Examining a set text--To Kill a Mockingbird fifty years on.
Peters, Mike
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
New York, 1958. A woman in her early thirties scrabbles in the snow
for the pages she has just thrown out of her apartment window in a
moment of frustrated madness. Her name is Harper Lee, newly arrived to
the city from a small Alabaman town, in order to work as an airline
clerk for BOAC. Eventually, she manages to re-assemble the disorderly
manuscript of what will turn out to be one of the most culturally and
educationally influential books of recent times--To Kill a Mockingbird.
Initially entitled, Go Set a Watchman, the novel, published fifty
years ago in July 1960 and never out of print since, will remain in the
US bestseller lists for a record-breaking 80 weeks, will feature
prominently in international surveys of people's favourite reading
and become one of the most commonly taught texts in high schools across
the world. Ranked ahead of the Bible in a 2006 UK librarians'
survey as the one book every adult should read before they die and
identified by Bill Clinton's campaign manager as the work that
changed his views on race--'I just knew the minute I read it that
she was right and I had been wrong'--Mockingbird, set in Lee's
loosely fictionalised home town, is not an obvious candidate for
literary stardom. Why this novel, with its small cast of simply drawn
characters--both children and adults--and slow-moving plot built around
a children's game involving the goal of making contact with a local
recluse and an allegation of rape against a local black labourer, should
have exerted such a strong and pervasive influence during the last
half-century is an intriguing question.
Certainly, To Kill a Mockingbird hasn't always had an easy
ride. Judged to be 'immoral' by a number of US school-boards
in the 1960s and attacked more recently by educators in Illinois, Kansas
City and Nova Scotia for its stereotypical depiction of black
characters, some readers, at least, have felt intense antagonism. Yet,
for the most part, in spite of the controversies, the book has continued
to feature on examining boards' set-text lists and English teachers
have, on the whole, remained faithful, recognising that its traditional
values--'Christian', according to Harper Lee herself in a rare
defence of the novel--and politically liberal, according to others, in
its heroic depiction of the individual struggling against injustice,
continues to resonate with contemporary teenagers.
'I've never had a class that didn't love it,'
says one enthusiast. 'There are few books like it for raising
issues surrounding responsibility within the community,' claims
Caroline Sharpe, an English teacher from London's Lilian Baylis
Technology School, who goes on to say that the character of Boo Radley
and the court-case 'raise passionate views from students ...
It's the best device I can think of for illustrating the atrocious
treatment of black folk at the hands of a white only judicial system at
that time in history.'
Even when there is a recognition of the problematic nature of
certain aspects of the novel--for example, Atticus's willingness to
tolerate the racism that surrounds him or the author's choice of a
white child to tell the story of black oppression--few seem to doubt the
novel's ability to speak to young readers. One teacher, for
example, comments, 'Sadly, there's still enough racism in this
country to keep the book relevant.'
Yet the appeal of To Kill a Mockingbird is not merely to do with
its strong opposition to racism--an opposition informed by the
author's local knowledge of a long and dishonourable tradition of
racial persecution and discrimination in the southern states of the US.
In apartheid South Africa, where the novel was a surprisingly popular
choice in white high schools, teachers' emphasis on the themes of
courage and growing-up enabled both white and black pupils to find
something in Mockingbird which spoke to them. However, although the
pressure on progressive teachers, through exam questions and
supervision, was to marginalise the potentially dangerous race theme,
occasionally it erupted into the classroom, as when pupils in one high
school were prompted to associate the black labourer, Tom Robinson, as
well as Boo, with the mockingbird--the novel's symbol of innocence
and vulnerability. According to Leo Marx, a teacher in apartheid South
Africa, 'chaos broke loose', with two warring camps
developing.
And as we read the book now, another mockingbird comes into
view--Harper Lee herself, for whom To Kill a Mockingbird is her only
significant intervention in the public cultural world. After its
appearance in July 1960, in spite of a few odd publications, minor
appearances and a single significant interview, there is just silence.
Instead of the expected future best-sellers and expected celebrity, we
are only offered glimpses from occasional critics, journalists and
tourists of the author's unassuming life, divided between
small-town Monroeville, Alabama and New York City. How calculatedly
unassuming is suggested by the way she manages to avoid the BBC's
John Humphries recognising her when he stalks her for a TV programme;
her ordinariness is the ultimate disguise.
As with the fictional Boo Radley and the recently deceased JD
Salinger, the tighter and longer the doors are closed, the more intense
the fascination grows. We are left to wonder at the mystery of a
creativity that appears to have dried up and at the possibility of the
stories that might have been. Explaining what she felt in her last press
interview in 1964, after Mockingbird's phenomenal success was
firmly established, Harper Lee gives us a clue as to the reason for her
long silence. Her fame, she says, 'was just as frightening as the
quick, merciful death I'd expected.' Substitute
'fame' for 'recognition' and the words could just as
easily be spoken by Boo Radley himself--if Boo would choose to utter so
many words. Surely, this transition from sociable and public
personality, eager to help friend and rival Truman Capote with his
researches for In Cold Blood, to secretive and mysterious recluse--the
transition from Scout to Boo--is, in this age of celebrity, one of the
strangest and most thought-provoking cases of life imitating art.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]