The literary event of the decade has been the publication last week of Go Set A Watchman, Harper Lee’s so-called sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird. But of course, it wasn’t a sequel at all. It was written first and was rejected by several publishers. Then one suggested that, since its best bits were the flashbacks to the heroine’s childhood, why not make that the book instead? To Kill a Mockingbird was that book and, as we know, became an instant classic. It’s the book I remember most fondly from school. I don’t want to read the inferior tome that spawned it. If you enjoyed a freshly squeezed orange juice, would you then want to eat the peel? I’ve no desire to see Atticus Finch portrayed as a segregationist which, apparently, he is. I’d prefer to remember him as the principled, heroic lawyer who defended Tom Robinson.
