On Feb. 19, beloved American author Nelle Harper Lee passed away peacefully in her sleep at the age of 89.
Lee was one of those great American giants of literature. It’s a testament to just how important she was that she became so esteemed and regarded despite only publishing two books — the second of which, “Go Set a Watchman,” was published more than 50 years after the first.
The first time I ever read “To Kill a Mockingbird” was in ninth grade, in the class of an English teacher who forced us to think critically and made us write brutally concise sentences. She infuriated the heck out of me.
At the time, I liked the way Lee weaved words and pictures. She managed to perfectly conjure the way I felt when I remembered the smell of my grandmother, the sturdiness of a smooth wooden church pew under my knees during choir class in pre-school and that bitter, lemon-behind-my-teeth taste that comes when I’m disappointed in myself.
But despite appreciating her prose, I didn’t understand the book. I was annoyed by Scout, who does not resemble how I was as a child, and I was puzzled and scared by Boo Radley instead of understanding the sadness of his story. I was even bothered by Atticus Finch, the hailed literary hero who, at least until “Go Set a Watchman,” stood against all things bigoted and small-minded.
I remember grousing to someone unfortunate enough to be around me when I was in young-teenage-rant mode that Atticus was annoying because he never actually explained anything.
Why didn’t he tell Scout and Jem anything? Why did he just nod sagely and expect them to feel all the right and good and moral things?
But I was, of course, missing the point. Growing up, I liked to have things explained. I wanted detailed reports presented to me, with everything relevant filed and highlighted for my convenience. I liked to have clear-cut reasons for things, and I liked them to be fair. I considered it everyone’s responsibility to take this duty to fairness upon him or herself and fight the good fight with it.
“Deal with it, Sally,” came the inevitable refrain. “Life isn’t fair.”
Whenever I heard that old adage, my young self started fuming. Yes, I knew the world isn’t fair; I got it. My question was: Why aren’t you doing what you can to change that?
I’m still not convinced the whole “life isn’t fair” argument is an effective way to evade advocating for a positive change. In my experience, blindly acquiescing to a status quo simply because it’s traditional or personally comfortable usually results in shutting out other voices and undervaluing other perspectives.
But who taught me to reevaluate the status quo? Who forced me to question things that seem fair but aren’t really when you stop to look and listen?
Rereading Lee’s classic novel my freshman year of college was a very different experience.
Musicians might have one-hit wonders, but Lee’s one-book wonder was a call to action, a racial reckoning and a song of the South all rolled into one. Even decades later, the sequel, “Go Set A Watchman,” managed to be blatant and piercing enough to smack America on its self-satisfied head once more.
Lee showed me how to search for my own answers and explanations, and I ask anyone who feels the same way to never forget her impact.
Lee’s characters are complicated and flawed, but they push us all — with a slow, sweet rhythm and a cutting lemon-sting — to be better Southerners, better Americans and better people.
With that said: Thank you, Harper Lee.
Sally Greider is an English and public relations junior. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
