Lee, Harper. Go Set a Watchman: A Novel.
New York: HarperCollins Publishers Inc., 2015.
Lee's novel starts out very slowly and seems ploddingly innocuous until mid-way. Thereafter, the novel asks important social and human questions...
1. What is the nature of bigotry?
2. Does equanimity
extend to hate speech and evil deeds?
3. When does getting along conflict too strongly with our
conscience?
4. Can we love those with values we denigrate?
Specifically, the novel wonders about the character of Jean Louise and a possible moral compass...
5. Does Jean Louise understand Maycomb, Alabama? Human nature? Her family? Men?
6. How close/distant
is the narrator from Jean Louise’s values and viewpoints?
7. Is there a moral touchstone in the novel?
Here are my highlights…
If you did not want much, there
was plenty.
Recorded history’s version does
not coincide with the truth, but these are the facts, because they were passed
down by word of mouth through the years, and every Maycombian knows them.
Love whom you will but marry your own kind was a dictum amounting to instinct within her.
Love whom you will but marry your own kind was a dictum amounting to instinct within her.
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.
Alexandra was one of those
people who had gone through life at no cost to themselves...
Fine a boy as he is, the trash won’t wash out of him.
Hell was and would always be as far as she was concerned, a lake of fire exactly the size of Maycomb, Alabama, surrounded by a brick wall two hundred feet high. Sinners were pitchforked over this wall by Satan, and they simmered throughout eternity in a sort of broth of liquid sulfur.
With her head on his shoulder,
Jean Louise was content. It might work after all, she thought. But I am not
domestic. I don’t even know how to run a cook. What do ladies say to each other
when they go visiting? I’d have to wear a hat. I’d drop the babies and kill
’em.
“Carload of Negroes.” “Mercy, what do they
think they’re doing?” “That’s the way they assert themselves these days,” Henry
said. “They’ve got enough money to buy used cars, and they get out on the
highway like ninety-to-nothing. They’re a public menace.” “Driver’s licenses?”
“Not many. No insurance, either.” “Golly, what if something happens?” “It’s
just too sad.”
“My text for today is taken from the
twenty-first chapter of Isaiah, verse six: For thus hath the Lord said unto me, Go, set a watchman, let him
declare what he seeth.”
“Deo volente. ‘God willin’,’ child. ‘God
willin’.’ A reliable Catholic utterance.”
The Black Plague.Read more at location 1126 [reference to the Negro problem for the South]
Atticus Finch rarely took a
criminal case; he had no taste for criminal law. The only reason he took this
one was because he knew his client to be innocent of the charge, and he could
not for the life of him let the black boy go to prison because of a half-hearted,
court-appointed defense. The boy had come to him by way of Calpurnia, told him
his story, and had told him the truth. The truth was ugly. Atticus took his
career in his hands, made good use of a careless indictment, took his stand
before a jury, and accomplished what was never before or afterwards done in
Maycomb County: he won an acquittal for a colored boy on a rape charge. The
chief witness for the prosecution was a white girl.
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.
Atticus
Finch’s secret of living was so simple it was deeply complex: where most men
had codes and tried to live up to them, Atticus lived his to the letter with no
fuss, no fanfare, and no soul-searching. His private character was his public
character. His code was simple New Testament ethic, its rewards were the
respect and devotion of all who knew him.
She did not stand alone, but
what stood behind her, the most potent moral force in her life, was the love of
her father. She never questioned it, never thought about it, never even
realized that before she made any decision of importance the reflex, “What
would Atticus do?” passed through her unconscious; she never realized what made
her dig in her feet and stand firm whenever she did was her father; that
whatever was decent and of good report in her character was put there by her
father; she did not know that she worshiped him.
...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. Had she insight, could she have pierced the barriers
of her highly selective, insular world, she may have discovered that all her
life she had been with a visual defect which had gone unnoticed and neglected
by herself and by those closest to her: she was born color blind.
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?
Now she was aware of a sharp
apartness, a separation, not from Atticus and Henry merely. All of Maycomb and
Maycomb County were leaving her as the hours passed, and she automatically
blamed herself. She bumped her head getting into the car. I shall never become
accustomed to these things.
Calpurnia said, “I know he
will, Miss Scout. He always do his best. He always do right.” Jean Louise
stared open-mouthed at the old woman. Calpurnia was sitting in a haughty
dignity that appeared on state occasions, and with it appeared erratic grammar.
