 Thank you. Is that close enough? Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? Okay. I chose this book because it was a childhood classic that I loved. And when I was reading the list of 100 most often banned or challenged books, I was stunned to see it on that list. And so did a little more research to see why that would be. And it's largely the images of race, potential racism on the part of some characters and a lot of use of the N word as you're going to hear. So I'm going to read a part of a chapter. I'm going to skip in the middle of the chapter to later in the chapter, but I'll let you know when that's happening. You can just take that back, boy. This order given to me by Cecil Jacobs was the beginning of a rather thin time for Jen and me. My fists were clenched and I was ready to let fly. Atticus had promised me he would wear me out if he ever heard of me fighting anymore. I was far too old and too big for such childish things. And the sooner I learned to hold it in, the better off everybody would be. I soon forgot. Cecil Jacobs made me forget. He had announced in the schoolyard the day before that Scout Finch's daddy defended niggers. I denied it, but told Jem. What do you mean, say in that, I asked. Nothing, Jem said. Ask Atticus. He'll tell you. Do you defend niggers, Atticus? I asked him that evening. Of course I do. Don't say niggers, Scout. That's common. It's what everybody at school says. Am I echoing? It's what everybody at school says. From now on, it'll be everybody less one. Well, if you don't want me to grow up talking that way, why do you send me to school? My father looked at me mildly, amusement in his eyes. Despite our compromise, my campaign to avoid school had continued in one form or another since my first day's dose of it. The beginning of last September had brought on sinking spells, dizziness, and mild gastric complaints. I went so far as to pay a nickel for the privilege of rubbing my head against the head of Miss Rachel Cook's son who was afflicted with a tremendous ringworm. It didn't take. But I was wearing another bone. Do all lawyers defend niggers, Atticus? Of course they do, Scout. Then why did Cecil say you defended niggers? He made it sound like you were running a still. Atticus, side. I'm simply defending a negro. His name's Tom Robinson. He lives in that little settlement beyond the town dump. He's a member of Calpurnia's church, and Cal knows his family well. She says they're clean living folks. Scout, you aren't old enough to understand some things yet, but there's been some talk around town to the effect that I shouldn't do much about defending this man. It's a peculiar case. It won't come to trial until summer session. John Taylor was kind enough to give us a postponement. If you shouldn't be defending him, then why are you doing it? For a number of reasons, said Atticus. The main one is, if I didn't do it, I couldn't hold my head up in town. I couldn't represent this county and the legislature. I couldn't even tell you or Jim not to do something again. You mean if you didn't defend that man, Jim and me wouldn't have to mind you anymore? That's about right. Why? Because I could never ask you to mind me again. Scout, simply by the nature of the work, every lawyer gets at least one case in his lifetime that affects him personally. This one's mine, I guess. You will hear some ugly talk about it at school, but do one thing for me if you will. You just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anybody says to you, don't let them get your goat. Try fighting with your head for a change. It's a good one, even if it does resist learning. Atticus, are we going to win it? No, honey. Then why? Simply because we are lit. 100 years before we're started is no reason for us not to win, Atticus said. So now I'm skipping ahead in the chapter to after Christmas dinner where Scout and her brother Jim and her cousin Frances are outside and Frances has just baited her and made her angry. Frances grinned at me. You're mighty dumb sometimes, Jean Louise. Guess you don't know any better though. What do you mean? If Uncle Atticus lets you run around with stray dogs, that's his business, like Grandma says, so it ain't your fault. I guess it ain't your fault if Uncle Atticus is a nigger lover besides, but I'm here to tell you it certainly does mortify the rest of the family. Frances, what the hell do you mean? Just what I said. Grandma said it's bad enough he lets you all run wild, but now he's turned out a nigger lover will never be able to walk the streets of the main home again. He's ruining the family. That's what he's doing. Frances rose and sprinted down the catwalk to the old kitchen at a safe distance he called. He's nothing but a nigger lover. He is not, I