Flannery O’Connor once referred to the Misfit as “a prophet gone wrong” (Mystery and Manners, 101). She made it clear in her speeches and letters that the Misfit is indeed a wicked man and neither a Christ figure as some readers suggested nor the grandmother’s moral superior as other readers suggested. Nevertheless, it is the Misfit who speaks the truth regarding Jesus. That moment of truth is a turning point for the grandmother, who has carefully insulated herself from the hard truths of the gospel. But it is also, as O’Connor herself suggested, a key moment for all of her fiction. She wrote to her friend Cecil Dawkins, “As the Misfit said, ‘He thrown everything off balance and it’s nothing for you to do but follow Him or find some meanness.’ That is the fulcrum that lifts my particular stories.”
The Misfit chose nihilism, but at least he understood the choice. And by making the choice clear to the grandmother, he made it possible for her to choose as well. A commenter on a previous post was troubled by the fact that the Misfit is so lacking in moral authority, and yet he says things that O’Connor expects us to take seriously. Well, sure. It’s the great irony of the story, that this satanic figure, this murderer, is the one who makes grace accessible to the Bible Belt grandmother. It is a comic turn, entirely unexpected, even impossible, like the moron Dogberry saving the day in “Much Ado,” or the beaten-down Mr. Micawber bringing Uriah Heep to justice in David Copperfield, or Aslan defeating death by dying himself. O’Connor spoke of her stories as comedies; the devil would seem to carry the day, but the joke ends up being on him. She once wrote to a friend, “In general the Devil can always be a subject for my kind of comedy one way or another. I suppose this is because he is always accomplishing ends other than his own” (The Habit of Being, 367).
Bonus O’Connor quotation: I have always thought of the Misfit as being not a “real” character so much as a symbol or stand-in for the devil himself. I was surprised, therefore, when I ran across this statement from O’Connor, which demonstrates how wrong my view of the Misfit had been:
I don’t want to equate the Misfit with the devil. I prefer to think that, however unlikely this may seem, the old lady’s gesture, like the mustard seed, will grow to be a great crow-filled tree in the Misfit’s heart, and will be enough of a pain to him there to turn him into the prophet he was meant to become. But that’s another story. (Mystery and Manners, 112-113)