Had the earth stopped turning, had the trees frozen, had the sea given up its
dead, Jean Louise would not have noticed.
Jean Louise sat down again in
front of her. “Cal,” she cried, “Cal, Cal, Cal, what are you doing to me?
What’s the matter? I’m your baby, have you forgotten me? Why are you shutting
me out? What are you doing to me?” Calpurnia lifted her hands and brought them
down softly on the arms of the rocker. Her face was a million tiny wrinkles,
and her eyes were dim behind thick lenses. “What are you all doing to us?” she
said. “Us?” “Yessum. Us.” Jean Louise said slowly, more to herself than to
Calpurnia: “As long as I’ve lived I never remotely dreamed that anything like
this could happen. And here it is. I cannot talk to the one human who raised me
from the time I was two years old . . . it is happening as I sit
here and I cannot believe it. Talk to me, Cal. For God’s sake talk to me right.
Don’t sit there like that!” She looked into the old woman’s face and she knew
it was hopeless. Calpurnia was watching her, and in Calpurnia’s eyes was no
hint of compassion.
Did you hate us? [allusion to Abasalom, Absalom! ?]
She sat there in front of me and she didn’t
see me, she saw white folks. She raised me, and she doesn’t care. It was not
always like this, I swear it wasn’t. People used to trust each other for some
reason, I’ve forgotten why. They didn’t watch each other like hawks then. I
wouldn’t get looks like that going up those steps ten years ago. She never wore
her company manners with one of us . . . when Jem died, her
precious Jem, it nearly killed her.
“Jean Louise, nobody in Maycomb
goes to see Negroes any more, not after what they’ve been doing to us. Besides
being shiftless now they look at you sometimes with open insolence, and as far
as depending on them goes, why that’s out. “That NAACP’s come down here and
filled ’em with poison till it runs out of their ears. It’s simply because
we’ve got a strong sheriff that we haven’t had bad trouble in this county so
far. You do not realize what is going on. We’ve been good to ’em, we’ve bailed
’em out of jail and out of debt since the beginning of time, we’ve made work
for ’em when there was no work, we’ve encouraged ’em to better themselves,
they’ve gotten civilized, but my dear—that veneer of civilization’s so thin
that a bunch of uppity Yankee Negroes can shatter a hundred years’ progress in
five. . . . “No ma’am, after the thanks they’ve given us for
looking after ’em, nobody in Maycomb feels much inclined to help ’em when they
get in trouble now. All they do is bite the hands that feed ’em. No sir, not
any more—they can shift for themselves, now.”
Keeping a nigger happy these
days is like catering to a king—”
“—you have to fetch and tote for them until
you wonder who’s waiting on who. It’s just not worth the trouble these
days—where are you going?”
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.
Amanuensis Club
What? Oh, I was just sayin’ what my Bill says. Bill, he’s a deep reader. He says the niggers who are runnin’ the thing up north are tryin’ to do it like Gandhi did it, and you know what that is.” “I’m afraid I don’t. What is it?” “Communism.”
What? Oh, I was just sayin’ what my Bill says. Bill, he’s a deep reader. He says the niggers who are runnin’ the thing up north are tryin’ to do it like Gandhi did it, and you know what that is.” “I’m afraid I don’t. What is it?” “Communism.”
When in the course of human
events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands
which have connected them with another they are Communists. “—they always want
to marry a shade lighter than themselves, they want to mongrelize the race—”
She answered: please believe
me, what has happened in my family is not what you think. I can say only
this—that everything I learned about human decency I learned here. I learned
nothing from you except how to be suspicious. I didn’t know what hate was until
I lived among you and saw you hating every day. They even had to pass laws to
keep you from hating. I despise your quick answers, your slogans in the
subways, and most of all I despise your lack of good manners: you’ll never have
’em as long as you exist.
I was taught never to take
advantage of anybody who was less fortunate than myself, whether he be less
fortunate in brains, wealth, or social position; it meant anybody, not just
Negroes. I was given to understand that the reverse was to be despised. That is
the way I was raised, by a black woman and a white man. You must have lived it.
If a man says to you, “This is the truth,” and you believe him, and you
discover what he says is not the truth, you are disappointed and you make sure
you will not be caught out by him again. But a man who has lived by truth—and
you have believed in what he has lived—he does not leave you merely wary when
he fails you, he leaves you with nothing. I think that is why I’m nearly out of
my mind.
