I read this book for the first time when I was fourteen, like the rest of the world. It was ninth grade Honors English and I had a vague knowledge of how highly-regarded this book is, generally speaking, so I was psyched. Prior to this assignment, I had no clue what the book was about. I was immediately disappointed. I was wasting away in Honors English reading about a six-year-old.
Eight years later I’m tutoring a girl going into tenth grade and her summer reading is To Kill a Mockingbird. I was actually excited to have an excuse to pick it up again; the entire world seems to be in love with it and I certainly didn’t understand it eight years ago, but I could only hope that I would now.
If you want the short version, I liked it very much. I cried when Atticus woke up the morning after the trial to find all of the food that had been sent to him. I cried again when Scout realized that it was Boo Radley that had saved them and carried Jem to safety. Read on if you want the longer version.
I have a theory about this book, but that said let me warn you that I know nothing about Harper Lee the person, so if there’s anything particularly telling in her past that arguably shines through in the novel, I don’t know about it. Also let me warn you that at times I suspect I have been brainwashed by my African-American Literature professor; that is relevant in this case.
The dog’s name is Tim Johnson. Usually I would be the last person to take a second look at what may at first appear to be an endearing Southern quirk. I come from a Southern family– one side respectable, the other side not so much– and each of my pets have full names (eg: Hannah Marie, Margaret May, Frances Louise, Dudley Duke, Oli McFoley, etc.)… but I digress. I’m inclined to believe that Harper Lee is intentionally setting up a parallel between Tim Johnson, the dog, and Tom Robinson, the black man Atticus defends. There are a million different names over the course of the book, and none of them are as similar as the dog’s and the defendant’s.
Also contributing to the point I eventually intend to make, I have a problem with Atticus. Most people read the book and see Atticus as god-like… but he’s a little too good to be true, isn’t he? Upon careful consideration, several problems emerge. First and foremost, Scout and Jem call him Atticus. This is still generally unacceptable, and I doubt it was any less so in the 1930s. It is emphasized several times within the book that Atticus is not terribly affectionate. Aside from allowing Scout to sit in his lap while he reads– which he eventually puts an end to– any sort of physical contact between he and his children is documented as a rare event. Atticus is a single parent and treats his children as miniature adults. He is rarely nurturing, and while it can be argued that Calpurnia does the nurturing, her role as disciplinarian and etiquette coach is of primary importance. Atticus puts his children at risk in defending Tom Robinson (though the reader can and should accept this much), he misses Scout’s pageant because he’s not up to it, he undermines Scout’s teacher, he puts the neighborhood at risk in initially refusing to shoot the rabid dog simply to save himself from having to handle a gun, and the list goes on. The point is not that Atticus is not a good father and he is certainly a seemingly good person all-around for the most part, but the problem with Atticus becomes the preservation of his goodness and dignity over all else, including his children’s safety. Atticus is more concerned with presenting himself as a good and proper person than he is with doing what is best.
It is made clear in one hundred different ways how uncomfortable and humiliating it is for Tom Robinson to appear in court and testify. Being as intelligent as he is, Atticus must surely have forseen everything that eventually happens in the courtroom. Atticus even tells Jem long before the trial takes place that he and Tom Robinson will undoubtedly lose, but that Atticus wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try his damndest to win the case. Atticus has somehow managed to make the tragic case of Tom Robinson all about himself, while Tom Robinson all but begs to be put out of his misery, just like Tim Johnson.
The clencher was Tom Robinson’s actual death. In the yard, Tom Robinson makes a break for it and is shot to death. The point is made that if a statment needed to be made, Tom Robinson was perfectly capable of making it himself with no help from Atticus. Atticus has exploited Tom Robinson and his misfortune to glorify himself.
But that’s just my reading.
