To Kill A Mockingbird Ebook

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To Kill a Mockingbird Ebook
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The unforgettable novel of a childhood in a sleepy Southern town and the crisis of conscience that rocked it, To Kill A
became both an instant bestseller and a critical success when it was first published in 1960. It went on to
win the Pulitzer Prize in 1961 and was later made into an Academy Award-winning film, also a classic.
Compassionate, dramatic, and deeply moving, To Kill A Mockingbird takes readers to the roots of human behavior -
to innocence and experience, kindness and cruelty, love and hatred, humor and pathos. Now with over 18 million
copies in print and translated into forty languages, this regional story by a young Alabama woman claims universal
appeal. Harper Lee always considered her book to be a simple love story. Today it is regarded as a masterpiece of
American literature.
Winner of the 1961 Pulitzer Prize for Literature, Fiction.

About The Author

Nelle Harper Lee is known for her Putltzer Prize-winning novel To Kill a Mockingbird, her only major work. In
1999, it was voted "Best Novel of the Century" in a poll by Library Journal. Ms. Lee was awarded the Presidential
Medal of Freedom for her contribution to literature in 2007. Her father was a lawyer who served in the Alabama state
legislature from 1926 to 1938. As a child, Lee was a tomboy and enjoyed the friendship of her schoolmate, Truman
Capote. After completing To Kill a Mockingbird, Lee accompanied Capote to Holcomb, Kansas, to assist him in
researching his bestselling book, In Cold Blood. Since publication of To Kill a Mockingbird, Lee has granted very
few requests for interviews or public appearances and has published no other novels.
The New York Times
Marvelous . . . Miss Lee's original characters are people to cherish in this winning first novel.
Life Magazine
Remarkable triumph . . . Miss Lee writes with a wry compassion that makes her novel soar.
San Francisco Examiner
Miss Lee wonderfully builds the tranquil atmosphere of her Southern town, and as adroitly causes it to erupt a
shocking lava of emotions.
The New Yorker
Skilled, unpretentious and tototally ingenuous . . . tough, melodramatic, acute, funny.
Harper's Magazine
A novel of great sweetness, humor, compassion, and of mystery carefully sustained.
Of all the books that I have read this one would have to be one extremely exciting and suspensful book. I loved it so
much I just might pick it up and read it again I loved it so much with all the drama and conflicts that would constantly
take place. I especially loved all the life lessons that were taught throughout the entire book i would recommend this
book to anyone that enjoys these kind of books. I did learn two things from the book though, I learned that evn though
these times are different from back then racism is still be around and will always be around because even though times
do change most people do not. The second thing that I learned is that even though some people are your friends one
day the next they might not because you are friends with a prson of a different race or they are just a different color.
What im trying to really say is even though some people are your friends there might always be that sense of racism
that will always be there.
To Kill A Mockingbird was a very good book. It was written well, had interesting characters, and was an interesting
story. The words flowed nicely and had nice language. The characters were complex and fascinating. The characters
were portrayed as real people trying to make a difference. They came across as remarkably ordinary people in a small
town, but still made an impression on the reader. The story started off slowly. There was not much action and only
hints of a real conflict. However, this was the point in the story in which the author introduced the character's
personalities and prepared the reader to understand why some characters acted the way they did in Part 2 of the book.
In the second part, the conflict was introduced subtly. It had been mentioned before, but only a little bit. As the story
started moving along, the reader could see how the characters reacted to certain people and events, which set the way

for the climax. I thought the author did a very nice job moving the story along at this point. The author kept the
reader's attention and did not reveal everything, allowing the reader to think about the story and infer things from
characters' actions. I really enjoyed reading this book and understand why this book is considered a classic and should
be read by everyone.
As a native of the Southern U.S., this book means a lot to me. I first read it in sixth grade in my English class. For
those who aren't familiar with Harper's novel, the plot focuses on a small, Depression-era town in Alabama. A black
man is accused of raping a white woman, and the town's well-respected lawyer and widower, Atticus Finch, decides to
defend the accused.
Narrated through the eyes of Atticus's daughter, Scout, Harper portrays the violence, prejudice, and feelings of the
American South during a very difficult time. Atticus, unsurprisingly, incurs the wrath of the town for defending a
black man, but ultimately wins the respect of his two children.
'To Kill a Mockingbird' is a deeply moving and poignant story about childhood innocence, as Scout and her older
brother try to understand the nature of violence and prejudice.
Everyone should read this novel-period.

Read An Excerpt
When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears
of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was
somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his
thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn't have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt.
When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his
accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before
that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out.
I said if he wanted to take a broad view of the thing, it really began with Andrew Jackson. If General Jackson hadn't
run the Creeks up the creek, Simon Finch would never have paddled up the Alabama, and where would we be if he
hadn't? We were far too old to settle an argument with a fist-fight, so we consulted Atticus. Our father said we were
both right.
Being Southerners, it was a source of shame to some members of the family that we had no recorded ancestors on
either side of the Battle of Hastings. All we had was Simon Finch, a fur-trapping apothecary from Cornwall whose
piety was exceeded only by his stinginess. In England, Simon was irritated by the persecution of those who called
themselves Methodists at the hands of their more liberal brethren, and as Simon called himself a Methodist, he worked
his way across theAtlantic to Philadelphia, thence to Jamaica, thence to Mobile, and up the Saint Stephens. Mindful of
John Wesley's strictures on the use of many words in buying and selling, Simon made a pile practicing medicine, but
in this pursuit he was unhappy lest he be tempted into doing what he knew was not for the glory of God, as the putting
on of gold and costly apparel. So Simon, having forgotten his teacher's dictum on the possession of human chattels,
bought three slaves and with their aid established a homestead on the banks of the Alabama River some forty miles

