Liars and Saints

  Growing up, I enjoyed "To Kill a Mockingbird," and I dreamed of living in some version of Harper Lee's community (without the racism). Lee--an obvious talent--transformed her own memories of childhood into a kind of picture gallery. All the denizens of the town presented themselves on various sunporches. The mean old lady addicted to opioids, the upright lawyer, the quirky gay kid, the "scandal" family. In the novel, little Scout learns about human behavior by studying her neighbors. By observing what is said and what is *not* said. My own hometown had characters. One mom would not allow her kids to play "Sega Genesis" because the brand name seemed to include a veiled allusion to the serpent in the Bible. A lonely old man distributed candies--maybe because of a warm heart, maybe because of certain unsavory wishes. A widow--a former soldier's wife--comforted herself by staring at her tricorn flag. She would ask me to march around with it while the...

Some people believe that an artistic career should become easier with time: Why would it be hard to walk out on stage if you had witnessed yourself do this, with success, over and over again? But the opposite is often true. If you move people, then you (maybe) feel compelled to pull off the same magic trick repeatedly, and you get stuck in your head. Witness the story of Amy Winehouse. I think stage fright is (also) what happened to Harper Lee. I think, if she hadn't had such a tremendous impact with "To Kill a Mockingbird," she might have produced more. There was a sense that the next work had to be a magnum opus, and it's hard to produce anything under those conditions. Some thoughts on "Furious Hours," a new book about Lee: *The murder trial Lee ultimately failed to cover might have been one good, compelling article. It maybe didn't need to be a book. If only Lee had freed herself to try something small. The trial concerns a voodoo preacher who ...

"Furious Hours," the new account of Harper Lee's brief dalliance with true-crime reporting, earned a major rave in the NYT tonight. The author is a Rhodes Scholar; this is her first book. Apparently, it's not just gripping crime writing, but also a plausible and groundbreaking (new) theory of why Lee stopped publishing. And you can find it in stores now. Can't wait!

"The Impeachers," non-fiction, about Andrew Johnson, but obviously making some kind of gesture toward Trump. I like the jaunty title, which makes me think of "The Rescuers," and "The Rescuers Down Under." "Furious Hours." Harper Lee apparently became obsessed with a murder trial late in her life, and seemed interested in having a true crime success, a success similar to the big splash Truman Capote had enjoyed. (Ms. Lee helped with "In Cold Blood," but people sometimes forget.) "Furious Hours" tells of Ms. Lee's (aborted) true crime phase. I can't remember anything about this interlude from "Mockingbird," the famous Harper Lee biography. I can remember that Lee became increasingly irritated by Capote, in part because Capote would not really discourage rumors that he had secretly written "To Kill a Mockingbird." Also, late in life, Capote became more insufferable than ever, and he published a...

As we all prepare to see Jeff Daniels in the new staged version of "Mockingbird," here's some useful trivia to consider: (1) Truman Capote didn't exactly encourage rumors that he had secretly written "Mockingbird," but, really, he didn't *discourage* those rumors. He and Lee grew apart as they aged. Capote torpedoed several additional friendships when he wrote "Answered Prayers," which was a gossipy, bitchy account of the private lives of various famous people. (2) P.S. Hoffman of course won the Oscar for "Capote," but do you recall that Catherine Keener was nominated? Best Supporting Actress--for embodying Harper Lee, or one version of Harper Lee. (3) When Lee was young, wealthy friends of hers gave her the gift of one year of financial support. Such was their belief in Lee's talent. They believed she could make a book. She did crank out a book--"Go Set a Watchman"--but it wasn't very good. An editor said, ...

“I’m Charles Baker Harris,” he said. “I can read.”  “So what?” I said.  “I just thought you’d like to know I can read. You got anything needs readin‘ I can do it…”  “How old are you,” asked Jem, “four-and-a-half?”  “Goin‘ on seven.”  “Shoot no wonder, then,” said Jem, jerking his thumb at me. “Scout yonder’s been readin‘ ever since she was born, and she ain’t even started to school yet. You look right puny for goin’ on seven.”  “I’m little but I’m old,” he said.  Jem brushed his hair back to get a better look. “Why don’t you come over, Charles Baker Harris?” he said. “Lord, what a name.”  “‘s not any funnier’n yours. Aunt Rachel says your name’s Jeremy Atticus Finch.”  Jem scowled. “I’m big enough to fit mine,” he said. “Your name’s longer’n you are. Bet it’s a foot longer.”  “Folks call me Dill,” said Dill, struggling under the fence.  “Do better if you go over it instead of under it,” I said. “Where’d you com...

Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.  People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled in and out of the stores around it, took their time about everything. A day was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to go, nothing to buy and no money to buy it with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County. But it was a time of vague optimism for some of the people: Maycomb County had recently been told t...