Redbeard's Mockingbird, the fourth

From Chapter 11 -

"Don't you say hey to me, you ugly girl!"

I don't know what to make of Mrs. Dubose. At first, I was content to dislike her, much like Scout and Atticus. But then after I read the chapter, I felt pity and pride for her more than dislike. Who can say how much of her attitude was natural, and how much was the result of her weening from morphine? It reminds me of a work-related story. Some old curmudgeon came in and wanted to use the copier. He was grumbling and crabby. That's not exactly a ringing endorsement for extra service with a smile. But, I helped him. Turns out he'd just worked a double shift, and was copying off sheet music for church the next morning, because the regular person fell ill. You can imagine how that made me feel.

From Chapter 12 -

"This is not enough, we must have ten dollars... ...Alec, shut the doors. Nobody leaves here till we have ten dollars."

This is pretty far-removed from this day and age. First of all, there's the general poor-ness of the community, probably making it hard for them to be able to spare $10. (That would be around $125 in today's dollars). Then, there's the idea that they were basically held prisoner until someone coughed up the money. Consider this next line:

"Carlow Richardson, I haven't seen you up this aisle yet."

How embarassing. On two levels. Being called out in front of everyone for stinginess, and having everyone else know that it was your fault for keeping them there.

From Chapter 13 -

Amanuensis - someone skilled in the transcription of speech (especially dictation)

From Chapter 16 -

"In a far corner of the square, the Negroes say quietly in the sun, dining on sardines, crackers, and the more vivid flavors of Nehi cola."

This passage made me smile. If you've ever been to Scout camp, you'll know why. But for you ladies who didn't have brothers in the organisation, let me elucidate with this link. If you've never had a bliss-enducing peach float, you're missing out. I think we might just have some cans of Nehi left from our last trip. Maybe I'll crack them open for the get-together. Really the best way to enjoy them is in the heat of the day at Scott's General Store, a few dusty miles away from Scout camp.

This is my last official Mockingbird post, because it's the last of the things I highlighted in my copy. There's more, but I'll leave it to you guys.

What new marvels would the evening bring?

A few of my favorite quotes/snippets to appease the Captain....


“What’s your birthday, Cal?”
“I just have it on Christmas, it’s easier to remember that way—I don’t have a real birthday.”

These little windows in Calpurnia's life are so bittersweet. On one hand, Calpurnia is a mother to Jem and Scout. She loves them, cares for them, and they mind her and love her back. On the other, they have no idea about her life, her background, or her history.

Back to the perfect writing for a second: can you think of a better detail to describe Calpurnia's situation as a Southern African-American working woman at this time than not knowing your own birthday? Once again: short, sharp, and bursting with meaning.


“Cal,” I asked “why do you talk nigger-talk to the—to your folks when you know it’s not right?”
“Well, in the first place I’m black—"

For a little girl so aware of language, I'm sure the code-switching was confusing. I'm glad that Lee doesn't make Scout an angel--she's a product of her culture as well and her own languages belies that. I love Calpurnia's patient answer as she continues....

“It’s not necessary to tell all you know. It’s not ladylike—in the second place folks don’t like to have somebody around knowin’ more than they do. It aggravates ‘em. You’re not gonna change any of them by talkin’ right, they’ve got to want to learn themselves, and when they don’t want to learn there’s nothing you can do but keep your mouth shut or talk their language.”


“How can you tell?” asked Dill. “He looked black to me.”
“You can’t tell sometimes, not unless you know who they are. But he’s half Raymond, all right.”
“But how can you tell?” I asked.
“I told you, Scout, you just hafta know who they are.”
“Well how do you know we ain’t Negroes?”
“Uncle Jack Finch says we really don’t know. He says as far as he can trace back the Finches we ain’t, but for all he knows we mighta come straight out of Ethiopia durin’ the Old Testament.”

How Americans determine who is and isn't black versus who is and isn't white or any other so-called race is one of the great mysteries of our culture. Classification is a dangerous act. Although the whole topic will now always remind me of Dave Chappelle's racial draft. Go Wu Tan Clan.


“Never, never, never, on cross-examination ask a witness a question you don’t already know the answer to, was a tenet I absorbed with my baby-food.”

It took me two years of debate to learn the truth behind this...if only I had absorbed it with my baby food....


On the way home from the trial…
“I was exhilarated. So many things had happened so fast I felt it would take years to sort them out, and now here was Calpurnia giving her precious Jem down the country—what new marvels would the evening bring?”