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 age and died rich.
It was customary for the men in the family to remain on Simon's homestead, Finch's Landing, and make their living
from cotton. The place was self-sufficient: modest in comparison with the empires around it, the Landing nevertheless
produced everything required to sustain life except ice, wheat flour, and articles of clothing, supplied by river-boats
from Mobile.
Simon would have regarded with impotent fury the disturbance between the North and the South, as it left his
descendants stripped of everything but their land, yet the tradition of living on the land remained unbroken until well
into the twentieth century, when my father, Atticus Finch, went to Montgomery to read law, and his younger brother
went to Boston to study medicine. Their sister Alexandra was the Finch who remained at the Landing: she married a
taciturn man who spent most of his time lying in a hammock by the river wondering if his trot-lines were full.
When my father was admitted to the bar, he returned to Maycomb and began his practice. Maycomb, some twenty
miles east of Finch's Landing, was the county seat of Maycomb County. Atticus's office in the courthouse contained
little more than a hat rack, a spittoon, a checkerboard and an unsullied Code of Alabama. His first two clients were the
last two persons hanged in the Maycomb County jail. Atticus had urged them to accept the state's generosity in
allowing them to plead Guilty to second-degree murder and escape with their lives, but they were Haverfords, in
Maycomb County a name synonymous with jackass. The Haverfords had dispatched Maycomb's leading blacksmith in
a misunderstanding arising from the alleged wrongful detention of a mare, were imprudent enough to do it in the
presence of three witnesses, and insisted that the-son-of-a-bitch-had-it-coming-to-him was a good enough defense for
anybody. They persisted in pleading Not Guilty to first-degree murder, so there was nothing much Atticus could do for
his clients except be present at their departure, an occasion that was probably the beginning of my father's profound
distaste for the practice of criminal law.
During his first five years in Maycomb, Atticus practiced economy more than anything; for several years thereafter he
invested his earnings in his brother's education. John Hale Finch was ten years younger than my father, and chose to
study medicine at a time when cotton was not worth growing; but after getting Uncle Jack started, Atticus derived a
reasonable income from the law. He liked Maycomb, he was Maycomb County born and bred; he knew his people,
they knew him, and because of Simon Finch's industry, Atticus was related by blood or marriage to nearly every family
in the town.
Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red
slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog
suffered on a summer's day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks
on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock
naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.
People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled in and out of the stores around it, took their time
about everything. A day was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to
go, nothing to buy and no money to buy it with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County. But it was
a time of vague optimism for some of the people: Maycomb County had recently been told that it had nothing to fear
but fear itself.
We lived on the main residential street in town--Atticus, Jem and I, plus Calpurnia our cook. Jem and I found our
father satisfactory: he played with us, read to us, and treated us with courteous detachment.
Calpurnia was something else again. She was all angles and bones; she was nearsighted; she squinted; her hand was
wide as a bed slat and twice as hard. She was always ordering me out of the kitchen, asking me why I couldn't behave
as well as Jem when she knew he was older, and calling me home when I wasn't ready to come. Our battles were epic
and one-sided. Calpurnia always won, mainly because Atticus always took her side. She had been with us ever since
Jem was born, and I had felt her tyrannical presence as long as I could remember.
Our mother died when I was two, so I never felt her absence. She was a Graham from Montgomery; Atticus met her

when he was first elected to the state legislature. He was middle-aged then, she was fifteen years his junior. Jem was
the product of their first year of marriage; four years later I was born, and two years later our mother died from a
sudden heart attack. They said it ran in her family. I did not miss her, but I think Jem did. He remembered her clearly,
and sometimes in the middle of a game he would sigh at length, then go off and play by himself behind the car-house.
When he was like that, I knew better than to bother him.
When I was almost six and Jem was nearly ten, our summertime boundaries (within calling distance of Calpurnia)
were Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose's house two doors to the north of us, and the Radley Place three doors to the south.
We were never tempted to break them. The Radley Place was inhabited by an unknown entity the mere description of
whom was enough to make us behave for days on end; Mrs. Dubose was plain hell.
That was the summer Dill came to us.
Early one morning as we were beginning our day's play in the back yard, Jem and I heard something next door in Miss
Rachel Haverford's collard patch. We went to the wire fence to see if there was a puppy--Miss Rachel's rat terrier was
expecting--instead we found someone sitting looking at us. Sitting down, he wasn't much higher than the collards. We
stared at him until he spoke:
"Hey yourself," said Jem pleasantly.
"I'm Charles Baker Harris," he said. "I can read."
"So what?" I said.
"I just thought you'd like to know I can read. You got anything needs readin' I can do it. . . ."
"How old are you," asked Jem, "four-and-a-half?"
"Goin' on seven."
"Shoot no wonder, then," said Jem, jerking his thumb at me. "Scout yonder's been readin' ever since she was born, and
she ain't even started to school yet. You look right puny for goin' on seven."
"I'm little but I'm old," he said.
Jem brushed his hair back to get a better look. "Why don't you come over, Charles Baker Harris?" he said. "Lord, what
a name."
"'s not any funnier'n yours. Aunt Rachel says your name's Jeremy Atticus Finch."
Jem scowled. "I'm big enough to fit mine," he said. "Your name's longer'n you are. Bet it's a foot longer."
"Folks call me Dill," said Dill, struggling under the fence.
To Kill a Mockingbird. Copyright A(c) by Harper Lee. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All
rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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