To Kill A Mockingbird
8/10. Excellent. Upon reading a one-liner in a New Yorker humour piece which referencing it, and needing something to read on my phone.
Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is a portrait of a southern town and its people in the Great Depression. This study is conducted Scout, who ages from six to nine as the novel progresses, lending the novel a unique perspective. The viewpoint allows an intimate characterization of Scout, as well as her father, Atticus. Furthermore, the naivety and inexperience of Scout question many seemingly foregone conclusions. I wish I had read this book when I was part of the age group that it was written for; despite this, it is undoubtedly one of the best books that I have read all year.
After being reminded of To Kill a Mockingbird by the New Yorker piece, I downloaded as phone reading material when I didn’t have a book handy. I thought that it’d be an easy read that I wouldn’t be very interested in, making it ideal for sporacidal reading on the go. I was right on the first count, but so wrong on the second and third. I regret not showing it its due respect, and assuming that it was another overrated rag. One should never judge a book by the number of teachers who insist upon it as required reading, or the number of leftist agendas it sits on.
The first thing that I noticed about To Kill a Mockingbird was its point of view. It’s written from the perspective of a grown-up Jean Louise Finch reminiscing about her childhood in Maycomb County. After the first few chapters introduce the setting and characters, the narration passes onto Scout. Scout is a strong female protagonist before strong female protagonists became all the rage. As a six-year-old, she rebels against the educational establishment and defends her family honour with her fists. She isn’t interested in dolls, and rails against her well-intentioned aunt’s efforts to “turn her into a lady”. Much of the dialogue and action that serves as character exposition can be supplemented by Scout’s asides; they would be jarring with other narrators, and break the vow to “show not tell”, but fits in perfectly with the narrator herself: a six-year-old. As the story moves forward, the reader begins to admire the precocious and nonthreatening Scout, developing almost a paternalistic attitude towards her. This in turn, heightens the characterization of Atticus, turning him into everyone’s favourite father and the most memorable character in the novel.
Atticus Finch is a lawyer in Maycomb County, a widowed man raising two children by himself. He’s a character flawless enough to give Ms. Rand’s a run for their money. A Southern gentleman who is eternally patient and eschews violence, dispensing pieces of advice such as:
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
““I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”
“The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.”
I’d hate him for being self-righteous, but that’d probably be misconstrued as jealously of the impressive figure he cuts.
Scout grows frustrated with her father on occasion, but it’s obvious to the reader that these are a child’s observations; Atticus is not only fair, but respects Scout’s choices, except when she insists on dropping out of school. The rest of the time, we see his accomplishments through the adoring eyes of his daughter: defending an innocent man, shooting a mad dog, and standing up to local mobs.
Scout’s narration also helps break down larger problems that people don’t question, such as racism.
“Atticus, what exactly is a nigger-lover?” There is nothing wrong with being a nigger-lover.
“Well, how do you know we ain’t Negros?” We can’t know we ain’t negros.
“I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks.” Some folks still don’t agree with that.
Education is another topic of contention: Scout already knows how to read, and is punished by her teacher for “not learning properly”, as she can no longer be taught by the lessons in the primer. The absurdity of the situation aside, it’s a good take on the failures of “one size fits all” pedagogies. This also resonates with the young readers who undoubtedly have conflicts with their teachers, furthering their empathy with Scout.
The intended reader of To Kill a Mockingbird is older than Scout, but still young. In the United States of America, it’s mandatory reading in grade nine. Consequently, Scout’s narration has a whole other set of effects for this audience. Her precocious voice speaks directly to some of the frustrations of young readers on issues such as education, and allows them to connect with her situation. Most children’s books star children, but few are narrated by children. As her brother, Jem, grows up, he distances himself from her as he attempts to be more mature. Both the futility of these actions and their impact on Scout are obvious to the reader, and although this adolescent way of thinking is cute to adults, it may speak to current events in the lives of young readers, potentially changing their behaviour, or becoming more understanding of the behaviour of their siblings. Maybe I only enjoyed this book so much because my reading level is at that of a ninth grader. Maybe I would have been nicer to my sister if I read it as I was going through my angsty teenage phase.
Furthermore, To Kill a Mockingbird is able to raise its ‘adult problems’ to its young readers by making Scout ask the questions. That way, the readers don’t feel like the issues are out of their reach, while not being patronized at the same time. The issues with Maycomb county are also addressed in a targeted way. Scout mentally skips over the parts that she doesn’t understand, glazing over the alleged rape.
“Mr. Jem,” Reverend Sykes demurred, “this ain’t a polite thing for little ladies to hear…”
“Aw, she doesn’t know what we’re talkin‘ about,” said Jem. “Scout, this is too old for you, ain’t it?”
“It most certainly is not, I know every word you’re saying.” Perhaps I was too convincing, because Jem hushed and never discussed the subject again”
Poverty and racism are brought up with a nativity and explained neutrally; obviously the racism of the thirties was shown to be wrong, but no more than the sensitivities of the sixties allowed for.
One of the most fascinating things with To Kill a Mockingbird is the outcome of the Tom Robinson affair. The book seems to make it clear that Robinson was wrongly accused of rape, but still convicted. Although there are whispers of an appeal to a higher court, Robinson tries to escape prison and was shot dead before anything could be done. This struck a nerve, because it implies that his death, to a certain extent, was his own fault, and almost besmirches the good name of his defense lawyer, Atticus, as we don’t get to see him duke it out at a higher court.
The outcome of however, is that Tom Robinson is dead, and although Atticus and company are terribly dismayed, they go to sleep with a clear conscience. Because they did the right thing. But though Lee illustrates something terribly wrong with the society that would convict an innocent black man, it implies that the actions of the members of Maycomb County who tried to prevent his conviction of Robinson acted in the only right way. But Robinson was convicted guilty and dead.
This is the classic Washington vs Du Bois debate, of what the best way to affect change in an inequitable society. To Kill A Mockingbird supports slow, conservative change, working from within the confines of the system. After all, that’s what Atticus does. He does his best to love everybody, but has come to accept that “In our courts, when it’s a white man’s word against a black man’s, the white man always wins. They’re ugly, but those are the facts of life.” And things will change eventually. But until then, Robinsons are going to be convicted and killed, while the racists get away with it. I’m not passing judgement on one political stance or the other, but it is important to recognize that this is ultimately the message passed onto modern young readers, despite the progressiveness at the time of writing.
