I held off reading this book for ages. Mainly because someone described it as a book about growing up in the South. While accurate, this is not all it is, and it is not the best selling point when describing a book to me: the bildungsroman has never been my favourite genre, and the American South not my favourite region. I also tend to be more drawn to European classics than the American ones (I do not know why; I am sure there is a sensible explanation that does not make me look like a bigot).

I do, however, feel drawn to the Truman Capote/F. Scott Fitzgerald New York scene of American writing, and it was via this avenue that I finally discovered Nelle Harper Lee for myself. She was a childhood friend of Capote, and I had heard that one of the characters in To Kill a Mockingbird was based on him. Naturally, I had to read it. Thus my discovery of one of the truly great books of the world.

Words like "compelling" have lost much of their meaning through over-use, which is sad because it suits the book perfectly. It is also perfectly plotted, quite apart from the important themes it deals with. Each strand of the story, which is skilfully made to seem like simply an episode or moment of small town life becomes important in the story as a whole: Boo Radley, Tom Robinson, the pride of the Cunninghams, the difference between the Cunninghams and the Ewells, Mrs Dubose, the rabid dog, Atticus' sense of honour and his ability to do what is necessary, all come together; and I cannot find fault with the claim that opens the book, that to make sense of Jem's broken arm, the story must begin where it does. The variety of impressions and local sketches, then, do not only have a value in their own right as creating an image of a particular time and place, they also have a place in a tightly constructed plot. Still, I would argue that the road to the end is still the main point.

More than all this, however: I love Atticus Finch. I defy anyone not to.