To Kill a Mockingbird(ˈmäkiNGˌbərd)

To Kill a Mockingbird(ˈmäkiNGˌbərd)

By Harper(härpər) Lee

When he was nearly(ˈni(ə)rlē) thirteen, my brother(ˈbrəT͟Hər) Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow(ˈelˌbō). When it healed(hēl), and Jem’s fears(fi(ə)r) of never being able to play football were assuaged(əˈswāj), he was seldom(ˈseldəm) self-conscious(ˈkänCHəs) about his injury(ˈinjərē). His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles(ˈaNGgəl) to his body(ˈbädē), his thumb(THəm) parallel(-ləl,ˈparəˌlel) to his thigh(THī). He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass(pas) and punt(pənt).

When enough(iˈnəf) years had gone by to enable(enˈābəl) us to look back on them(T͟Hem,T͟Həm), we sometimes discussed(disˈkəs) the events(iˈvent) leading to his accident(ˈaksidənt). I maintain(mānˈtān) that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior(ˈsēnyər), said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea(īˈdēə) of making Boo Radley come out.

I said if he wanted to take a broad(brôd) view(vyo͞o) of the thing, it really(ˈrē(ə)lē) began with Andrew Jackson(ˈjaksən). If General Jackson hadn’t run the Creeks(krēk) up the creek, Simon Finch would never have paddled(ˈpadl) up the Alabama(ˌaləˈbamə), and where would we be if he hadn’t? We were far too old to settle(ˈsetl) an argument with a fist-fight, so we consulted(kənˈsəlt) Atticus. Our father said we were both right.

Being Southerners(ˈsəT͟Hərnər), it was a source of shame(SHām) to some members of the family(ˈfam(ə)lē) that we had no recorded ancestors(ˈanˌsestər) on either side of the Battle(ˈbatl) of Hastings(ˈhāstiNGz). All we had was Simon Finch, a fur-trapping(fər trap) apothecary(əˈpäTHiˌkerē) from Cornwall(-wəl,ˈkôrnˌwôl) whose piety(ˈpī-itē) was exceeded(ikˈsēd) only by his stinginess(ˈstɪndʒɪnəs). In England, Simon was irritated(ˈiriˌtātid) by the persecution(ˌpərsəˈkyo͞oSHən) of those who called themselves Methodists(ˈmeTHədəst) at the hands of their more liberal(ˈlib(ə)rəl) brethren(ˈbreT͟H(ə)rin), and as Simon called himself a Methodist, he worked his way across the Atlantic(at-,ətˈlantik) to Philadelphia(ˌfiləˈdelfēə), thence(T͟Hens) to Jamaica(jəˈmākə), thence to Mobile(mōˈbēl,ˈmōˌbēl), and up the Saint(sānt) Stephens. Mindful(ˈmīndfəl) of John Wesley’s strictures(ˈstrikCHər) on the use of many words in buying and selling, Simon made a pile(pīl) practicing medicine(ˈmedisən), but in this pursuit(pərˈso͞ot) he was unhappy lest(lest) he be tempted into doing what he knew was not for the glory(ˈglôrē) of God, as the putting on of gold(gōld) and costly(ˈkôstlē) apparel(əˈparəl). So Simon, having forgotten his teacher’s dictum(ˈdiktəm) on the possession(pəˈzeSHən) of human chattels(ˈCHatl), bought three slaves(slāv) and with their aid(ād) established(iˈstabliSHt) a homestead(ˈhōmˌsted) on the banks of the Alabama(ˌaləˈbamə) River some forty miles(mīl) above Saint Stephens. He returned to Saint Stephens only once, to find a wife, and with her established a line that ran high to daughters. Simon lived to an impressive(imˈpresiv) age and died rich.