Blind, that’s what I am. I
never opened my eyes. I never thought to look into people’s hearts, I looked
only in their faces. Stone blind . . . Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone set
a watchman in church yesterday. He should have provided me with one. I need a
watchman to lead me around and declare what he seeth every hour on the hour. I
need a watchman to tell me this is what a man says but this is what he means,
to draw a line down the middle and say here is this justice and there is that
justice and make me understand the difference.
I need a watchman to go forth
and proclaim to them all that twenty-six years is too long to play a joke on
anybody, no matter how funny it is.
“Baby,” he said, “all over the
South your father and men like your father are fighting a sort of rearguard,
delaying action to preserve a certain kind of philosophy that’s almost gone
down the drain—”
The South was a little England in its heritage and social
structure.
“not much more than five per cent of the South’s population ever
saw a slave, much less owned one. Now, something must have irritated the other
ninety-five per cent.”
• 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.
The people became no less than
what they were to begin with—in some cases they became horrifyingly more. They
were never destroyed. They were ground into the dirt and up they popped. Up
popped Tobacco Road, and up popped the ugliest, most shameful aspect of it
all—the breed of white man who lived in open economic competition with freed
Negroes. “For years and years all that man thought he had that made him any
better than his black brothers was the color of his skin. He was just as dirty,
he smelled just as bad, he was just as poor. Nowadays he’s got more than he
ever had in his life, he has everything but breeding, he’s freed himself from
every stigma, but he sits nursing his hangover of hatred.
I’m a healthy old man with a
constitutional mistrust of paternalism and government in large doses. Your
father’s the same—”
about this country is that its
government will someday become so monstrous that the smallest person in it will
be trampled underfoot, and then it wouldn’t be worth living in. The only thing
in America that is still unique in this tired world is that a man can go as far
as his brains will take him or he can go to hell if he wants to, but it won’t
be that way much longer.”
Something was the matter with
him. He was deliberately making some eloquent unspoken plea to her, he was
deliberately keeping off the subject. He was oversimplifying here, skittering
off there, dodging and feinting. She wondered why. It was so easy to listen to
him, to be lulled by his gentle rain of words, that she did not miss the
absence of his purposeful gestures, the shower of “hum”s and “hah”s that
peppered his usual conversation. She did not know he was deeply worried.
woolgathering
Dr. Finch faced her and held
her at arm’s length. “Jean Louise, I want you to listen carefully. What we’ve
talked about today—I want to tell you something and see if you can hook it all
together. It’s this: what was incidental to the issue in our War Between the
States is incidental to the issue in the war we’re in now, and is incidental to
the issue in your own private war. Now think it over and tell me what you think
I mean.”Read more at location 2282
Very well, now listen again:
when you can’t stand it any longer, when your heart is in two, you must come to
me. Do you understand? You must come to me. Promise me.” He shook her. “Promise
me.”
I planted a bamboo shoot one
time and we fought it for twenty years.
“Oh, the Catholics and the Communists and Lord
knows what else. It seems to have run all together in her mind.” Henry laughed
and said, “Honey, the sun rises and sets with that Bill of hers. Everything he
says is Gospel. She loves her man.” “Is that what loving your man is?” “Has a
lot to do with it.” Jean Louise said, “You mean losing your own identity, don’t
you?” “In a way, yes,” said Henry.
All the Maycomb Citizens’
Council is in this world is—is a protest to the Court, it’s a sort of warning
to the Negroes for them not to be in such a hurry, it’s a—” “—tailor-made
audience for any trash who wants to get up and holler nigger. How can you be a
party to such a thing, how can you?”Read more at location 2587
Have you ever considered that
men, especially men, must conform to certain demands of the community they live
in simply so they can be of service to it?
“We-ll, some men who cheat their wives out of
grocery money wouldn’t think of cheating the grocer. Men tend to carry their
honesty in pigeonholes, Jean Louise. They can be perfectly honest in some ways
and fool themselves in other ways.
Atticus said, “Now that I’ve
adjusted my ear to feminine reasoning, I think we find ourselves believing the
very same things.”
Jefferson believed full
citizenship was a privilege to be earned by each man, that it was not something
given lightly nor to be taken lightly. A man couldn’t vote simply because he
was a man, in Jefferson’s eyes. He had to be a responsible man. A vote was, to
Jefferson, a precious privilege a man attained for himself in a—a
live-and-let-live economy.” “Atticus, you are rewriting history.”
“Yes sir, us. You. Has anybody, in all the
wrangling and high words over states’ rights and what kind of government we
should have, thought about helping the Negroes? “We missed the boat, Atticus.