roared. And I don't know what you're talking about, but you better cut it out this red hot minute. I leaped off the stairs and ran down the catwalk. It was easy to call her Frances. I said, take it back quick. Frances jerked loose and sped into the old kitchen. Nigger lover, he said. When stalking one's prey, it's best to take one's time. Saying nothing and assures eggs he will become curious and emerge. Frances appeared at the kitchen door. You still managing, Louise? He asked tentatively. Nothing to speak of, I said. Frances came out on the catwalk. You gonna take it back, Frances? But I was too quick on the draw. Frances shot back into the kitchen, so I retired to the steps. I could wait patiently. I had sat there perhaps five minutes when I heard Alexandra and Alexandra speak. Where's Frances? He's out yawing during the kitchen. He knows he's not supposed to play in there. Frances came to the door and yelled, Grandma, she's got me in here. She won't let me out. What is all this, Jean Louise? I looked up at Alexandra. I haven't got him in there, Auntie. I ain't holding him. Yes, she is. Shout at Frances. She won't let me out. Have you all been fussing? Jean Louise got mad at me, Grandma, said Frances. Frances, come out of there. Jean Louise, if I hear another word out of you, I will tell your father. Did I hear you say hell a moment ago? No, I thought I did. I better not hear it again. And Alexandra was a back porch listener. The moment she was out of sight, Frances came up, came head up and grinning. Don't you fool with me, he said. He jumped into the yard and kept his distance, kicking tufts of grass, looking around occasionally to smile at me. Gem appeared on the porch, looked at us, and went away. Frances climbed the mimosa tree, came down, put his hand in his pockets, and strolled around the yard. Ha, he said. I asked him who he thought he was, Uncle Jack. Frances said, he reckoned I got told for me to just sit there and leave him alone. I am bothering you, I said. Frances looked at me carefully, concluded that I had been sufficiently subdued and crooned softly, nigger lover. This time I split my knuckle to the bone on his front teeth. My left impaired, I sailed with my right, but not for long. Uncle Jack pinned my arms to my side and said, stand still. And Alexandra ministered to Frances, wiping his tears away with her handkerchief, rubbing his hair, patting his cheek. Atticus, Gem, and Uncle Jimmy had come to the back porch when Frances started yelling. Who started this, said Uncle Jack. Frances and I pointed at each other. Grandma, he bawled. She called me a whore lady and jumped on me. Is that true, Scout? said Uncle Jack. I reckon so. When Uncle Jack looked down at me, his features were like Aunt Alexandra's. You know I told you you'd get in trouble if you used words like that. I told you, didn't I? Yes, sir, but well you're in trouble now. Stay there. I was debating whether to stand there or run, and tarried an indecision a moment too long. I turned to flee, but Uncle Jack was quicker. I found myself suddenly looking at a tiny ant struggling with a breadcrumb in the grass. I'll never speak to you again as long as I live. I hate you and despise you and hope you die tomorrow. A statement that seemed to encourage Uncle Jack more than anything. I ran to Atticus for comfort, but he said I had it coming, and it was high time we went home. I climbed into the back seat of the car without saying goodbye to anyone, and at home I ran to my room and slammed the door. Jim tried to say something nice, but I wouldn't let him. When I surveyed the damage, there were only seven or eight marks, and I was reflecting upon relativity when someone knocked at the door. I asked who it was. Uncle Jack answered, go away. Uncle Jack said if I talked like that, he'd lick me again, so I was quiet. When he entered the room, I retreated to a corner and turned my back on him. Scout, he said, do you still hate me? Go on, please, sir. Well, I didn't think you'd hold it against me, he said. I'm disappointed in you. You had that coming and you knew it. Didn't either. Honey, you can't go around calling people. You ain't fair, I said. You ain't fair. Uncle Jack's eyebrows went up. Not fair, how not. You're real nice, Uncle Jack, and I reckon I love you even after what you did, but you don't understand children much. Uncle Jack put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. And why do I not understand children, Ms. Jean-Louise? Such conduct as yours required little understanding. It was obstreperous, disorderly, abusive. You gonna give me a chance to tell you? I don't mean to sass you, I'm just trying to tell you. Uncle Jack sat down on the bed. His eyes came together and he peered at me from underneath them. Proceed, he said. I