Parker’s Back by Flannery O’Connor, 1965
The magic trick:
Low characters mixed with high art
I understand that this was the last story Flannery O’Connor wrote before her death. It seems oddly light and funny for something that came primarily from a hospital bed. But of course light and funny from Flannery still manages to prompt questions about the existence of God.
In “Parker’s Back,” the titular Parker goes to get a tattoo on his titular back. It’s the only place on his body that isn’t already covered with ink. And the motivation for this new tattoo is a strange combination of a brush with death, a vision of God, and the chance to finally gain validation from his wife.
Parker and his wife are particularly comical even by Flannery O’Connor standards, though according to those same Flannery standards, they’re fully rounded, wholly believable Southern Gothic characters.
The key to the story is the way they both use religion. Parker’s wife makes it the basis of her life – or at least her outward morality. Parker wants to use God to impress his wife. It’s almost cartoonish. But it’s that juxtaposition of cartoonish actions by our characters and the great holy mysteries of our world that make the story work.
And that’s quite a trick on O’Connor’s part.
The selection:
“Let me see the book you got with all the pictures of God in it,” Parker said breathlessly. “The religious one.” The artist continued to look at him with his intellectual, superior stare. “I don’t put tattoos on drunks,” he said. “You know me!” Parker cried indignantly. “I’m O. E. Parker! You done work for me before and I always paid!” The artist looked at him another moment as if he were not altogether sure. “You’ve fallen off some,” he said. “You must have been in jail.” “Married,” Parker said. “Oh,” said the artist. With the aid of mirrors the artist had tattooed on the top of his head a miniature owl, perfect in every detail. It was about the size of a half dollar and served him as a show piece. There were cheaper artists in town but Parker had never wanted anything but the best. The artist went over to a cabinet at the back of the room and began to look over some art books. “Who are you interested in?” he said, “saints, angels, Christs or what?” “God,” Parker said. “Father, Son or Spirit?” “Just God,” Parker said impatiently. “Christ. I don’t care. Just so it’s God.”
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