Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird Sucks – Also, why Black Artists Don’t Win More Awards

Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife, Murillo

 

With Harper Lee’s passing the web has been a buzz about her work.  I consider To Kill a Mockingbird (TKMB hereafter) to be symptomatic of the endemic monotonous narrative of victimology, and the megalomaniacal righteousness which accompanies it.

One should expect some psychosubterfuge because as Flannery O’Conner once noted

“It’s interesting that all the folks that are buying it don’t know they are buying a children’s book.”

The con of TKMB is that which the existence of the story conceals, not that which is revealed through the narration.  A story is first and foremost a justification.   The narration proposes that young Scout, Atticus the plastic saint, and a small cohort of scooby-doo-gooders are the only ones who witness a travesty of scapegoating qua racism.  Their valiant efforts to see justice done fail under the overwhelming caprice and indifference of the masses.

This on the surface is quite intoxicating, until you consider that the masses love the story, as evidenced by the 30 million book sales and rating of the book as second to the Bible in moral influence in American lives.  The perspective which is portrayed as rare is actually the norm, feeding the narcissism of the reader.  Which is fine for children, but adults?

The true victims of scapegoating by TKMB as opposed to in it are working class white people.  The narration contrasts the educated Finch and his precious family as the ones virtuous enough to face the truth.  The likes of the Ewell Family, Mayella and Bob – a lying slut and the town drunk, are the fictional scapegoats of the narrative.  The reader thinks these people exist, everywhere, and most importantly that the reader doesn’t do the same thing.   The fact that the reader does the very same thing all the time is what is concealed by the narrative, which is why TKMB remains so immensely reassuring as a children’s story.  It reminds you of your comparative innocence and your right to judge.

Affluent white liberals use racism like a dog-whistle to conceal their contemptuous bigotry toward working class whites. (Archdruidreport).

The myth of innocent childhood has always been in service of the vanity of adults who in this case can’t differentiate the ponderous “empathy” of Atticus finch from the turgid ecstasy of embracing  the projective identifications of an underclass.

As defense for my position, I suggest the question:  What does it take to convince a child that someone deserves to die?  It takes a saccharin moral fable. Bob Ewell, after all, perishes in the conflict against Boo Radley and the children.  It is not he who we feel sorry for.  After all, he had it coming.  Nobody really killed Bob Ewell – that’s the lie which hides the fact that ultimately the narrator (as narrator, not character) killed Bob Ewell, and you liked it.  This intrusion of the author into the story parallels the often criticized narrative of the story – Lee couldn’t keep straight whether scout was an innocent and naive child or a wise and reflecting adult voice.  Innocence is a work, fabricated by the creation of a monster.  It is belief in the reality of such caricatures, the exaggeration of their prevalence, and the complete dismissal of balanced or redeeming qualities which make them fit for sacrifice.  It is their death which ends a cycle of blame and violence and restores peace.

Consider that the role of the scapegoat serves to symbolically relieve tension within a community.  It is not the death of Tom Robinson which relieves the tension of the community, but Bob Ewell.  The reason Tom Robinson has to die is to cover the crime of the author.  If after all, Tom Robinson was released and said “I’m glad that lying bastard Bob Ewell is dead.  He had it coming.”  We suddenly would not be left with much of a moral tale because we would be at risk of identifying with these sentiments, those which the story is designed to conceal.  The story would now be:  Everybody scapegoats and disparages other peoples character as a justification, the Ewells were just bad at it because #RACIST.  It is more effective to conceal your motives with claims to virtue

This kind of hypothetical conclusion of direct or mediated vengeance was much more common of the classical period and lasted (as identified both by Nietzsche and Girard) until the ubiquitous expansion of Christian morality and the accompanying identification with the victim.  As an example when Potiphar’s Wife was shamed by Joseph’s rejection she transferred it back on him.  The moral of that story was that Joseph’s shame was undone by later being lifted above and exonerated by a powerful Other.  We don’t bother with that anymore.  Now we just kill the accusers.  Also, in TKMB and to modern SJW’s, it is educated white people who get to play the role of the powerful Other.  Thus, moral megalomania.

(As an aside, the irony of the Christian turn, and the pox of resentment culture, is that one major impact of Christianity and later Islam has been the scapegoating of the Jews – mutatis mutandis – the creation of a victim to justify resentment and violence.)

