I read this book with 45% reluctance and 55% curiosity. The supposed "sequel/prequel" to To Kill a Mockingbird, which consistently makes the list of one of my favorite books of all time, was published earlier this month after decades of going undiscovered. Although older, more reclusive, and potentially in poor health, Harper Lee apparently agreed to publish this novel even though she had kept it under wraps for years.On reluctance:
This publishing of this book came under suspect circumstances that concern me as a human. Was Harper Lee exploited? If she wanted this published, why wasn't it published earlier? That she "consented" to its publication is exciting, but also strange for these reasons.
Then somebody told me about the early reviews. I broke my "never read reviews" rule and discovered what the notable thing was: in this book, Atticus (ATTICUS!) does some racist things. There is presumption that he probably did more racist things in the book's world between Mockingbird and Watchman. Grappling with this image, this idea, was the hardest. Atticus is a perennial social justice hero in literature, and also taught generations how to leverage empathy toward equity. So to think that he actually could be racist seemed jarring, even before reading the first page.
I read the first chapter on The Atlantic's web site. I have to give them props for including moving graphics and interesting print; the combination made it easier for me to read a full chapter on a laptop. The writing was great. Lee was on point. It was a little slower, though, and I had concerns about the pace of the story. I also was like, "who's Henry?"
On curiosity:
Who is Henry? What happened to Dill? How's Jem? What about Boo Radley? Cal? These questions, and more, framed my curiosity. My excitement was stoked by the idea that I could revisit beloved characters and the world of Mockingbird, especially to hear Scout as a young woman and Atticus, oh, Atticus.
When I learned that Lee wrote Watchman before Mockingbird, and that the latter was written at the suggestion of publisher to explore more of Scout and Atticus' experiences, I was also intrigued. What laid the foundation for Mockingbird?
On reading:
The questions got the best of me and I had to read. Not all of the questions are answered (for example, I still don't know whatever happened to Boo Radley), but some were (like, Dill is a traveling man! And Jem - I won't spoil anything - but, poor Jem). Some re-vistations were confusing (did I mention Atticus? Oh, and CAL). Some relationships and characters were perspectives at the intersection of hot issues involving race and class (ahhhhh Alexandra. AND OMG, ATTICUS). Some moments were eerily similar to current events, like the debate around the Confederate battle flag:
“Has it never occurred to you—have you never, somewhere along the line, received vibrations to the effect—that this territory was a separate nation? No matter what its political bonds, a nation with its own people, existing within a nation? A society highly paradoxical, with alarming inequities, but with the private honor of thousands of persons winking like lightning bugs through the night? No war was ever fought for so many different reasons meeting in one reason clear as crystal. They fought to preserve their identity. Their political identity, their personal identity.”
And then, I was intrigued by the idea of Scout as a young woman, aged 28. I always, always identified with Scout and this book was no different, even though this story was third person and not from her p.ov.
"She was almost in love with him. No, that’s impossible, she thought: either you are or you aren’t. Love’s the only thing in this world that is unequivocal. There are different kinds of love, certainly, but it’s a you-do or you-don’t proposition with them all. She was a person who, when confronted with an easy way out, always took the hard way."
And Atticus. He said racist things that made my skin crawl. I had trouble highlighting anything because I felt treasonous, somehow.
"Had she been able to think, Jean Louise might have prevented events to come by considering the day’s occurrences in terms of a recurring story as old as time: the chapter which concerned her began two hundred years ago and was played out in a proud society the bloodiest war and harshest peace in modern history could not destroy, returning, to be played out again on private ground in the twilight of a civilization no wars and no peace could save."
"What was this blight that had come down over the people she loved? Did she see it in stark relief because she had been away from it? Had it percolated gradually through the years until now? Had it always been under her nose for her to see if she had only looked? No, not the last. What turned ordinary men into screaming dirt at the top of their voices, what made her kind of people harden and say “nigger” when the word had never crossed their lips before?"
Oh, Scout. She struggled with her place, her identity, and what to do. My only disappointment is not what she chose in the end, but the wonder I had as to whether she would continue to speak up for herself, for issues of right and wrong, even when her father was on the other end.
