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Il buio oltre la siepe di Harper Lee è un libro bellissimo. La voce narrante è quella di una  stupenda ragazzina, Jean Louise Finch-Scout, 6 anni quando la storia inizia, che  mette a fuoco un intenso periodo di scoperta del mondo e di conferma dei suoi affetti familiari: Atticus suo padre-avvocato, Jem suo fratello e complice di 10 anni e Dill, 6 anni-primo-amore e amico estivo, la cui presenza è tanto agognata all’inizio di ogni estate.

La narrazione in prima persona ci permette di entrare nella testa e nelle emozioni di una bambina fantastica, che rappresenta anche l’ infanzia di un mondo dove regna la curiosità, la filosofia del bianco e nero, di ciò che è giusto e di ciò che è sbagliato, dei confini netti tra i comportamenti buoni e quelli cattivi.

Ed è sicuramente sbagliato, anzi è un peccato grave, uccidere un tordo canterino:

“Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Atticus

Memorabili sono le conversazioni tra figlia e padre sulle relazioni e i comportamenti sociali, su cosa vuol dire empatia e mettersi nei panni altrui, per cercare di capirne il punto di vista.

La storia si basa su un caso legale affidato dal giudice Taylor all’avvocato  Atticus Finch. Deve difendere Tom Robinson, giovane nero con famiglia e bambini, accusato di stupro da una ragazza, figlia di una famiglia problematica di Maycomb Alabama, profondo Sud Americano.

Inevitabilmente il caso scuote profondamente la comunità, ma rappresenta anche un’occasione di crescita della stessa.  Mayella è una ragazza di 19 anni con sulle spalle la responsabilità di crescere da sola i suoi fratelli e gestire un padre-padrone violento e alcolizzato. È una ragazza affamata di attenzione, affetto e compagnia ed è proprio questo suo bisogno che coinvolgerà Tom Robinson e scatenerà l’inferno a Maycomb Alabama. Atticus Finch imposta la difesa di Tom con un coinvolgimento tale da mettere a rischio anche  anche la sua vita e quella della sua famiglia.

Il romanzo suscita emozioni fortissime e ci fa piombare nella realtà razzista e violenta del profondo Sud americano, dove il “diverso” è a priori colpevole. E tuttavia, intorno al caso di Tom, si fa strada anche la possibilità di costruire una società più matura, che deve imparare ad affrontare suoi demoni. I bambini sono protagonisti di questo passetto, verso la giustizia:

“was no accident. I was sittin’ there on the porch last night, waiting. I waited and waited to see you all come down the sidewalk, and as I waited I thought, Atticus Finch won’t win, he can’t win, but he’s the only man in these parts who can keep a jury out so long in a case like that. And I thought to myself, well, we’re making a step—it’s just a baby-step, but it’s a step.”

Boo Radley

Arthur-Boo Radley è un personaggio spettacolare. I ragazzi Finch vivono le loro avventure infantili per strada e vanno alla ricerca del brivido, dell’ essere misterioso di cui avere paura e su cui fantasticare. Boo incarna questa entità, fino a quando vicende drammatiche che coinvolgono i Finch e lo stesso Arthur non faranno capire meglio che tipo di persona è Boo, al di là del ruolo giocato nelle fantasie di Scout, Jem e Dill e del pregiudizo che ha sempre accompagnato l’esistenza della famiglia Radley.

“Jem gave a reasonable description of Boo: Boo was about six-and-a-half feet tall, judging from his tracks; he dined on raw squirrels and any cats he could catch, that’s why his hands were bloodstained—if you ate an animal raw, you could never wash the blood off. There was a long jagged scar that ran across his face; what teeth he had were yellow and rotten; his eyes popped, and he drooled most of the time.”

Imparare a leggere

Romanzo bellissimo anche dal punto di vista linguistico. La versione Americana permette di apprezzare lo stile di Lee: spesso asciutto e incisivo, a tratti quasi una cronaca giornalistica, a tratti molto popolare e quotidiano, spesso gergo infantile e visionario nei dialoghi dei bambini.

Il buio oltre la siepe ha una chiara funzione pedagogica, ma mai pedante. Parla molto di educazione, di famiglie più o meno acculturate, del valore della lettura e dell’alfabetizzazione di tutte le classi sociali. È fantastica la lezione di una maestra fresca di teorie, che vuole sperimentare sui suoi alunni. Rimprovera Scout che sa già leggere, ha imparato  stando sulle ginocchia di suo padre mentre legge il giornale. Tra una coccola e l’altra di imparare. Ma la maestra dice “NO. Sbagliato! bisogna riparare il danno, bisogna ripartire da zero, bisogna fare tabula rasa di tutto ciò che si sa e fare solo quello che dice la maestra”!