The best that can be said of TKMB is that it reveals to us James Gilligan’s compelling thesis:  Shame is the root of all violence.  Shame is an inevitable byproduct of being part of an underclass, and the resentments born of the desire to rise above leads to a denial of the vulnerable need to fit in and be safe in the community, subsumed as it is in by the role of victim – one who has been made low.  Always, this perspective of entitlement to moral vengeance makes each crime a solipsistic restitution. 

What is restored in and by TKMB is an uneasy truce between blacks and a certain class of whites – all it takes is the sacrifice of a certain kind of white people.

This childish story remains popular based on its reassuring banality, but another kind remains decidedly unpopular:  The corollary story told by black artists of how hard it is to be black.  This will never rise to the same level of popularity because if there is one thing black artists will not accept is white folks identifying with their characters.  “That is so like me!”  If you’re telling a story in which this feeling is not possible for your audience then you may not be telling a story, but rather covering one up.

This applies in the same way to art which explores sex and gender issues.  Angels In America won the Pullitzer and the Tony, after all.  It can be done if you’re willing to step beyond resentment to vulnerability.  Despite my criticisms, Jenner has done a decent job of this, despite an inability to speak the language of desire vs materiality.  To some large extent this is one challenge of the trans community.  It is after all one’s desires that allow people to understand you.  For artists it amounts to an admission that it’s hard, but not that hard to be me.  Like not so hard that nobody else can relate.  And for stories of the hard knock life it means being a minority may not be as hard as being poor or living in a bad neighborhood.  But it’s hard to tell a story about that because the knee jerk rejoinder to “work harder and move” seems an awful lot like the horror movie shtick of “don’t go into the basement.”

The lesson for artists is that resentment can be viewed as refused identification. The stigma, the sign of the scapegoat, is a symbol of refused identification.   And the author of a victim tale always refuses first…

The Passion of Cecil the Lion: A Tinfoil Top-hat Piece.

Lion T-shirt via pricerator.com

In thinking about a possible worthwhile angle to take on this story I took a bakers dozen and whittled it down to a hat trick.

  • You don’t give a shit about Cecil the lion, or animals in general.  You spend most of your time eating and wearing them and have some lingering anxiety about how you manage to sleep at night, on your feather pillow.
  • You don’t give a shit about Cecil the lion, or Zimbabwe.  You don’t know who Robert Mugabe (who eats exotic animals, by the way) is, or what Rhodesia was.  You do infer there is something about this story and western/African relationships at stake.  What’s the deal with sanctions anyway?  You infer that since America is imperialist and imperialism means bad then there is an opportunity for a chuckle-fuck of righteousness to be had in decrying anything that rhymes with “sploitation.” 
  • You don’t give a shit about Cecil the lion, or white privilege.  How about that white minority population in Zimbabwe?  You forgot, if you ever knew, that black slavery was wrong because slavery was wrong – not because it over-represented black people in the slave population.

I’d be tempted to simply say “Let’s just leave it at that.”  But there is at least one other devil in the dark. (…puts on tinfoil top-hat and twirls mustachio…)

Cecil is no victim, he is an animal sacrifice, the story jumped upon with a hunger, sought out for it’s role as anxiety-reducing catharsis, a juicy bit of hatred and grist for a personal mill.

The neo-liberal, this paleo-flunky, this wretched mongrel, lives on a leash and longs for a whip, traversing a chains-length of trodden earth .  All things are permitted save acting without permission – then the cronies will turn on you in the belly of the ship and the dark of the night.  The masses have decided everyone is and should be equal with neither shame nor aspersion cast.  As I’ve said elsewhere, this means you can hate (1) haters, and (2) yourself.  Thanks to projection, this still means everybody.

The hatred this story has unleashed, the delightful lust for punishment is…unsurprising.  Beware the shameful pining for control, the turgid rage of un-entitled footmen, and the righteous asceticism of the celebrities, the nobles!

You must understand that the masters have offered you Barabbas in the guise of Walter Palmer.  But he is also Christ in the same man.  You are offered the choice to crucify him or set him free.

Choose not! Tell them you don’t give a shit about Cecil the lion, and let us begin the trial of the masters.

(…removes tinfoil hat…)

Now, let’s just leave it at that!