Like a dedicated literature enthusiast, I eagerly picked up Harper Lee’s novel Go Set a Watchman the moment it became available. Although I cherished To Kill a Mockingbird, my connection to it wasn’t as deep as many others. The name Scout often lingered in my thoughts as a potential name for a daughter, but I first encountered the classic during my college years while pursuing an English education degree. I immersed myself in its rich prose and compelling characters.
In my early teaching experiences, I observed my colleagues effectively using Mockingbird to educate students about race, justice, and activism, exemplifying Atticus Finch’s integrity both inside and outside the courtroom. However, now many are grappling with the Atticus portrayed in Watchman; they feel disheartened by his apparent commitment to segregation, watching him descend from the pedestal on which they placed him.
A great deal has been discussed regarding Atticus’s troubling views on race. The disdain in his voice when he mentions the “NAACP” can feel like daggers to the reader. This version of Atticus starkly contrasts with the figure who inspired countless parents to name their children after him, only to now feel regret over that choice.
Yet, there are still valuable lessons we can extract from Atticus. As a 40-year-old woman raising a spirited 3-year-old who often reminds me of the young Scout, I find insights within Watchman regarding parenting and nurturing a child. For those planning to read the novel, consider this a spoiler alert, as I will discuss pivotal plot points moving forward. To be clear, I do not condone Atticus’s beliefs about race; they are reprehensible. However, I recognize that he can love his daughter even as he upholds aspects of our society that I find deeply troubling.
The narrative of Watchman centers around Jean Louise—Scout now grown, or so she believes—struggling to reconcile the father she idolized in the courtroom with the man she now sees reading pamphlets on “The Black Plague.” After returning from New York City, she grapples with the conflicting emotions tied to her Southern roots, where love, family, and activism coexist. Near the novel’s conclusion, she poignantly reflects on her experiences, saying, “Dear goodness, the things I learned. I did not want my world disturbed, but I wanted to crush the man who’s trying to preserve it for me.”
As Jean Louise seeks to reconcile her childhood memories of Atticus with the man before her, readers anticipate the moment when these two perspectives collide. This climax offers profound lessons about parenthood, especially for my young daughter in a world that may not always embrace her uniqueness. After losing her mother at a young age, both Scout and her brother Jem become the focal point of Atticus’s life—albeit in a world that includes some deeply flawed values. Jean Louise’s reflections on growing up without her mother reveal a reality where she doesn’t feel abandoned: “He merely reared his children as best he could, and in terms of the affection his children felt for him, his best was indeed good: he was never too tired to play games; he was never too busy to create fantastical stories; he was never too absorbed in his own issues to listen to their woes; each night he read aloud until his voice cracked.”
To Scout, Atticus was an ever-present figure. His availability was complemented by Calpurnia, their devoted housekeeper, a contribution Jean Louise often overlooks due to her racial and economic advantages. Yet to a child, Atticus’s presence was undeniable as he took them out into the world—“to football games, political meetings, to church, to the office at night if he had to work late.”
More significantly, he encourages her to sever ties with him so she can forge her own path, which I believe is one of the toughest aspects of parenting. After Scout graduates, she feels hurt when Atticus suggests it’s time for her to “start shifting for herself,” nudging her to explore places like New York. Initially, she feels slighted and abandoned, but as the years pass, she recognizes the wisdom in his words: he wants to ensure she can thrive independently. In an age of various parenting styles, from helicopter to free-range, Atticus’s insight remains pertinent. He knows she needs to find her own way.
The crux of the novel arises as Jean Louise returns from the big city, where she realizes Atticus is a flawed man clinging to a fading way of life, engaging in actions she finds despicable. If the story concluded here, there would be little to glean. However, Atticus ultimately lays bare his intentions. Following an extended conversation, he reveals he must dismantle Scout’s idealized image of him for her to thrive in a new world. When she condemns his participation in segregationist actions, comparing him to Hitler, she expresses how his shortcomings have obliterated her understanding of the world: “You’re the only person I think I’ve ever fully trusted, and now I’m done for.” Instead of coddling her, Atticus responds, “I’ve killed you, Scout. I had to.” She retorts, “I despise you.”
At this heart-wrenching moment, he declares, “Well, I love you.” He absorbs her anger, loving her not despite it, but because of it. In this exchange, he recognizes her evolution into her own person, even if it means losing her in the process—a poignant reflection on the complexities of parenthood.
In conclusion, while Atticus Finch may not embody the ideal role model we once thought he was, his journey offers critical insights into the challenges and nuances of parenting in today’s world.
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