"Of Mice and Men" by John Steinbeck: George and Lennie are best buddies. George looks out for Lennie. Somebody has to. See, good ol' Lennie, while he's a gentle soul, is all oatmeal north of the eyebrows. He's also a big lumbering oaf, capable of crushing a Buick with his bare hands. It's best to stay on his good side. Of course, Lennie wouldn't think of hurting anyone. On purpose.

George and Lennie are migrant workers, drifting across California from one camp to the next, farming, ranching, doing whatever it takes to make a buck. But they share a common dream. They both want to own land. When times get tough, George comforts Lennie with tales about the farm they'll have someday, where they'll work the land for no one but themselves, and where Lennie can raise rabbits. Lennie loves rabbits. And mice. And dogs. Anything soft, really.

Remember Hugo the Abominable Snowman from the old Looney Tunes? Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck ran into him one time, and Hugo would always say he wanted a little rabbit of his own. "I will hug him and squeeze him and name him George." Well, Hugo was simply the cartoon version of Lennie.

The two pals are forced to hit the road yet again when Lennie gets into some trouble with a young girl, whose dress he just had to touch. It was purely innocent, mind you, with Lennie's infantile desire for tactile pleasure his sole motivation, but tell that to the cops. They find work at a new ranch, although George, a lean, wry chap, can't help but wonder what life would be like without Lennie always complicating things.

Their new bunkhouse is filled with a motley mix of characters. Slim is a level-headed, intelligent man, a rarity among this sort of crowd; he often acts as a fatherly sage to his co-workers.

Candy is a stoop-shouldered, elderly fellow who earns his keep doing chores, but he lost his right hand in an accident and is worried about his future with the ranch. He keeps an old, mangy dog for company.

Carlson is a rugged, no-nonsense sort of guy who isn't big on emotional attachments.

Crooks, the African-American stable-hand, has a twisted back and is segregated from the rest of the workers due to his race and physical limitations, finding his only solace in books.

Then there's Curley, the ranch boss's son and a short-tempered jackass. Curley likes to scrap. He'll fight at the drop of a hat, eager to hide his inferiority behind blustery words and violent actions. He's also quite the snappy dress. Not only does he wear high-heeled boots, he also sports a Vaseline-lined glove on one hand to keep it soft for his wife. I hear Michael Jackson used to do the same thing for Emmanuel Lewis.

Curley's wife, and she's only identified as her husband's possession, is a frustrated movie star. Young and beautiful, she missed her chance to make it on the silver screen and now finds herself stuck on some ranch in the middle of nowhere. She amuses herself by flirtatiously tempting the other ranch hands. Once again, not unlike Emmanuel Lewis.

Even though Lennie does his best to stay out of everyone's way, Curly takes an immediate dislike to him, itching to fight the big behemoth. Lennie's spirits get a lift, though, when Slim gives him a puppy. Lennie spends his every free second with the baby pup, petting it to his heart's content. A simple pleasure for a simple man.

Slim's litter of puppies also prompts Carlson to tell Candy he should put his decrepit old mutt out of its misery. Candy can't bear to kill the dog, so Carlson offers to do it for him, leading the poor animal outside and shooting it in the back of the head. Later, Candy regrets not having the courage to kill his own dog. And that, my friends, is called foreshadowing.

"Of Mice and Men" is a comment on the futileness of the human condition, as Lennie and George strive for a better life and some semblance of happiness, only to have outside influences and their fellow man ruin their best efforts. Written in the 1930s, it's clearly a product of the Great Depression, mirroring the hopelessness of many Americans.

There's also a definite anti-woman feel to the tale. Curly's wife embodies the evils of feminine sexuality. She brings chaos to the male-dominated bunkhouse, rending relationships and steering all towards tragedy.

Much like Lennie, it's a simple story told in a very straightforward fashion, free of flowery prose and needless description. The terse, crisp narrative adds to the sense of desperation. And at only 118 pages, it makes for a quick read.

It might be a little too quick and easy. You don't have to be Carnac to figure out where it's going. I'm still going to give it four shots, but in terms of Steinbeck, I'd rank it behind "Grapes of Wrath," "The Winter of Our Discontent," and even "Wayward Bus." I'd group it more with "Cannery Row," "Tortilla Flat," "Sweet Thursday," and the like.

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