Sarah Fitzgerald

Although she only ever penned two novels, Harper Lee has garnered both worldwide fame and criticism. Her death at the age of 89 on the 16 February 2016 somehow felt personal, much like the loss of a friend, as this woman had given me one of the most precious gifts I have received to date. Unquestionably, To Kill a Mockingbird was one of the main catalysts in my decision to write about social injustice: specifically, in my decision to write about issues facing disabled people.

I remember vividly how Mockingbird came into my life. It was 1998. Tracy Chapman had re-entered the charts and I had her cassette tape playing on repeat at home. I had bought it to impress my best friend, who was also a massive Chapman fan,  but on listening to her lyrics, I learned about the struggles facing black people in the US. What fascinated me about Chapman’s music was how she used it to bring social injustice into the mainstream. For me, listening to music and reading offered (and continues to offer) both an insight into and escape from the real world, from the drudgery of schoolwork and petty squabbles with my siblings. I am one of those strange people who would quite happily read the same book, over and over. My book of choice around this time was the novel I was studying for my Junior Certificate English exam, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Mockingbird changed my life and my perspective of what literature could do. During my childhood, I had predominantly been an Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl fan, but on approaching adolescence, I was starting to read other books that addressed various social issues, such as The Twelfth Day of July and Across the Barricades by Joan Lingard, which dealt with the forbidden romance between a Catholic boy and a Protestant girl. Still, of all of the books I read during this time, Mockingbird had a lasting impact that I have never before or since felt from a work of fiction. Reading it instilled in me the belief that literature could – and should – be used as a vehicle for addressing social injustice and bringing about change.

Set in the Great Depression of the 1930s, in the fictional town of Maycomb, Alabama, the story is told through the eyes of six-year-old tomboy Jean Louise Finch (known affectionately as Scout), whose father is a respected lawyer. Atticus Finch is portrayed as a clean-living man, oozing with morals and integrity. The main plot of the story is that Atticus is asked to defend Tom Robinson, a black man, who has been accused of raping Mayella Ewell, a young woman who comes from a background of poverty, parental alcoholism, neglect and violence. His decision to do so makes Atticus highly unpopular among the close-minded inhabitants of Maycomb, and soon trusted friends and neighbours turn against Atticus.

The main highlight of the book is the court case. It is obvious that there are holes in Bob and Mayella Ewell’s testimonies; in the courtroom both of them struggle to recount the alleged incident, and Atticus portrays to the court how Mayella’s injuries were most likely caused by someone who had use of both his hands, predominantly the left. Mayella admits that her father is “tolerable” except for when he has been drinking, and becomes defensive at the suggestion that he has regularly been violent towards her.  To the reader, it is obvious that Bob Ewell most likely assaulted his own daughter, and during Tom Robinson’s testimony it becomes clear why: Mayella made advances towards Tom, misconstruing rare acts of kindness towards her to be acts of lust, love even. In 1930s Alabama, Lee implies, there is no greater sin than a white woman making advances towards a black man. Furthermore, Tom Robinson’s left arm hangs limp by his side, having caught it in a cotton gin as a boy, which ripped all the muscles. On asking Bob Ewell to sign his name on the back of an envelope, Atticus reveals to the court that Ewell is left-handed, offering further evidence that he is therefore Mayella’s true abuser.

Despite the fact that the evidence suggests that Tom would have had physical difficulty inflicting Mayella’s injuries upon her, never mind raping her, Tom is nonetheless convicted and imprisoned for the crime. Atticus had known beforehand that try as he might, he would never be able to fully remove the jury’s internalised prejudice. When Scout and Jem find out that Atticus chose to defend Tom, as was not made to as Atticus led them to believe, he simply says: “Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.” Although Atticus is only a fictional character, he has become a symbol of morality and righteousness the world over, as has the novel itself.

Up until 2015, Lee had only one published novel. However, before she had penned Mockingbird, Lee had written an earlier draft which was entitled Go Set a Watchman. It is unclear whether this novel was ever intended for publication, let alone public consumption; the decision to publish Watchman came towards the end of her life, when Harper Lee was reportedly living in an assisted living centre, and was almost fully deaf and blind. Like Mockingbird, Go Set a Watchman the racism epidemic that raged through 1950s and 60s America. I read it when it was published, and felt alienated from and betrayed by my beloved Atticus: far from the polished hero in Mockingbird, Atticus is a character flawed, torn between his morals and his need to make a living. I admit that as a reader, I preferred Mockingbird, although I appreciated reading how Jean Louise’s childhood shaped her sense of justice as an adult.

Although the main theme of To Kill a Mockingbird is deep-ingrained racism, one of the key messages in the book is that people are deeper than the stereotypical misperceptions that tend to be held of them. Atticus advised Scout: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” This hold true for both Tom Robinson and Mayella Ewell, and through the prism of Atticus’ wisdom the reader begins to see the characters as individuals, not mere caricatures. Mayella Ewell was wrong to lie in court, but the alternative, which was to profess her love for a married Negro man was even more dangerous. Tom Robinson was wrong to try and escape from prison, but he knew as a black man that no appeal would ever prove his innocence. Scout comes to understand that perhaps Boo Radley is shut away (or chooses to be) because he is unable to live in the real world, something which Sherriff Heck Tate also understands, and thus he refuses to hold Boo accountable for Bob Ewell’s murder.

I am glad that To Kill a Mockingbird continues to be studied as part of the English school curriculum. It is a brave book which poses many questions to its reader and, if that reader is paying attention, perhaps he or she will start to see the world a little differently. And as a writer myself, I can imagine no greater honour than that.

Rest in peace, Harper Lee, and thank you for teaching me that words can potentially be life- and society – changing.