Redbeard's Mockingbird, part iii

From Chapter 8 -

"Next morning, I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright."

I'm trying to imagine never seeing snow before, and my reaction to it. I can't imagine that I would freak out that much. Especially if it was a gentle, drifting snow. The only atmospheric thing that I can think to compare it to would be a volcano's spewing ash. Now, that would be scary. Do you think Scout had that much exposure to world history, to think it was like some Pompeian nightmare?

"Someday, maybe, Scout can thank him for covering her up."
"Thank who?" I asked.

That Boo Radley's sure antisocially creepy. I mean, he's trying to be a nice guy, I guess. But wouldn't it freak you out if someone draped a blanket over your shoulders, and then was gone. He seemed normal (ish) at the end, but why wouldn't he stick around?

Do you think Uncle Jack Finch is gay? I read a couple of things and that struck me, but now I can't find the quotes. I must not have marked them.

From Chapter 10 -

A jew's harp.

"The rifle cracked. Tim Johnson leaped, flopped over and crumpled on the sidewalk in a brown-and-white heap."

This was the only part of the story that I thought was a little off, or maybe formulaic. Scout's doubting her father's manliness, then he happens to be the best shot in town? A little contrived. Don't get me wrong, it's very Atticus that he kept it from his kids, he's not a braggart, but still.

More later. I've got something to say about Mrs. Dubose. It'll have to wait, though. And, you better be reading these, your Grace. *points finger*

Redbeard's Mockingbird, part two

From Chapter 4 -

"Inside were two scrubbed and polished pennies, on top of one another."

What is it about old coins that fascinates people. Maybe it's just that it's unfamiliar money. Maybe, as a kid, you can't imagine something around before you. Wait. One was a 1900, and the other, a 1906. How far apart were Scout and Jem? *breezes back through the beginning*

"..four years my senior.." Hmm. okay, maybe not.

From Chapter 5 -

scuppernong. A green grape indigenous to the southern states of America. To eat a scuppernong, one must put the grape between the front teeth, stem end pointing into the mouth, then squeeze gently to burst the grape. The pulp is thick and viscous. The seeds, which are very bitter and unpleasant tasting, can be extracted or spit out. Some people choose to swallow the seeds.

"Do you smell my mimosa? It's like angel's breath this evening."

Okay, when I first read this, I thought she was talking about the cocktail. That sort of fruity drink common to bridal mornings at the hair salon. Turns out it's a tree. But I'm sure everyone else got that right away. I should have been curious about why Miss Maudie was drinking in front of the children, alone; but I figured "hey, its the South. I've seen Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil."

"Thing is, foot-washers think women are a sin by definition. They take the Bible literally, you know."

Literalists make me mad. How can you possibly take everything in the Bible literally? The most popular translation of the Bible before medieval times was Ancient Greek. They used no spaces when they wrote. Soeverythingiswrittenlikethis. There are mistakes. Scribes aren't the Pope, they're not infallible. So how can someone possibly take the text of the Bible at its literal meaning, knowing this?

From Chapter 6 -

"Jem whistled bob-white."

Was anyone else whistling this after they read it? When I was in scouts, we had to learn some bird calls, and it was fascinating that we could communicate with each other without seeing each other, and without using a 'language.' That line just reminded me of something I haven't thought of in years.

"When I went back-" Jem took a deep breath. "When I went back, they were folded across the fence... like they were expectin' me."
Boo Radley, I must assume. But this passage assumes a couple of things if you look deeper into it. First, Jem noticed that the pants were not as he left them. Would a normal kid notice that? And second, wouldn't it be creepy to notice it? There in the field where you were a few hours before, and someone had been there, may still be there? *shivers*

And, I don't have anything else noted in my copy of the book until Chapter 12. There are things of note in there, but I'll have to pore over those chapters again. More soon!

Finis...and a few thoughts about the world of women

Ok...I'm done, too. Great book.

Although I hadn't read it before, I saw the movie a few years ago, and much of what I love about the book was dramatized there....(should I mention here that Gregory Peck played both Atticus Finch AND a certain whaling ship captain in another movie...ah...all thing are related my shipmates....)

One of the elements the movie left out were the lovely chapters/snippets where Scout feels the social obiligation to be a lady. I'll post more later about more important sections, but here are a few of my favorite lines from those world-of-women scenes...

"Aunt Alexandra stepped back. She gave Miss Maudie a look of pure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women. Miss Maudie and Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Aunty silently thanking her for something. For what, I knew not....There was no doubt about it, I must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies rocked slowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water."