We sat back and let the NAACP come in because we were so furious at what we knew
the Court was going to do, so furious at what it did, we naturally started
shouting nigger. Took it out on them, because we resented the government. “When
it came we didn’t give an inch, we just ran instead. When we should have tried
to help ’em live with the decision, it was like Bonaparte’s retreat we ran so
fast. I guess it’s the first time in our history that we ever ran, and when we
ran we lost. Where could they go? Who could they turn to? I think we deserve
everything we’ve gotten from the NAACP and more.”
“Then let’s put this on a practical basis
right now. Do you want Negroes by the carload in our schools and churches and
theaters? Do you want them in our world?” “They’re people, aren’t they? We were
quite willing to import them when they made money for us.”
so far in my experience, white
is white and black’s black. So far, I’ve not yet heard an argument that has
convinced me otherwise.
“Honey, you do not seem to understand that the
Negroes down here are still in their childhood as a people. You should know it,
you’ve seen it all your life. They’ve made terrific progress in adapting
themselves to white ways, but they’re far from it yet. They were coming along
fine, traveling at a rate they could absorb, more of ’em voting than ever
before. Then the NAACP stepped in with its fantastic demands and shoddy ideas
of government—can you blame the South for resenting being told what to do about
its own people by people who have no idea of its daily problems? “The NAACP
doesn’t care whether a Negro man owns or rents his land, how well he can farm,
or whether or not he tries to learn a trade and stand on his own two feet—oh
no, all the NAACP cares about is that man’s vote.
“I remember that rape case you defended, but I
missed the point. You love justice, all right. Abstract justice written down
item by item on a brief—nothing to do with that black boy, you just like a neat
brief. His cause interfered with your orderly mind, and you had to work order
out of disorder.
Atticus smiled. “Hitler, eh?”
“You’re no better. You’re no damn better. You just try to kill their souls
instead of their bodies. You just try to tell ’em, ‘Look, be good. Behave
yourselves. If you’re good and mind us, you can get a lot out of life, but if
you don’t mind us, we will give you nothing and take away what we’ve already
given you.’
You’ve cheated me in a way
that’s inexpressible, but don’t let it worry you, because the joke is entirely
on me. You’re the only person I think I’ve ever fully trusted and now I’m done
for.”
Every man’s island, Jean
Louise, every man’s watchman, is his conscience. There is no such thing as a
collective conscious.”
As you grew up, when you were
grown, totally unknown to yourself, you confused your father with God. You
never saw him as a man with a man’s heart, and a man’s failings—I’ll grant you
it may have been hard to see, he makes so few mistakes, but he makes ’em like
all of us. You were an emotional cripple, leaning on him, getting the answers
from him, assuming that your answers would always be his answers.”
“He was letting you break your icons one by
one. He was letting you reduce him to the status of a human being.” I love you.
As you please. Where she would have had a spirited argument only, an exchange
of ideas, a clash of hard and different points of view with a friend, with him
she had tried to destroy. She had tried to tear him to pieces, to wreck him, to
obliterate him. Childe Roland to the dark tower came.
You’re very much like him,
except you’re a bigot and he’s not.”
You’d better take time for ’em,
honey, otherwise you’ll never grow. You’ll be the same at sixty as you are
now—then you’ll be a case and not my niece. You have a tendency not to give
anybody elbow room in your mind for their ideas, no matter how silly you think
they are.”
“Remember this also: it’s always easy to look
back and see what we were, yesterday, ten years ago. It is hard to see what we
are. If you can master that trick, you’ll get along.”
The white supremacists are
really pretty smart. If they can’t scare us with the essential inferiority
line, they’ll wrap it in a miasma of sex, because that’s the one thing they
know is feared in our fundamentalist hearts down here. They try to strike terror
in Southern mothers, lest their children grow up to fall in love with Negroes.
If they didn’t make an issue of it, the issue would rarely arise. If the issue
arose, it would be met on private ground. The NAACP has a great deal to answer
for in that department, too. But the white supremacists fear reason, because
they know cold reason beats them. Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean
one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends.”
“That’s the one thing about here, the South,
you’ve missed. You’d be amazed if you knew how many people are on your side, if
side’s the right word. You’re no special case. The woods are full of people
like you, but we need some more of you.”
the time your friends need you
is when they’re wrong, Jean Louise. They don’t need you when they’re right—”
“I thought fear of the Lord was
the beginning of wisdom.” “It’s the same thing. Humility.”
