More than 50 years after its original publication, Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird is just as angular and opinionated as ever. It is a world filled with haints, hot steams, incantations and secret signs that Jean Louise—otherwise known as Scout—and her brother, Jem, must negotiate. But there are worse things in Maycomb than imaginary night frights. And better. On one side are formidable aunties, and equally formidable neighbours, though it takes Scout and Jem a fair bit of time to determine just which side those are on. By the time they are face to face with the worst of Maycomb (and possibly of mankind) they have learned a thing or two about the better as well. And at the top of the better column, undoubtedly, is their father, Atticus Finch.
Lee does such a good job painting a believable picture of Alabama in the 1930s that it begins to seem almost unbelievable that men like Atticus or children like Jem and Scout could emerge from such an environment. Where does their strength of character come from? How are they able to hold to their resolve come what may? And how does Atticus continue to place himself in other men’s shoes day after day and not end in self-loathing?
I suppose that To Kill A Mockingbird was intended for a child readership, but its content and themes are more than serious enough to give any adult pause. And if you missed out on this classic and are coming to it late in the game, as I have, then you may want to take a moment to imagine your younger self reading this novel. And you may also wonder whether that younger you would have developed more strength of character, more resolve, and more fellow feeling than you have as a result. Maybe.