glove fulla vaseline." He represents the toxic side of the American dream—where power isn't earned through hard work, but through birthright and intimidation.
The main characters in Mice and Men and the tragedy of Curley's Wife
She doesn't even have a name. Think about that for a second. Steinbeck never gives her a first name. She is simply property. "Curley’s Wife." This is one of the most debated aspects of the book. For decades, students were taught she was a "tart" or a "tramp" who brought trouble on herself.
That’s a narrow way to look at it. Honestly, she’s just as trapped as Lennie is. She had dreams of being in the movies. She thought she was "natural" for the screen. Instead, she ended up in a house with a man she hates, on a ranch where no one is allowed to talk to her.
When she corners the men in the barn or the bunkhouse, she isn't necessarily looking for sex. She’s looking for a witness. She wants someone to acknowledge she exists. Her hair is "hung in little rolled clusters, like sausages," and she wears red mules with ostrich feathers. It’s ridiculous attire for a ranch. But it’s her only way of maintaining her identity as someone who was meant for "the pictures."
Candy and the fear of uselessness
If you want to understand the stakes of the story, look at Candy. He’s the old swamper with one hand. He’s lived past his prime, and he knows it. His only companion is an old sheepdog that smells and can barely walk.
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When Carlson insists on shooting the dog, it isn't just a sad moment for animal lovers. It’s a direct parallel to what happens to people when they outlive their "usefulness" in a capitalist society. Candy sees his own future in that dog. "I ought to of shot that dog myself," he says later. He’s terrified that once he’s too old to sweep the floors, he’ll be "put on the county" or thrown out like trash. That’s why he throws his life savings in with George and Lennie. He isn't just buying a farm; he’s buying a right to exist.
Crooks: The isolated intellect
Crooks is the only Black character, and his isolation is physical. He lives in the harness room, not the bunkhouse. He’s surrounded by books—the only man on the ranch who really reads. This gives him a different perspective on the "dream."
He’s cynical. He’s seen hundreds of men come through with the same idea of owning a piece of land. "Nobody never gets to heaven, and nobody gets no land," he tells Lennie. It’s a brutal line. Crooks represents the reality that George and Lennie are trying to ignore. He also shows the cruelty that comes from being hurt; because he is treated poorly, he takes a brief, mean pleasure in taunting Lennie about the possibility of George never coming back. It’s a defense mechanism. If you’re at the bottom, you try to find someone else to pull down with you.
Slim: The rational authority
Slim is the "mule skinner" and the unofficial leader of the ranch. While Curley has authority because of his name, Slim has it because of his skill and his "God-like" eyes. He is the only character who truly understands the bond between George and Lennie.
He’s the one who makes the final call. When Lennie kills Curley's wife, Slim is the one who realizes that they can't just let Lennie run away. He knows Curley will want to lynch him or put him in a cage. Slim is the moral compass of the book, but his morality is cold. It’s based on what is necessary, not what is kind. He tells George, "You hadda, George. I swear you hadda." He provides the validation George needs to live with himself after the final act.
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Why we still care about these ranch hands
The brilliance of these main characters in Mice and Men is that they aren't archetypes. They’re messy. George is short-tempered and sometimes mean. Lennie is dangerous, even if he doesn't mean to be. Curley’s wife is manipulative.
But they all share one thing: a desperate need to be seen.
The "American Dream" in this book isn't about getting rich. It’s about having a place where you belong. Where you don't have to worry about being "canned." Where you can "live off the fatta the lan'." In a world that was (and often still is) increasingly indifferent to the individual, that dream is a form of resistance.
Actionable insights for readers and students
If you’re reading this for a class or just revisiting a classic, don’t just look at what the characters do. Look at what they want.
- Analyze the parallels: Compare the death of Candy’s dog to the death of Lennie. The circumstances are identical: a shot to the back of the head to prevent further suffering.
- Track the "Dream" dialogue: Notice how the description of the farm changes. At first, it's a fantasy. By the middle of the book, when Candy offers the money, it becomes a concrete plan. By the end, it’s a eulogy.
- Look at the hands: Steinbeck focuses heavily on hands. Curley’s "vaseline hand," Lennie’s "paws," Candy’s missing hand. It’s a motif for how these characters interact with—and damage—their world.
- Question the "Villain": Is Curley’s wife a villain or a victim? Re-read her conversation with Lennie in the barn. Notice how she talks about her mother and her missed opportunities. It changes how you see the climax.
The ending of Of Mice and Men is devastating because it suggests that in a cruel world, the only way to be "kind" is sometimes to do the unthinkable. George kills the only thing he loves to save it from something worse. It’s a heavy realization, and it’s why we’re still talking about these characters nearly a century later.