“Now you tell your father not to teach you any more. It’s best to begin reading with a fresh mind. You tell him I’ll take over from here and try to undo the damage—” “Ma’am?” “Your father does not know how to teach. You can have a seat now.”

Il film

Ogni volta che Atticus parla io non posso fare a meno di trovarmi davanti agli occhi e nel cuore il Gregory Peck del film di Robert Mulligan (1962). Leggendo il romanzo ho capito che del film mi era rimasta solo una dolciastra, generica positività. Alcuni aspetti sono sembrati quasi antitetici rispetto ai miei ricordi. E molto più potenti!

Il titolo

C’è poi tutto il discorso sul titolo, eh sì, il titolo italiano è abbastanza significativo, e tuttavia non si capisce bene  la connessione con il titolo originale. Per carità Il buio oltre la siepe richiama il buio della società di Maycomb, e ovviamente il buio oltre la siepe di casa Radley. Forse anche il contrasto tra la bellezza delle siepi che circondano le case “perbene” e il buio delle anime che le abitano, il contrasto tra il dentro e il fuori. Tante belle suggestioni.

E tuttavia il titolo italiano risulta alla fine meno efficace di quello originale To kill a mockingbird che fa scattare subito la pietas, la compassione per un fragile esserino che sa solo cantare imitando le armonie di tutti gli altri uccellini, inglobando nel suo canto quello di tutti gli altri, racchiudendo in sé l’armonia e la musicalità del mondo. Chi è il mockingbird in questa storia?

Consiglio caldamente la lettura del romanzo di Harper Lee anche per la sua attualità. Sebbene pubblicato nel 1960 il romanzo è di una contemporaneità urticante. Al di là degli indubbi passi in avanti che la società americana ha fatto in termini di eguaglianza dei cittadini di fronte alla legge e alle avanzate regole di convivenza sociale, il conflitto tra Americani di diversa origine etnica è sempre più feroce e in questi giorni turbolenti sta di nuovo infiammando l’ America. Ancora una volta un cittadino nero, George  Floyd, viene torturato fino alla morte da un poliziotto bianco,  mentre i suoi colleghi in uniforme stanno fermi a guardare. 

Penso che leggere le pagine di questo romanzo in cui il bianco Atticus spiega ai  suoi bambini da dove viene la loro famiglia, e dunque le loro radici, ci aiuti a capire meglio il nostro essere umani e ad imparare a metterci nei panni degli altri. E questo i bambini lo sanno già fare.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—” “Sir?” “—until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.””

Ed ecco a voi protagonisti…

Assaggi

Atticus Finch, appartenenza-“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 Alabama-“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.”

Entra in scena Dill. Il bambino che sa leggere, ha unamadre fotografa e ha visto Dracula al cinema…-“Dill was a curiosity. He wore blue linen shorts that buttoned to his shirt, his hair was snow white and stuck to his head like duck-fluff; he was a year my senior but I towered over him. As he told us the old tale his blue eyes would lighten and darken; his laugh was sudden and happy; he habitually pulled at a cowlick in the center of his forehead. When Dill reduced Dracula to dust, and Jem said the show sounded better than the book, I asked Dill where his father was: “You ain’t said anything about him.””

Being Boo- pièce teatrale per passare l’estate-“Mrs. Radley had been beautiful until she married Mr. Radley and lost all her money. She also lost most of her teeth, her hair, and her right forefinger (Dill’s contribution. Boo bit it off one night when he couldn’t find any cats and squirrels to eat.); she sat in the livingroom and cried most of the time, while Boo slowly whittled away all the furniture in the house.”

La nicchia nel tronco un anfratto magico-“the knot-hole”-“The following week the knot-hole yielded a tarnished medal. Jem showed it to Atticus, who said it was a spelling medal, that before we were born the Maycomb County schools had spelling contests and awarded medals to the winners.”

Zia Alexandra da lezioni di “ladylikeness” a Scout-“Aunt Alexandra was fanatical on the subject of my attire. I could not possibly hope to be a lady if I wore breeches; when I said I could do nothing in a dress, she said I wasn’t supposed to be doing things that required pants. Aunt Alexandra’s vision of my deportment involved playing with small stoves, tea sets, and wearing the Add-A-Pearl necklace she gave me when I was born; furthermore, I should be a ray of sunshine in my father’s lonely life. I suggested that one could be a ray of sunshine in pants just as well, but Aunty said that one had to behave like a sunbeam, that I was born good but had grown”

Amare I negri. Atticus, a nigger-lover…-““Just what I said. Grandma says it’s bad enough he lets you all run wild, but now he’s turned out a nigger-lover we’ll never be able to walk the streets of Maycomb again. He’s ruinin’ the family, that’s what he’s doin’[…]”“Scout,” said Atticus, “nigger-lover is just one of those terms that don’t mean anything—like snot-nose. It’s hard to explain—ignorant, trashy people use it when they think somebody’s favoring Negroes over and above themselves. It’s slipped into usage with some people like ourselves, when they want a common, ugly term to label somebody.””