took a deep breath. Well, in the first place, you never stopped to give me a chance to tell my side of it. You just lit right into me. And when Jim and I fussed, Atticus doesn't ever just listen to Jim's side of it. He hears mine, too. And in the second place, you never told me not to use words like that, except in extreme provocation. And Francis provocated me enough to knock his block off. Uncle Jack scratched his head. What was your side of it, Scout? Francis called Atticus something and I wasn't about to take it off of him. What did Francis call him? A nigger lover. I ain't sure what it means, but the way Francis said it, tell you one thing, Uncle Jack, I'll swear before God if I'll sit there and let him say something like that about Atticus. He called Atticus that? Yes, sir, he did and a lot more. Said Atticus, be the ruination of the family and he let me and Jim run wild. From the look on Uncle Jack's face, I thought I was in for it again. When he said, we'll see about this. I knew Francis was in for it. I have a good mind to go out there tonight. Please, sir, just let it go. Please. I have no intention of letting it go, he said. Alexander should know about this. The idea of wait till I get my hands on that boy. Uncle Jack, please promise me something. Please, sir, promise you won't tell Atticus about this. He asked me one time not to let anything I heard about him make me mad. And I'd rather he think we were fighting about something else instead. Please promise. But I don't like Francis getting away with something like that. He didn't. You reckon you could tie up my hand? It's still bleeding some. Of course I will, baby. I know of no hand I would be more delighted to tie up. Will you come this way? Uncle Jack gallantly bowed me to the bathroom. While he cleaned and bandaged my knuckles, he entertained me with a tale about a funny, near-sighted gentleman who had a cat named Hodge and who counted all the cracks in the sidewalk when he went to town. There now, you'll have a very unladylike star on your wedding finger. Thank you, sir. Uncle Jack, ma'am, what's a whore lady? Uncle Jack plunged into another long tale about an old prime minister who sat in the House of Commons and blew feathers in the air and tried to keep them all there when all about him men were losing their heads. I guess he was trying to answer my question, but he made no sense whatsoever. Later, when I was supposed to be in bed, I went down the hall for a drink of water and heard Atticus and Uncle Jack in the living room. I shall never marry Atticus. Why? I might have children. Atticus said, you've got a lot to learn, Jack. I know. Your daughter just gave me the first lesson this afternoon. She said I didn't understand children and she told me why. She was quite right, Atticus. She told me how I should have treated her. Oh, dear. I'm sorry I romped on her. Atticus chuckled. She earned it so don't feel too remorseful. I waited on Tenterhooks for Uncle Jack to tell Atticus my side of it, but he didn't. He simply murmured. Her use of bathroom invectively is nothing to the imagination, but she doesn't know the meaning of half of what she says. She asked me what a whore lady was. Did you tell her? No, I told her about Lord Melbourne. Jack, when a child asks you something, answer him for goodness sake. But don't make a production out of it. Children are children, but they can spot an evasion quicker than adults. An evasion simply muddles them. No, my father mused. You had the right answer this afternoon, but the wrong reasons. Bad language is a stage all children go through. And it dies with time when they learn they're not attracting attention with it. Hot-headedness isn't. Scouts got to learn to keep her head and learn soon with what's in store for her over the next few months. She's coming along, though. Jem's getting older and she follows his example a good bit now. All she needs is assistance sometime. Atticus, you've never laid a hand on her. I admit that. So far I've been able to get by with threats, Jack, but she minds me as well as she can. Doesn't come up to scratch half the time, but she tries. That's not the answer, said Uncle Jack. No, the answer is she knows I know she tries. That's what makes the difference. What bothers me is she and Jem will have to absorb some ugly things pretty soon. I'm not worried about Jem keeping his head, but Scout just to soon jump on someone is looking at him if her pride's at stake. I waited for Uncle Jack to break his promise. He still didn't. Atticus, how bad is this going to be? You haven't had too much chance to discuss it. It couldn't be worse, Jack. The one thing we got is a black man's word against the Ewells. The evidence boils down to you did, I didn't. The jury couldn't possibly be expected