Every author dreams of producing the kind of book that can maintain its freshness, its sheer entertainment value for fifty years. One such book is ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, by Harper Lee. Irish Publishing News featured an article from The Guardian last week, discussing the book’s enduring popularity (that’s another phrase authors dream of: enduring popularity).
It is the story of lawyer Atticus Finch’s defence of a black man charged with the rape of a white girl, told through the eyes of his children Scout and Jem. The novel takes its title from Finch’s advice to his children: ‘Shoot all the Bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a Mockingbird.’
I only read this book for the first time a few years ago, and I loved it. Its age doesn’t show, and its laid-back tone, homegrown wisdom and easy wit make it a cracking read, while the story holds onto you from beginning to end. This is a great book.
But it is an example of that strange phenomenon of a writer producing one book and then giving up writing – or publishing, at least. On one level, this is something I can understand. Sometimes you have one story to tell and you tell it. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ isn’t claimed to be autobiographical, but does apparently draw a lot from Lee’s childhood.
There are some writers who turn out books all their working lives, but only one, for whatever reason, really seizes the public’s imagination. There is a smaller number, however, who sit down and write one novel, achieve commercial and critical success, and are never heard from again. Harper Lee is one example, and can count herself alongside people like JD Salinger (‘Catcher in the Rye’), Anna Sewell (‘Black Beauty’), Margaret Mitchell (‘Gone with the Wind’) and Emily Bronte (‘Wuthering Heights’).
Though in some cases, these people died before they could write another book. Goddamn it.
In some cases, when a writer just gives up, I suppose they’ve been overwhelmed by their success, and either retire from the glare of publicity and everything it brings with it, or can’t replicate the magic of the first book and become disillusioned. This must be an absolute curse for anyone who wants to spend their life writing. In other cases, perhaps the writing of the book has been an experience that brought the author closure, and once completed, they felt they’d achieved what they set out to do.
It’s never really been my ambition to write a classic (although, naturally, I wouldn’t deprive the world of it, if I produced an utter masterpiece). For me it’s always been about living and working as a writer – and illustrator. I like telling stories, and I don’t see this as a job one retires from. I wonder sometimes, what it’s like for someone to still be referred to, discussed and judged, based on one piece of work they might have finished years, even decades, earlier. Is it still something they can take pleasure from, or does it turn sour after a while? Is it a bitter twist on what must have been their dream, or can they still appreciate what they’ve achieved, and savour the pleasure of it? What’s it like, living in the present, knowing you’ll be remembered in the future for something you’ve already left behind you?
According to the article in ‘The Guardian’, fifty years on, Harper Lee’s interests, apart from writing, are: “19th-century literature and 18th-century music, watching politicians and cats, travelling and being alone”.
Sounds like a woman who enjoys her privacy. Happy fiftieth anniversary, Ms Lee, and thanks for the story.
