Although Carson McCullers referred to her novel, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, as "an ironic parable of Fascism," critics have not taken her statement seriously, either because it seems too general a reference to the social and economic conditions of the novel or because it appears too restrictive in terms of the theme of isolation. Considerable evidence, however, suggests the probability that politics was a motivating factor in the genesis of the novel and that the parable is a key not only to broader implications in the theme but also to the tight construction McCullers claimed and reviewers have so often questioned. (p. 108)

Perhaps the most logical way to approach this novel is as a parable, for its context clarifies such mysteries as the function and meaning of Antonapoulos, its structure is clear, and its theme is specific. The parable has a conventional protagonist pitted against specific forces, but develops in thematic patterns rather than in traditional plot formation, treating successively the ideas of the nature of government, the failure of democracy, and the condition of freedom. The thematic patterns are delineated by situation and setting and dramatized through character and action. The parable's theme is an affirmation of the democratic process, but its implications are the universal problems of illusion versus reality and the nature of man himself. It not only supports but also greatly strengthens the theme of isolation. Far from being restrictive, it extends the dimensions of pathos already perceived…. Government in this parable … is represented by a deaf mute, and the instrument of oppression is the sound of silence, an image which McCullers introduces in her opening chapter where no word is spoken.

The author's decision to objectify the negative force of government as John Singer was the turning point in the construction of the novel, for it provided a means of dramatizing the image of silence and created a concrete symbolic structural device for the parable.

Singer, who is seen by most reviewers as the pivotal character of the novel, achieves that status because the eye of every other character is on him. Minor characters who remain nameless except as they are associated with various ethnic, business or agricultural groups, think he is one of them, and major characters believe him sympathetic to the social, economic or political interests they pursue. The accuracy of their assumptions remains moot, for Singer neither confirms nor denies. In fact, aside from walking the streets, visiting Antonapoulos, and eating at Biff's café, Singer does almost nothing in the novel. He appears prominent, but in reality he is little more than a memory or an expectation in the minds of the other characters during a major portion of the action. The few specific acts which essentially define his character suggest democracy at work, for he takes in the homeless, gives money to the poor, and brings technology (the radio) within the reach of all. But his chief characteristic is his muteness, which is the mark of his distance from others. Moreover, the accessibility which brings others to him gradually diminishes as the novel progresses, so that as a symbol of government, Singer clearly exemplifies its ineffectuality. He welcomes people to his room at first because they relieve his solitude and sorrow, but in chapter seven of Book II, which is the mid-point of the novel, he comes to grips with the fact that these people "do not attend to the feelings of others"; feeling "alone … in an alien land," he gradually withdraws…. [As] the figure of Singer gradually fades into the background, the parable shows that for all practical purposes government has become defunct.

Its absence is clearly manifest in the official silence which follows each successive act of violence (the violence begins in earnest in chapter seven and continues to become worse)…. [It] is not what people do that is incredible; it is the fact that nobody does anything. It is the sound of silence. This is, after all, not Fascist Germany but the land of the free. This is the Sunny Dixie Show (which incidentally "wants" a mechanic) with its "bright lights … and lazy laughter" where, in a strange Kafkaesque way, everything seems normal…. Jake senses something "sullen and dangerous" … under the deceptively bright Dixie Show, and this something is the insanity of imagining that everything is fine when reality clearly shows that it is not. "America," says Jake, is a "crazy house" … and in fact it is a grotesquely distorted world where people seem oblivious to reality.

To clarify this point and dramatize her image of insanity, McCullers presents us with a king who rules benignly over a lunatic asylum.

Like Singer, Antonapoulos is a deaf mute, which signals that his role in the parable is associated with government; also like Singer, who used to be able to talk and was functional in the beginning of the novel, Antonapoulos was originally sane and a part of the work force in the town. But unlike Singer, Antonapoulos has always remained just out of view of the major characters. Singer is the arm of government, which is symbolized in chapter one by his continually trying to move the chess men around. But Antonapoulos is puzzled by the practical business of the game; he does not understand the female figures and prefers whites over blacks, an analogy to the historical confusion of how these minority figures should be treated in a free democratic society. The "dreamy Greek" is impractical because he symbolizes an ideal. His strange pagan/Christian aura is not really strange at all; it signifies his role in the "ironic parable of Fascism" as the representation of that combination of Greek democracy and Christian idealism which constitutes the basis of the American political system. (pp. 111-13)

Except for Biff, who remembers him vaguely, no one in the town he leaves even thinks about him but Singer. As Singer rides through the American countryside, he associates the "abundance of growth and color" somehow with his friend, and in all his dreams, "Antonapoulos was there." In the dream tableau, which defines the relationships of characters, Antonapoulos stands at the top, holding something above his head. This something is the Constitution of the United States, and Singer is fascinated by it, but unfortunately it exists only in his dream, and even then it remains just beyond the sight of the American people who are behind him in the dark; while he watches, the whole vision collapses. This tableau is indeed central to the novel, and it is a crystallization of the situation of the parable. (p. 113)

Mick represents both the white population in general (Lucille says she lives in a "common" neighborhood) and most women. This is why most reviewers "see Mick as the central personage of the novel" [as evidenced in Edgar E. MacDonald's "The Symbolic Unity of 'The Heart is a Lonely Hunter'"]. But like Singer, she is a negative force—a "silent" majority—for although she has within her a song or dream, and might therefore restore the dream (Antonapoulos) to Singer, she does not know exactly what the dream is all about. The dream-song is entitled "THIS THING I WANT, I KNOW NOT WHAT."… Thus as the collective mind of the majority, she represents the real causes of the failure of democracy.