"Her voice soared over the clink of coffee cups and the soft bovine sounds of the ladies munching their danties."

"Ladies seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemed unwilling to approve wholeheartedly of them. But I liked them."

I can't imagine a scene more uncomfortable than a bunch of my great aunts sitting around drinking coffee and eating cake or cookies in the afternoon, with me in the middle trying to be good. I could be 14 or 34... it wouldn't matter...I'm still just as awkward...I love them, so I don't want to openly offend them, but I don't know how to please them, or even act like them. I'm not a true tom boy (I love shoes and lip gloss too much), but my homemaking skills/motivations leave much to be desired. I always think I'm a novelty to my aunts and other female relatives, and this chapter from TKM was oddly familar...the worlds of women are freakin' weird...

Dun

I finished listening to it while driving back from the gaming meeting yesterday. I'll try to post something more substantial soon.

No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater, than central air.

As you may have read, I finished the book last night. So now, I'll sift through my notes and post my thoughts about what I've read. I should have posted as I read, as [most of] the rest of you are. But I didn't. After some vigorous arm-twisting by Her Grace, I'll now proceed. Chapters 1-3 below.

From Chapter 1-

Hoover Carts- Old automobiles hitched to teams of horses, because their owners couldn't afford gasoline. And you thought you had it bad at the pump.

"Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum."

What a great description. You can just imagine some flabby ladies with damp powder covering their skin. Yuck. That would also be an apt description for how most of us feel in the humid KC summers. Thank god for air-conditioning. And on the note of deities and AC, you'll notice the title of my post, taken from Dogma.

"Dill was a curiosity. He wore blue linen shorts that buttoned to his shirt."

That is curious, to say the least. Where do they button together?

Chinaberry trees.

"In spite of our warnings and explanations it drew him as the moon draws water."

I love that line.

Flivver- an old, inexpensive car, a Model T.

Beadle- A minor parish official formerly employed in an English church to usher and keep order during services.

From Chapter 2-

"Your father does not know how to teach. You can have a seat now."

Ooh, bitch. You'd better watch what you say around Scout. And, how completely rude to say that to a child who can read better than everyone in the class. Miss Caroline, you'd better watch out.

"Are we poor, Atticus?"
"Atticus nodded, "We are indeed."

Who would be so honest with their child (or themselves) in this day and age? The poor, or the working poor, (generally speaking), go to great extents to hide their poorness. Being poor is a source of embarrassment now. And, this is due to the duping of American consumers by advertising and businesses. We're living beyond our means. The national savings rate is negative. Negative. No wonder there won't be any Social Security and medicare. People make terrible money decisions.

From Chapter 3-

"One of the elderly members of the class answered her..."

Hilarious. And terrible. That line jabs at the state of schools and education during this period in the South.

a smidgen of Mockingbird trivia

These quotes are from Mockingbird by Shields, which I love and have been recommending endlessly to anyone who will stand still long enough.

Nelle and Truman in childhood together:

Recognizing that his daughter read better than any of her classmates-- Truman, he may or may not have heard, was whacked on the palm with a ruler his first day of school for reciting the alphabet-- Mr. Lee gave them the 1930s equivalent of a word processor: a rugged, steel-chassised, black Underwood No. 5 typewriter. [. . .] They wanted to use it to write stories. (p. 50-1)

Later in life, when his first choice (old roomie Andrew Lyndon) turned him down, Truman tapped Nelle for the trip of a lifetime to Kansas... hoping to chase the ephemeral ghost of the Clutter family:

It sounded like an adventure that was poles apart from the drudgery of writing, and Nelle accepted instantly. "He said it would be a tremendously involved job and would take two people," she said. "The crime intrigued him, and I'm intrigued with crime-- and, boy, I wanted to go. It was deep calling to deep." (p. 133)

Fun KSU fact: then-President McCain (whom our auditorium and music building is named after) was Truman's hookup in Kansas. In exchange for enlightening the English department, Truman would be connected with McCain's contacts in Garden City. Kansas has always been a small world, so this should not surprise me. (p. 133)

It was Nelle who lubricated their relations with the standoffish folk in western Kansas, and most likely kept their project from coming to a screeching halt as Truman butted straight in on a community in fear and mourning. Together they produced something far greater than, perhaps, either one alone could have attempted.