"Why doesn’t their flesh creep? How can they devoutly believe everything they hear in church and then say the things they do and listen to the things they hear without throwing up? I thought I was a Christian but I’m not. I’m something else and I don’t know what. Everything I have ever taken for right and wrong these people have taught me—these same, these very people. So it’s me, it’s not them. Something has happened to me."
I'm sure she would. But somehow, her potential was stifled in how the book ended. Maybe if you read it you disagree. If you haven't, I won't spoil it here. I just felt it abrupt and, after dozens of pages of working through her feelings, somewhat too quick to close. The only thing I loved about the last few pages was this:
“Well, I certainly hoped a daughter of mine’d hold her ground for what she thinks is right—stand up to me first of all.”
Because, Atticus.
"The one human being she had ever fully and wholeheartedly trusted had failed her; the only man she had ever known to whom she could point and say with expert knowledge, “He is a gentleman, in his heart he is a gentleman,” had betrayed her, publicly, grossly, and shamelessly."
"“When you happened along and saw him doing something that seemed to you to be the very antithesis of his conscience—your conscience—you literally could not stand it."
But, I loved revisiting Maycomb, more than I expected I would. Memories from Mockingbird were triggered, like Scout's school days and summers with Jem & Dill. Henry was alright (until he did racist things, too) and I wonder why he didn't show up in Mockingbird.
Despite its flaws, this book reminded me of why I loved Mockingbird. The characters are endearing and enduring. The town of Maycomb is so simple but is layered in complex, human issues that ring true no matter the era. The book also deals with how we debate issues that are laced with emotion and decades of engrained understandings or misunderstandings about history. Add to that having those debates with the people we most love in the world, who shaped our moral compasses and who we seek out for protection, comfort and warmth.
And what happens when they disagree with what we plainly see differently?
Scout was more of a states-rightest than I'll ever be. So, she was flawed too. She also had a tinge of tolerance instead of social justice, of desegregation in law but not in spirit. She agreed with her father that "Negroes" are inferior to whites and that therefore they should not be really able to participate in a democratic society (!!!). Atticus was more honest, in this way. He was full on separate and (maybe) equal, without apologies. His character seemed an expression of old ways transitioning to new, and grappling with what that might mean for the things he cared about most deeply: the rule of law and the people who should be most engaged in those laws (i.e. smart, white people). The two saw things differently, but also the same in that both were struggling with the marrying of old and new, of what our society should look like and the implications of change.
And, like Mockingbird didn't end perfectly, Watchman is a reminder that reality and the course of human dynamics are far from perfect.
My feelings are complicated and still fiercely divided between reluctance and curiosity: reluctance to accept this new addition to Maycomb and still curious about what more we are still missing from its story. I also recognize that because this novel was resting in the wings for so long, that it is perhaps not finished or polished in the way Lee wished; making it all the more painful - some loose ends might have been tied had she really been involved in this publication.
I will say, this quote from Mockingbird is actually aligned to a huge message in Watchman; that empathy is important to understanding and working toward solutions, or at least grappling with problems productively. The suggestion here is that transformation is borne of perspective, and the fuller the perspective, the greater potential for transformation. Even we feel less comfortable trying to walk around the shoes of a man feeling and doing some racist things, and trying to dig into the complexity of their perspective and the layers of history that shape it. You see? Mixed feelings.
~MJ
Also, food for thought. Brought to you by the Finch's. "Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends."
Watchman was Book 16.
Since The Goldfinch, I have read:
Book 11: "The One and Only Ivan" by Kathleen Applegate. The cutest story you'll ever read, tears included.
Book 12: "Paper Towns" by John Green. Sort of anticlimactic in that I enjoyed it less than "Looking for Alaska."
Book 13: "Everything I Never Told You" by Celeste Ng. The most beautiful book I've read this year, in less than 300 pages. I cried on a plane and stood to finish the last few pages in the rental car place.
Book 14: "Jurassic Park" by Michael Crichton. A pleasant surprise and a quick read for being more than 400 pages.
Book 15: "The Invention of Wings" by Sue Monk Kidd. Some whitewashing, but a great story nonetheless.