to take Tom Robinson's word against the Ewells. Are you acquainted with the Ewells? Uncle Jack said yes, he remembered them. He described them to Atticus, but Atticus said, you're a generation off. The present ones are the same, though. What are you going to do, then? Before I'm through, I intend to jar the jury a bit. I think we'll have a reasonable chance on appeal, though. I really can't tell at this stage, Jack. You know, I'd hope to get through life without a case of this kind, but John Taylor pointed at me and said, you're it. Let this cup pass from you, Ed. Right, but do you think I could face my children otherwise? You know what's going to happen as well as I do, Jack, and I hope and pray I can get Jem and Scout through it without bitterness, and most of all, without catching Maycom's usual disease. Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up is something I don't pretend to understand. I just hope that Jem and Scout come to me for their answers instead of listening to the town. I hope they trust me enough. Jean Louise, my scalp jumped. I stuck my head around the corner. Sir, go to bed. I scurried to my room and went to bed. Uncle Jack was a prince of the fellow, not to let me down, but I never figured out how Atticus knew I was listening, and it was not until many years later that I realized he wanted me to hear every word he said. And our next reader is Josh Hemsap, who is a student in community health. I've got a great audience here of, like, three people that are actually listening, so this will make it really easy to read what I'm about to read. I'm reading a book, a lot of you probably already know about things to James Bond and a few other people called The Golden Compass, and it made a lot of the frequently challenged books lists from the ALA, and I'm going to read a passage and then kind of talk a little bit about why it was banned. So, prepare yourself. The master and the librarian were old friends and allies, and it was their habit, after a difficult episode, to take a glass of brant wine and console each other. So after they'd seen Lord Azrael away, they strolled to the master's lodging, and settled in his study with the curtains drawn and the fire refreshed. Their demons, in their familiar places, on knee or shoulder, and prepared to think through what had just happened. Do you really believe he knew about the wine, said the librarian? Of course he did. I have no idea how, but he knew, and he spilled the decanter himself. Of course he did. Forgive me, master, but I can't help being relieved. I was never happy about the idea of poisoning him. Yes, of murder. Hardly anyone would be happy about that idea, Charles. The question was whether doing that would be worse than the consequences of not doing it. Well, some providence has intervened, and it hasn't happened. I'm only sorry I burdened you with the knowledge of it. No, no, protested the librarian, but I wish you had told me more. The master was silent for a while before saying, yes, perhaps I should have done. The elithiometer warns of appalling consequences if Lord Azrael pursues this research. Apart from anything else, the child will be drawn in, and I want to keep her safe as long as possible. Is Lord Azrael's business anything to do with this new initiative of the Consistorial Court of Discipline? Though what do they call it, the Oblation Board? Lord Azrael, no, no, quite the reverse. The Oblation Board is entirely answerable to the Consistorial Court, either. It's a semi-private initiative. It's being run by someone who has no love of Lord Azrael. Between them both, Charles, I tremble. The librarian was silent in his turn. Ever since Pope John Calvin had moved the seat of papacy to Geneva and set up the Consistorial Court of Discipline, the Church's power over every aspect of life had been absolute. The papacy itself had been abolished after Calvin's death. In a tangle of courts, colleges, and councils, collectively known as the Magisterium, had grown up in its place. These agencies were not always united. Sometimes a bitter rivalry grew up between them. For large part of the previous century, the most powerful had been the College of Bishops. But in recent years, the Consistorial Court of Discipline had taken its place as the most active and the most feared of all the Church's bodies. But it was always possible for independent agencies to grow up under the protection of another part of the Magisterium and the Oblation Board, which the librarian had referred to as one of these. The librarian didn't know much about it, but he disliked and feared what he had heard, and he completely understood the Master's anxiety. The Palmyrian professor mentioned a name, he said after a minute or so. Barnard Stokes? What is the Barnard