As I flip through the pages of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, my thoughts are littered with warm summer Southern air and quaint friendliness of a small town village. The neighborhood friendliness and and camaraderie of living in a small town is something I easily relate to. Throughout my childhood I have spent many summers staying with my grandparents in the English countryside. It takes an hour to go into town, and the annual harvest of the crops and the soft mooing of cows paint the sound waves with an air of soft country comfort.
The Radley’s house so far in the story also harkens to an old deserted house in my neighborhood. Throughout the summer my friends and I would slowly walk past, lingering fearfully around the creepy architecture on the side of the road, hoping for a glimpse of any sign of life within.