Atticus, un padre specialissimo-“Our father didn’t do anything. He worked in an office, not in a drugstore. Atticus did not drive a dump-truck for the county, he was not the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anything that could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone. Besides that, he wore glasses. He was nearly blind in his left eye, and said left eyes were the tribal curse of the Finches. Whenever he wanted to see something well, he turned his head and looked from his right eye. He did not do the things our schoolmates’ fathers did: he never went hunting, he did not play poker or fish or drink or smoke. He sat in the livingroom and read. With these attributes, however, he would not remain as inconspicuous as we wished him to: that year, the school buzzed with talk about him defending Tom Robinson, none of which was complimentary.”

Jem legge un libro alla signora Dubose– Punizione o piacere?- “Something had happened to her. She lay on her back, with the quilts up to her chin. Only her head and shoulders were visible. Her head moved slowly from side to side. From time to time she would open her mouth wide, and I could see her tongue undulate faintly. Cords of saliva would collect on her lips; she would draw them in, then open her mouth again. Her mouth seemed to have a private existence of its own. It worked separate and apart from the rest of her, out and in, like a clam hole at low tide.”

In chiesa con Calpurnia. La gente che non sa leggere ripete le parole del prete, cantando-““Colored folks don’t show their ages so fast,” she said. “Maybe because they can’t read. Cal, did you teach Zeebo?” “Yeah, Mister Jem. There wasn’t a school even when he was a boy. I made him learn, though.” Zeebo was Calpurnia’s eldest son. If I had ever thought about it, I would have known that Calpurnia was of mature years—Zeebo had half-grown children—but then I had never thought about it.”

La folla, un agglomerato di “brava gente”- ““He might have hurt me a little,” Atticus conceded, “but son, you’ll understand folks a little better when you’re older. A mob’s always made up of people, no matter what. Mr. Cunningham was part of a mob last night, but he was still a man. Every mob in every little Southern town is always made up of people you know—doesn’t say much for them, does it?[…]

Scout scopre il razzismo-Mixed children-““Jem,” I asked, “what’s a mixed child?” “Half white, half colored. You’ve seen ’em, Scout. You know that red-kinky-headed one that delivers for the drugstore. He’s half white. They’re real sad.” “Sad, how come?” “They don’t belong anywhere. Colored folks won’t have ’em because they’re half white; white folks won’t have ’em ’cause they’re colored, so they’re just in-betweens, don’t belong anywhere. But Mr. Dolphus, now, they say he’s shipped two of his up north. They don’t mind ’em up north. Yonder’s one of ’em.””

Tom, l’accusato-“Tom was a black-velvet Negro, not shiny, but soft black velvet. The whites of his eyes shone in his face, and when he spoke we saw flashes of his teeth. If he had been whole, he would have been a fine specimen of a man.”

La lunga attesa del verdetto-“It was not unlike one I had last winter, and I shivered, though the night was hot. The feeling grew until the atmosphere in the courtroom was exactly the same as a cold February morning, when the mockingbirds were still, and the carpenters had stopped hammering on Miss Maudie’s new house, and every wood door in the neighborhood was shut as tight as the doors of the Radley Place. A deserted, waiting, empty street, and the courtroom was packed with people. A steaming summer night was no different from a winter morning.

Verità senza tempo-“There’s something in our world that makes men lose their heads—they couldn’t be fair if they tried. In our courts, when it’s a white man’s word against a black man’s, the white man always wins.”

Uomini o spazzatura?- “As you grow older, you’ll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don’t you forget it—whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash.””

Lezione su attualità-“Once a week, we had a Current Events period. Each child was supposed to clip an item from a newspaper, absorb its contents, and reveal them to the class. This practice allegedly overcame a variety of evils: standing in front of his fellows encouraged good posture and gave a child poise; delivering a short talk made him word-conscious; learning his current event strengthened his memory; being singled out made him more than ever anxious to return to the Group.”

Scout interpreta il linguaggio del corpo di Boo-“was beginning to learn his body English. His hand tightened on mine and he indicated that he wanted to leave.”

I doni dei vicini-“Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between. Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good-luck pennies, and our lives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back into the tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.”

Empatia-“Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.”

Filed under: Costume, Società e Politica, Recensioni | Tagged: Alabama, George Floyd 2020, Gregory Peck, Harper Lee, Il buio oltre la siepe, Polizia Americana, razzismo, Robert Mulligan | 1 Comment »