all I know is I want to get lost in your eyes tonight
Harper Lee only published one novel, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all she had to do. Since I was assigned To Kill a Mockingbird in school, I have read it at least once a year. This is one of the books I found again in the box I rooted through last night, and of course it was time to re-read it. In fact, it's past time since this box hasn't been opened in two years, but there's no way to categorically prove I didn't just read it twice to keep the average correct.
I would do it twice in a row, but I need a little bit of rest between readings. It's a powerful and wonderful book, completely deserving of the Pulitzer, and the film adaptation is just as good, even with certain parts excised from the source. Gregory Peck is the perfect Atticus; his trial conclusion speech is easily one of my favorite movie moments. And I like to joke that it has Robert Duvall's best performance.
But the point here is the book, not the movie. Wonderful and, yes, powerful. It's one of the books that'll get me to choke up, even as well as I know it. Nothing's a surprise. Nothing new comes. It's all there, the same every time, and every now and then I just need a refresher.
Judge Taylor nodded, and then Atticus did something I never saw him do before or since, in public or in private: he unbuttoned his vest, unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and took off his coat. He never loosened a scrap of his clothing until he undressed at bedtime, and to Jem and me, this was the equivalent of him standing before us stark naked. We exchanged horrified glances.
Dill's voice was his own again: 'Oh, they ain't mean. They kiss you and hug you good night and good mornin' and good-bye and tell you they love you - Scout, let's get us a baby.'
'Where?'
There was a man Dill had heard of who had a boat that he rowed across to a foggy island where all these babies were; you could order one -
'That's a lie. Aunty said God drops 'em down the chimney. At least that's what I think she said.' For once, Aunty's diction had not been too clear.
'Well that ain't so. You get babies from each other. But there's this man, too - he has all those babies just waitin' to wake up, he breathes life into 'em…'
Dill was off again. Beautiful things floated around in his dreamy head. He could read two books to my one, but he preferred the magic of his own inventions. He could add and subtract faster than lightning, but he preferred his own twilight world, a world where babies slept, waiting to be gathered like morning lilies. He was slowly talking himself to sleep and taking me with him, but in the quietness of his foggy island there rose the faded image of a grey house with sad brown doors.
'Dill?'
'Mm?'
'Why do you reckon Boo Radley's never run off?'
Dill sighed a long sigh and turned away from me.
'Maybe he doesn't have anywhere to run off to…'
Beautiful.
I would do it twice in a row, but I need a little bit of rest between readings. It's a powerful and wonderful book, completely deserving of the Pulitzer, and the film adaptation is just as good, even with certain parts excised from the source. Gregory Peck is the perfect Atticus; his trial conclusion speech is easily one of my favorite movie moments. And I like to joke that it has Robert Duvall's best performance.
But the point here is the book, not the movie. Wonderful and, yes, powerful. It's one of the books that'll get me to choke up, even as well as I know it. Nothing's a surprise. Nothing new comes. It's all there, the same every time, and every now and then I just need a refresher.
Judge Taylor nodded, and then Atticus did something I never saw him do before or since, in public or in private: he unbuttoned his vest, unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and took off his coat. He never loosened a scrap of his clothing until he undressed at bedtime, and to Jem and me, this was the equivalent of him standing before us stark naked. We exchanged horrified glances.
Dill's voice was his own again: 'Oh, they ain't mean. They kiss you and hug you good night and good mornin' and good-bye and tell you they love you - Scout, let's get us a baby.'
'Where?'
There was a man Dill had heard of who had a boat that he rowed across to a foggy island where all these babies were; you could order one -
'That's a lie. Aunty said God drops 'em down the chimney. At least that's what I think she said.' For once, Aunty's diction had not been too clear.
'Well that ain't so. You get babies from each other. But there's this man, too - he has all those babies just waitin' to wake up, he breathes life into 'em…'
Dill was off again. Beautiful things floated around in his dreamy head. He could read two books to my one, but he preferred the magic of his own inventions. He could add and subtract faster than lightning, but he preferred his own twilight world, a world where babies slept, waiting to be gathered like morning lilies. He was slowly talking himself to sleep and taking me with him, but in the quietness of his foggy island there rose the faded image of a grey house with sad brown doors.
'Dill?'
'Mm?'
'Why do you reckon Boo Radley's never run off?'
Dill sighed a long sigh and turned away from me.
'Maybe he doesn't have anywhere to run off to…'
Beautiful.