Saving Atticus

Saving Atticus July 13, 2015

One day, all is right with the literary world… And then suddenly, one of the most significant characters of all time has transformed into someone we scarcely recognize. How does this happen? And what does it mean?

First, a word about narrative sequence: Go Set a Watchman is not the sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird. Nor is it an intentional prequel. As legend has it (b/c any word spoken in reference to Nell Harper Lee smacks of legend) the author penned these pages first. They amount to what Anne Lammott would call a “Sh*tty first draft.” It is a third person tale in which grown-up Scout recalls her childhood, while heading home for a visit in real time. Upon reading this first stab at a novel,  an editor—God love that editor, and thank them for the gift of what came later—advised that NHL draw out a few of the flashback, childhood memories, and make THOSE into a book.

And thus, Atticus Finch, as we know him, was born. That strong and steadfast father; that tall oak tree of fairness in an ill-fitting suit; that enemy of discrimination and friend of the wrongly accused. Our collective memory practically puts a cape on him. He is justice personified; wisdom and courage embodied. In many ways, he represents what we all like to think we are in our heart of hearts, our truest, most unadulterated selves.

He is the America we like to think we live in.

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So when the New York Times review revealed that Go Set a Watchman paints a far less glamorous—in fact, quite grim—image of this beloved character, we were beyond heartbroken. We were horrified. How could she do this to us?? How could she take one of the most perfect men in the fictional-history of the world and turn him into a bigot? A leering caricature of southern white rage?

This is where we have to remember that GSW is not a ‘where are they now’ visit with the Finch family. It is more of a ‘what they might have been, if…” Kind of like an alternate reality in any number of Stephen King novels; or that 2-part “Friends” episode where Monica was still fat and Rachel married Barry; but Chandler was still a nerd and Carol was still a lesbian.

As I often say in church—especially when talking about God’s time—two things can be true at once.

Maybe this is the case for Atticus Finch, as much as it is for each of us…and the place in which we live.  A justice system can be both wholly ideal, and utterly fallible. A person can, in theory, love justice; but simultaneously harbor some toxic fears and prejudices. And in one country—even in the same breath of a second—an uplifting narrative of “liberty for all” can run right alongside the stream of violence and human evil that flows beneath our soil.

Two things can be true at once. Atticus can be Atticus as we know and love him; and he can be a vision of prophetic witness that never quite came to life, in reality. He can be a man who was deeply disturbed by the wrongful-imprisonment of an innocent black man; while also being deeply uncomfortable about the realities of racial integration. In this way, perhaps he is a projection of the heart of America. He desires what is right…but he is painfully limited by privilege, and the fear of losing it.

As Sirius once said: “the world is not divided into good people and Death Eaters, Harry.” And Lord, ain’t that the truth.

I’m going to sit with these conflicting images for a long, long time.

Beyond that—and ill-gotten as this manuscript might have been—the new release marks an author’s journey from ‘Sh*tty first draft’ to Soaring Literary Triumph; from the first risk of putting pen to paper, to the stuff of legends. Watching how that gift came about might be as formative as the story itself.

This is not to say that the first attempt, had it been read out of context, would not have been wonderful in its own way. Nor is it to say that GSW is not equally ‘true,’ in the sense that all good stories are true…  But for those of us who try, however imperfectly, to capture our time and place in written word; we can learn a great deal from her willingness to hear feedback, and to let go of the first stumbling creation. The product of that vulnerability was, and is, sheer magnificence.

Narrative evolves…

Whether you read it or not– readers who love NHL and claim that her story shaped their own, should take this struggle with Atticus as an invitation. Maybe it will lead us to look long and hard at that which seems evolved, polished and complete; in our own character, and in the culture at large. As progressives, as creative thinkers and as people of faith, we face a tremendous temptation to deny that which is true, in favor of that which reads well.

But herein lies the hard truth: If, in some dark recesses of our shared narrative, Atticus Finch is a racist–then really, then aren’t we all?

This may not be the message Harper Lee meant to convey to the world; but it is sure the question mark that hangs over the story now; emerging, as it has, for such a time as this.

Narrative evolves…as do we. As Martin Luther King, Jr said (quoting some other mysterious poet, who’s disappeared to the edges of memory): “we ain’t what we oughta be. We ain’t what we want to be. We ain’t what we gonna be. But, thank God, we ain’t what we was.”

Long live Atticus, and all that he represents to the hopeful, the faithful, the aspiring speakers of truth. He may not be what we thought he was… but none of us are, really. Stories evolve and unfold, and sometimes they even wind back in upon themselves. But we are, none of us, all that we’re going to be.

Remember “You never really understand a person… until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” Perhaps this is as true of fictional heroes as it is of our own selves.

Here’s to the still-unfolding of pages.


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