It was the synergy of two writers at work in Garden City that gave In Cold Blood such verisimilitude. (p. 163)

Of course, the Kansas adventure came to its own conclusion for them (although Truman would return alone), and Nelle basked in the sun of success with Mockingbird. And at first Truman was quite puffed up about it all:

[. . .][I]t was immensely satisfying to him that his protege-- which is how he now regarded Nelle-- had written a publishable novel in which he was an important character. Obviously he loved the idea of being mythologized. [. . .] "In it [Mockingbird], I am the character called 'Dill'-- the author being a childhood friend." (p. 180)

Captain breaks self-imposed exile.

Well, with 75 pages left of the book, I'm faced with a quandary. Should I wait to post anything until the end? Or shall I post everything all at once? Not at all? Do I have time to read it again and post while I read? Hmm. Maybe.

Let me say that I remember it as a good book when I read it in high school, but I sure am glad that we're reading it [again]. I love it. I'll echo Erica's laudations about the prose. Lee's writing is so seemingly simple, but you have everything you need.

I just heard a conspiracy theory that Truman Capote wrote Mockingbird. Is this what you were talking about at your dinner party, your Grace? Maybe we should look into In Cold Blood next..

Any Bursts of Friendliness Planned This Weekend?

On a lighter note, I think I'll have to adopt this new euphemism:

Long ago, in a burst of friendliness, Aunty and Uncle Jimmy produced a son named Henry.

I also like this metaphor:

Talking to Francis gave me the sensation of settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean. He was the most boring child I ever met.

And I think I know a few people who relate to this sentiment:

"I shall never marry, Atticus."
"Why?"
"I might have children."

Class Warfare

"Do you defend niggers, Atticus?" I asked him that evening.
"Of course I do. Don't say nigger, Scout. That's common."
"'s what everybody at school says."
"From now on it'll be everybody less one--"
"Well if you don't want me to grow up talkin' that way, why do you send me to school?"
(from chapter 9)

That exchange made me think of the conversations we've been having in our comments about home schooling vs. public. I think we all agreed that public is necessary not because the education is better but because the socialization is even more important than the education. Unfortunately, as this conversation shows, there are always negative sides to the socialization. Fortunately, Atticus seems to handle it perfectly (doesn't he always?).

I've also been thinking about the conversation we've had about the quality of different public schools since neither Erica nor I were required to read it in school. She talked about how her brother got a much superior education than she did since the family had moved the JoCo. Schools vary from location to location, but I think most people would agree that the JoCo ones are generally among the best. While the quality of teachers, general affluence of the community, and other things factor into the equation, I think the biggest influence is the expectations of the parents and students. By and large--and to a much larger extent than most other places--the general student population goes to school expecting to work hard and achieve something. Parents drive their kids to be the best and not getting a quality education is not an option. And I think that, more than anything else, is what allows the schools to teach more and produce better quality graduates.

It makes me think of a book I read a while back, Fear of Falling: The Inner Life of the Middle Class, by Barbara Ehrenreich. It's a bit long, I know, but I'm including some of a review that summarizes her argument quite nicely and describes the achievement culture I see in the JoCo schools:

The target of Fear of Falling: The Inner Life of the Middle Class (Pantheon, $18.95) is one small but potent segment of the great middle: professionals and managers who owe their economic and social status to the educational hurdles they have surmounted. These are credentialed workers--professors, engineers, corporate managers, doctors, lawyers and therapists among them--whose work provides intrinsic satisfaction and considerable autonomy. While some are quite wealthy by ordinary standards, none are able to depend upon inherited money and therefore must work to pay for their needs and pleasures.

This is precisely the root of their contradictory lives. Access to the kind of work they do is restricted by educational barriers--college entrance tests, bar exams, tenure reviews and the like--restrictions that guarantee that those who succeed will be well rewarded with a life of comfort and esteem. But how, Ehrenreich asks, do these benefits affect their sons and daughters? Will the goodies they enjoy undermine the discipline they need to climb the same ladder?

Doctors can't pass on their medical licenses to their children. All they can hope to transmit is the same orientation toward achievement that boosted them over the top. And yet, the security and affluence their status affords may dampen the very desires that are critical to their children's educational and professional success. Fear of Falling argues that this paradox defines the inner life of the middle class, characterized by insecurity and anxiety caused by profound fear of "inner weakness, of growing soft, of failing to strive, of losing discipline and will."

. . . parents are all too aware that there is little they can do to guarantee their children a comfortable life beyond encouraging a fierce drive for success. Hence we find baby-boom parents preoccupied with flash cards for 1-year-olds and agonizing over their toddlers' prospects for admission to selective preschool programs.