Manley Pointer

Character Analysis

Oh, Manley Pointer. Manley, Manley, Manley—it might take Hulga a while to realize what a slippery trickster you are, but we're onto you from almost the moment you arrive on the page. Manley is a traveling Bible salesman, which sounds great until we're told that he's "from out in the country around Willohobie, not even from a place, just near a place" (40). Pro tip: When a character is "not even from a place," it's usually not a good sign. Right away, we're given a hint that he's elusive, hard to pin down.

Hulga and Mrs. Hopewell, however, think Manley's uncomplicated, unintelligent, and generally inferior. But since he's anything but, he uses his perceived status as simple and good country folk to get what he wants—be it a meal, a few hours of a person's time, or a prosthetic body part.

There is something sneaky, perhaps even predatory, about Manley. We might not completely mistrust him, but we can see that Mrs. Hopewell and Hulga are missing things. Hulga notices, twice, that he's looking at her like she's "a new fantastic animal at the zoo" (73; 103)—but while she doesn't make more of this, we get that he's a predator and sees her as a trapped animal, as a creature to be claimed. Which, of course, is exactly what he does… to her leg.

Chameleon

Manley has a chameleon-like quality, an uncanny ability to highlight or create commonality with others. And to be clear, this isn't accidental: Manley deliberately controls situations. For instance, when he first arrives at the house, we're told:

He seemed on the point of collapse but he said in a cheerful voice, “Good morning, Mrs. Cedars!” and set the suitcase down on the mat. […]

“I’m Mrs. Hopewell,” she said. 

“Oh!” he said, pretending to look puzzled but with his eyes sparkling, “I saw it said ‘The Cedars’ on the mailbox so I thought you was Mrs. Cedars!” and he burst out in a pleasant laugh. He picked up the satchel and under cover of a pant, he fell forward into her hall. It was rather as if the suitcase had moved first, jerking him after it. “Mrs. Hopewell!” he said and grabbed her hand. “I hope you are well!” and he laughed again […]. (22-24)

Mrs. Hopewell doesn't know it, but we know he knows who she is before he arrives—the Mrs. Cedars bit is an act, he only pretends "to look puzzled"—which means he is up to something. We're not sure if Hulga is his endgame all along, or if tricking her is a detour that he chooses to take once he meets her, but we do know that he is playing Mrs. Hopewell, working his way into her graces and, as we see in the passage above, her home.

He continues his weaseling, telling her her friends have told him she's "a good woman" (28) and appealing to her kindness by suggesting "people like [her] don't like to fool with country people like [him]" (36), so she lets go of her reluctance about his presence, instead insisting on his worth and inviting him to stay to eat.

He works his magic with Hulga, too, of course, simultaneously showing Hulga what she wants to see—namely, that he is simple—while also showing her how much they have in common. This combination plays into her romantic fantasies. Consider this exchange:

“I like girls that wear glasses,” he said. “I think a lot. I’m not like these people that a serious thought don’t ever enter their heads. It’s because I may die.” 

“I may die too,” she said suddenly and looked up at him. His eyes were very small and brown, glittering feverishly. 

“Listen,” he said, “don’t you think some people was meant to meet on account of what all they got in common and all? Like they both think serious thoughts and all?” He shifted the valise to his other hand so that the hand nearest her was free. He caught hold of her elbow and shook it a little. “I don’t work on Saturday,” he said. “I like to walk in the woods and see what Mother Nature is wearing. O’er the hills and far away. Picnics and things. Couldn’t we go on a picnic tomorrow? Say yes, Hulga,” he said and gave her a dying look as if he felt his insides about to drop out of him. He had even seemed to sway slightly toward her. (73-75) 

We don't actually know whether Manley is being true about his illness—it could be his standard line to gain sympathy and trust, though we suspect it's specially tailored for Hulga because he's heard she has a heart condition. And the whole girls-with-glasses bit? It's a classic pick-up line, right? Except Manley's ultimate intentions aren't to pick Hulga up—they're to pick up her leg and run off with it. So he's working her. He sees a woman with no romantic prospects—brainy, sickly, lives at home with her mother—and he woos her. Or works her, as the case may be.

Manley, God, and Nothing

Okay, so there is something so mysterious about Manley. Like, we really don't know who much about him. And in this way, one way to read him is as the embodiment of the nothingness that Hulga purports to believe in. Have you read her analysis yet elsewhere in which section? Because now would be a good time to do so if you haven't. We're happy to wait.

Okay, you back? Ready? Let's dig into this whole Manley-as-nothing idea.

Hulga's all about how she believes in nothing, but we see several instances of her actually believing in things, be it God or goodness. So she's a failed nihilist and a failed atheist and, perhaps, nothing more than a belief addict—the fervor with which she insists upon not believing can be seen as a form of belief in its own right. And nothing makes this clearer, perhaps, than the way in which she falls for the mysterious Manley.

We are told that Hulga "took care of [her leg] like someone else would his soul" (124). And then, when she decides to let Manley remove the leg for her, "It was like surrendering to him completely. It was like losing her own life and finding it again, miraculously, in his" (128). If her leg is a stand-in for her soul, and she gives control of it over to Manley, then this is like a moment of religious conversion—she is giving her soul over to another power. And because we know nothing about Manley—no proof backs anything he says up—she is giving her soul over to nothing.

And you know what? It's terrible. He completely plays her, tricking her and then stealing her leg, a.k.a. the thing that represents her soul. And then he runs off with it, leaving her one-legged and alone in the loft. Her belief in nothing has totally screwed her over. She's been completely fooled.

There are other ways to read this all, however, and "Good Country People" is one of those books ripe for interpretation. So what do you think?