My choice in literature improves exponentially
How do you get the taste of something like Twilight out of your mouth? Nothing better than to follow it up with a literary classic. Something that has remained cherished and beloved through decades and with good reason. So, I decided to pick up To Kill A Mockingbird again. I was in the middle of it when Edward Cullen decided to come barging rudely into my life, and I was glad to return to it.
"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."
Ok, that line, right there. That's where I fell in love with this book. I knew what TKaM was about, of course, mostly from seeing clips of the movie trotted out in film retrospectives. I didn't know how precise a picture Harper Lee painted or how much I would fall in love with the characters. Lee takes a long time to build up to the main event, the trial of a black man accused of assaulting a white woman in the 1930's Deep South. The first half of the book is spent introducing the readers to the inner workings of Maycomb County and its residents. It's time well-spent, because without the background, the trial wouldn't mean nearly as much to the reader.
For some reason, Dill had started crying and couldn't stop; quietly at first, then his sobs were heard by several people in the balcony...
"Because you're children and you can understand it." he said, "and because I heard that one-"
He jerked his head at Dill: "Things haven't caught up with that one's instincts yet. Let him get a little older and he won't get sick and cry. Maybe things'll strike him as being--not quite right, say, but he won't cry, not when he gets a few years on him."
"Cry about what, Mr. Raymond?" Dill's maleness was beginning to assert itself.
"Cry about the simple hell people give other people-- without even thinking. Cry about the hell white people give colored folks, without even stopping to think that they're people, too."
This passage, as Dill breaks down during Tom Robinson's cross-examination, struck a nerve with me. It reminded me of all the times I would see something that upset the hell out of me as a child, and I would feel so helpless and frustrated that I couldn't help but cry. My mother tells me that my dad had a cousin with kids my age, and I used to love to play with them. One day, though, when my dad announced we were going over there, I burst into tears and begged my mom not to make me go. She said she knew why. The father of those girls used to beat them, mercilessly, for any little infraction. And he wasn't shy about doing it in front of company. My father was raised in the "Spare the rod, spoil the child" school, but he never used those methods when raising us. When you're a child, you don't have those socialization filters that tell you to look the other way and to mind your own business. Similarly, racism isn't something you're born with, it's something you're taught. Dill breaking down because he was so frightened at what people could do to each other, for absolutely no reason, served to highlight the injustices happening to Tom Robinson.
"That what I thought, too," Jem said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they get out of their way to despise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understand something. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayed shut up in the house all this time...it's because he wants to stay inside."
Jem's older than Dill and Scout, so he gets it. Luckily, he's got a perfect model of how to help change things as much as he can. Seriously, how perfect a father is Atticus Finch? Cinthia, when I told her I was reading this book, sighed and said when she was growing up, she always wanted a father like Atticus. Can't say I blame her. And, oh, returning to Scout's bright, inquisitive, fearless mind was such a relief after the tedium of being in Bella Swan's mind. I'm adding her to my list of Girls My Daughter Must Meet, before she subjects herself to the vast stupidity of many other female characters is other teen novels.
I loved this book, and I'm seriously considering making it my selection for our book club. (Not our Book Duo, EGT, which, by the way, is being sadly neglected. We must do something about that.)
"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."
Ok, that line, right there. That's where I fell in love with this book. I knew what TKaM was about, of course, mostly from seeing clips of the movie trotted out in film retrospectives. I didn't know how precise a picture Harper Lee painted or how much I would fall in love with the characters. Lee takes a long time to build up to the main event, the trial of a black man accused of assaulting a white woman in the 1930's Deep South. The first half of the book is spent introducing the readers to the inner workings of Maycomb County and its residents. It's time well-spent, because without the background, the trial wouldn't mean nearly as much to the reader.
For some reason, Dill had started crying and couldn't stop; quietly at first, then his sobs were heard by several people in the balcony...
"Because you're children and you can understand it." he said, "and because I heard that one-"
He jerked his head at Dill: "Things haven't caught up with that one's instincts yet. Let him get a little older and he won't get sick and cry. Maybe things'll strike him as being--not quite right, say, but he won't cry, not when he gets a few years on him."
"Cry about what, Mr. Raymond?" Dill's maleness was beginning to assert itself.
"Cry about the simple hell people give other people-- without even thinking. Cry about the hell white people give colored folks, without even stopping to think that they're people, too."
This passage, as Dill breaks down during Tom Robinson's cross-examination, struck a nerve with me. It reminded me of all the times I would see something that upset the hell out of me as a child, and I would feel so helpless and frustrated that I couldn't help but cry. My mother tells me that my dad had a cousin with kids my age, and I used to love to play with them. One day, though, when my dad announced we were going over there, I burst into tears and begged my mom not to make me go. She said she knew why. The father of those girls used to beat them, mercilessly, for any little infraction. And he wasn't shy about doing it in front of company. My father was raised in the "Spare the rod, spoil the child" school, but he never used those methods when raising us. When you're a child, you don't have those socialization filters that tell you to look the other way and to mind your own business. Similarly, racism isn't something you're born with, it's something you're taught. Dill breaking down because he was so frightened at what people could do to each other, for absolutely no reason, served to highlight the injustices happening to Tom Robinson.
"That what I thought, too," Jem said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they get out of their way to despise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understand something. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayed shut up in the house all this time...it's because he wants to stay inside."
Jem's older than Dill and Scout, so he gets it. Luckily, he's got a perfect model of how to help change things as much as he can. Seriously, how perfect a father is Atticus Finch? Cinthia, when I told her I was reading this book, sighed and said when she was growing up, she always wanted a father like Atticus. Can't say I blame her. And, oh, returning to Scout's bright, inquisitive, fearless mind was such a relief after the tedium of being in Bella Swan's mind. I'm adding her to my list of Girls My Daughter Must Meet, before she subjects herself to the vast stupidity of many other female characters is other teen novels.
I loved this book, and I'm seriously considering making it my selection for our book club. (Not our Book Duo, EGT, which, by the way, is being sadly neglected. We must do something about that.)