Out of the Dust follows 14-year-old Billie Jo as she comes of age during the Dust Bowl. Billie Jo’s life centers around the concerns one would expect from a girl her age: she thinks about friends, boyfriends, what she wants to do with her life, and playing the piano. However, regularly, she has to set these quotidian concerns aside to fight for her survival as dust storms threaten her life and the lives of those she holds dear. To make matters worse, Billie Jo is involved in an accident that ends up killing her pregnant mother and mutilating Billie Jo’s hands. As a result, she spends much of the novel trying to come to terms with her mother’s death while also figuring out whether she can forgive her father, who was partially responsible for the accident. The novel links Billie Jo’s eventual maturation to her increasing willingness to accept and work through life’s challenges, rather than running from or avoiding them.
As a young girl, Billie Jo prided herself on her ability to play the piano. However, her injured hands make playing the piano an excruciating exercise, so she stops doing it for a long time—a form of avoidance that the novel frames as childish. Similarly, Billie Jo later decides to run away from home without saying goodbye to her father. She gets all the way to Arizona before realizing she has made a mistake and that she doesn’t want to live a lonely life on the road. It is an important moment for her, as this is when she starts to accept her home’s flaws and those of her father. She returns home as a smarter, more mature young adult. As she starts to come to terms with her life, she also begins accepting herself, and eventually, she starts playing the piano again. During her coming-of-age, Billie Jo learns that she can never run away from home because where she grew up will always be a part of her. As such, the novel argues that maturation occurs once one accepts their situation in life and moves to meet it head-on rather than trying to run away.
Coming of Age ThemeTracker
Coming of Age Quotes in Out of the Dust
Daddy named me Billie Jo.
He wanted a boy.
Instead,
he got a long-legged girl
with a wide mouth
and cheekbones like bicycle handles.
He got a redheaded, freckle-faced, narrow-hipped girl
with a fondness for apples
and a hunger for playing fierce piano.
Now Livie’s gone west,
out of the dust
on her way to California
where the wind takes a rest sometimes.
And I’m wondering what kind of friend I am,
wanting my feet on that road to another place,
instead of Livie’s.
I wish she’d give me a little more to hold on to than
“I knew you could.”
Instead she makes me feel like she’s just
taking me in like I was
so much flannel dry on the line.
My father used to say, why not put those hands to good use?
He doesn’t say anything about “those hands”
anymore.
Only Arley Wanderdale talks about them,
and how they could play piano again,
if I would only try.
No one talks about fire
right to my face.
They can’t forget how fire changed my life.
But I hear them talking anyway.
Mad Dog scooped a handful of dust,
like a boy in a sandpit.
He said, “I love this land,
no matter what.”
I looked at his hands.
They were scarless.
How I slip under cover of darkness
inside a boxcar
and let the train carry me west.
Out of the dust.