5 Things That Surprised Me When I Finally Read “To Kill a Mockingbird”
Confession: I just read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time.
As a southern woman writer on the high end of “middle age,” it’s rather shocking that I’d never read it. It wasn’t on the curriculum in my Florida high school in the mid 80s (which is not much of a shocker, I guess); and though I always knew it was an important book, somehow it didn’t make my “read-it-now” list until this summer.
Here are five things that surprised me in my long-delayed reading of this American classic.
1. Barely Anything Happens In The First Half of the Book
As a writer, I was stunned to see how ploddingly slow the first half of To Kill a Mockingbird felt. I kept oscillating between jealousy and anger that writers in the mid 20th century were allowed to take their time and develop their cast of characters completely before anything of substance actually happens.
By the end of the book I did feel like the in-depth character development of Scout, Jem, Dill, and Boo Radley, in particular, paid off in the narrative. But good grief, the first hundred(ish) pages were dull.
2. The Narrative Pace of the Book is Shockingly Uneven
After almost nothing happens in the first half of the book, the second half is rapid fire plot action. My reading speed shot way up as the tension escalated but I could hear the echoes of my old MFA workshop chanting: “the pace is sooooo uneven!!”
3. The Plot Eerily Reflects The Reality of 21st Century America
The story in To Kill a Mockingbird takes place in the early 1930s. The book was written in the mid to late 1950s, and published in 1960. Yet the plot is shockingly close to events that happen rather routinely today. (Okay, maybe not literally, but if you wanted to craft a realistic “remake” of the main Mockingbird story in the 2020s, you wouldn’t have to change much…)
4. The Vivid Depiction of Racism Triggered Deeply Suppressed Memories
I grew up in the South and my family’s roots are deeply Southern. It’s not that I didn’t remember the racism that permeated my childhood but it turns out I’d forgotten (or perhaps, suppressed) the actual feeling of living amidst it.
The racism in To Kill a Mockingbird is so vivid and authentically depicted (in multiple layers, and across a spectrum of characters) that it jolted me back in time, reminding me what it felt like to be (a young white girl) surrounded by such pervasive expressions of prejudice, trying to make sense of what clearly made no sense at all.
5. The White Savior Trope Wasn’t As Obvious As I Thought It Would Be (But…)
Truthfully, I think the reason I waited so long to read this book is that I feared it was going to be the quintessential “white savior” story. I think I’d seen one too many clips of Gregory Peck, looking dapper in the courtroom, from the movie.
I expected Atticus Finch to be the classic straight, white male savior who swoops in and somehow makes everything better. The outcome of the actual book was much darker than that.
I won’t ruin the plot for those of you who still haven’t read it (and I know you exist…). Instead, I will just say that Atticus is not the hero I expected he would be. Yet the book does produce something of a white savior at the end, while also reflecting back the enormity of white privilege (which isn’t recognized in the book but is glaringly clear now).
And Also…
I expect I may have more to say about Mockingbird at some point. I’m still processing the psychic assault I felt from reading it.
Do I think it deserves to be on the top of so many “Best Novel” lists? In the end, yes, I do.
It was a deeply painful book to read but I’m glad I pushed through. However, instead of endlessly praising the book, or putting it on yet another “Best” list, I’d rather we all work together to produce a world where To Kill a Mockingbird stops feeling so damned relevant.
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