The tendency of reviewers to blame Mick's failure on social and economic factors has resulted in some critical vagueness with regard to her character, but her flaws are just as relevant to her personal tragedy as they are to her symbolic role. In the parable, she represents public apathy; its causes, which appear to be immaturity, immorality and irrationality, are manifest in her behavior. These traits may seem incongruous with our generally sympathetic view of Mick, but if we are deceived about her true fibre, it is because she is deceived about herself. Both the deception and the qualities are demonstrably major aspects of her character delineation.

Mick seems at first to be a nonconformist…. Since at the end of the novel she joins their ranks, the original image of her is deceptive…. (pp. 114-15)

Judged by her actions, Mick is selfish, dishonest and prejudiced. (p. 115)

Mick is not entirely the "selfless seeker after love" she seems to be. In every respect except for her dream of music, she seems to exemplify that condition in America which Swedish philosopher Myrdahl labeled the "American dilemma," which is to say that she thinks she embodies both Christian and democratic principles, when in fact she practices neither. (p. 116)

Critics who interpret the novel without considering the parable see the dream tableau as a key to character relationships and conclude that Singer is a God figure and the other major characters are of equal stature in a row behind him. But in the parable, Singer represents the government, and what the tableau means is that theoretically all men are equal in relation to and in sight of government, and not to each other, since these characters are in no way alike. Neither the radical reformer nor the Negro nor the woman nor the conformist is going to change political systems in the thirties or for a long time to come. That leaves only Biff Brannon.

An unlikely candidate for hero, Biff has no special talent; he is not particularly "aware," as is indicated by his watching "from a distance" when Copeland comes into his café and is insulted. Neither is he equipped with any special knowledge, for he continually asks questions, some of them not very astute. Nor is he possessed of "vision," as some critics have asserted: when Blount talks of soul brotherhood, for instance, Biff thinks he means the Masons…. (pp. 117-18)

Biff is clearly an average, middle-class American; therefore, he is the most important character in the parable, for its central question is concerned with the survival of freedom under a democratic political system. (p. 118)

Measured by conventional standards of plot construction, which are discernible in the parable, Biff is clearly the main character. The opening chapter introduces a situation which defines the two major images of silence and lunacy. Except for the two figures who symbolically dramatize these ideas, no other character but Biff appears in this chapter. Although specific clues as to the causes of the situations reflected in the images appear in the picture, Biff is remote from them in terms of his position in the chapter, the implication being that he is surrounded by things of which he is unaware. And yet these clues are the kinds of things an observant man like Biff should have seen or known or read about. Some of these are the power of capitalism (Charles Parker), racial and sexual prejudice (the chess men), and disregard for law (in the escapades of Antonapoulos).

The final chapter again evokes the images of silence and madness. Biff is alone in the "peaceful silence of the night," except for the sound of a radio voice which is describing Hitler's evil schemes in Danzig. But this time there is a difference, for Biff labels this lunacy a "crisis," and his own voice rings out through the quiet. In this chapter Biff dominates the scene and the emphasis is on his thoughts. He has not yet put together the pieces of the "puzzle of Singer," but he is thinking about Willy, whom the law maimed, and Mick, who had "grown older," and himself; and he has decided "money" and "profit" are not important to him. (pp. 119-20)

[What] Carson McCullers is saying is that the average man's biggest problem is that he deceives himself. But he does have the intellectual and moral possibility to be better than he is, and there are some grounds for optimism in a man like Biff who at least knows what he wants to be, and in whom, as [Ihab] Hassan has noted, is to be seen "an image of clumsy endurance, a will for right action which no excess of hate or suffering or disenchantment can wholly suspend." The fact that this will is exerting some influence on Biff is demonstrated by the slight change in him between the first scene and the last. When Biff first looks at himself in the mirror in chapter two, his eyes are "cold and staring," and all his image tells him is that he needs a shave. In the last chapter, however, one eye is looking into the past and the other into the future; thus he is beginning to get perspective on things. Furthermore, he is frightened by the image and reacts by almost forcibly pulling himself together to take one positive step in the present.

McCullers commented that her heroes are "not the only human beings of their kind. Because of the essence of these people … they will someday be united and they will come into their own." History has proved that she was right. Biff is only one man, and the time was not ripe, which accounts for the seemingly pessimistic ending of the novel. But he is "a sensible man"; in contrast to the discord outside, his café "is serene." Somewhere, soundless in the background is the Negro he has hired. He is still working on the "puzzle of Singer." The door of his café is never closed through the dark of night, which is the present; and one day, the parable implies, he will unite with others like himself to put a new image of government before the people, just as surely as he puts fresh flowers in his display. The implications of Biff's character thus suggest that the failure of democracy is itself an illusion—that the nature of the democratic process is like that of Biff, slow, and the condition of freedom is perseverance. (pp. 121-22)