Stokes business? It's not our field, Charles. As I understand it, the Holy Church teaches that there are two worlds, the world of everything we can see and hear and touch, and another world, the spiritual world of heaven and hell. Barnard and Stokes were two. How shall I put it? Renegade theologians who postulated the existence of numerous other worlds like this one. Neither heaven nor hell, but material and sinful. They are there close by, but invisible and unreachable. The Holy Church naturally disproved of this abominable heresy, and Barnard and Stokes were silenced. But unfortunately, for the Magisterium, there seem to be sound mathematical arguments for this other world theory. I have never followed them myself, but the Castington Scholar tells me that they are sound. And now Lord Azrael has taken a picture of one of these other worlds, the librarian said, and we have funded him to go look for it. I see. Quite. It'll seem to the Oblation Board and to powerful protectors that Jordan College is a hotbed of support for heresy. And between the Consistorial Court and the Oblation Board, Charles, they have to keep a balance. And meanwhile, the child is growing. They won't have forgotten her. Sooner or later, she would have become involved, but she'll be drawn in now whether I want to protect her or not. But how do you know that? For God's sake, the Elithiometer again? Yes, Lira has a part to play in all this and a major one. The irony is that she must do it all without realizing what she's doing. She can be helped, though, and if my plan with the Toke had succeeded, she would have been safe for a little longer. I would like to spare her for a journey to the North. I wish above all things that I were able to explain it to her. She wouldn't listen to the librarian, said. I know her ways only too well. Try to tell her anything serious and she'll half-listen for five minutes and then start fidgeting. Quiz her about it next time and she'll have completely forgotten. If I talk to her about dust, you don't think she'd listen to that? The librarian made a noise to indicate how unlikely the thought that was. Why on earth should she, he said, why should a distant theological riddle interest a healthy, thoughtless child? Because of what she must experience, part of that includes a great betrayal. Who's going to betray her? No, no, that's the saddest thing. She will be the betrayer and the experience will be terrible. She mustn't know that, of course, but there's no reason for her not to know about the problem of dust. And you might be wrong, Charles. She might well take an interest in it if it were explained in a simple way and it might help her later on. It would certainly help me to be less anxious about her. That's the duty of the old, said the librarian, to be anxious on behalf of the young. And the duty of the young is to scorn the anxiety of the old. They sat for a while longer and then parted for it was late and they were old and anxious. So the golden compass for anyone who's still listening was originally published in 1995 as the Northern Lights. It's the first book in the His Dark Materials trilogy and it was produced as a major motion picture in 2007 with Daniel Craig, James Bond as Lord Azrael who I was just reading, and Nicole Kidman as a character who I think they invented for the movie. Last year, the entire trilogy ranked as the second most frequently challenged book for its religious viewpoints. In 2007, this book alone was ranked fourth. Yet in 2006, it didn't even cross the top 10 list and even in the decade when the books were first published in 1995 it didn't even make the top 100 list. So it's pretty obvious then that this book didn't enter the public consciousness until Daniel Craig and Nicole Kidman made it popular. What's ironic about the book's recent popularity is that the public controversy is notorious for affecting how books and movies are made. For instance, Wikipedia paraphrases Chris Weitz, the film's director, as saying that New Line Cinema, the film's production company, had feared the story's anti-religious themes would make the film financially unviable in the US and so religion and God would not be referenced directly. How creative is it to curb the intensity of your work in the face of controversy? What kind of courage does it take to write something that inspires fear from the world's largest and oldest institutions? And yet, what kind of cowardice does it take to whimper in the face of public pressure? Thanks for your time and listening. I'd like to thank all of our readers this week and if you have any questions about banned or challenged books I certainly encourage you to stop by and visit the reference desk or check out our display case in the lobby at the library. Thank you.