Boo Radley Monologue Analysis

It had been 15 years since the trail, 15 years since the death of Tom Robinson and 10 long years without Jem or Dill. Who would’ve thought that that broken arm could’ve resulted in cancer? No one, that’s who.

“Mama, I thought we was going to see uncle Jem today. It don’t look like him very much.” The baby hanging onto my arm looked up at me with big black eyes. His black skin shone in the afternoon sun and his full lips were partly opened just waiting to ask a question. His eyes full of wonder, his mind full of thoughts; it made me remember the days I looked at a particular house with those eyes.
Of course the house and its inhabitations were long gone but the memory remained. The legend of Boo Radley was now a bed-time story I told little
He seemed to have gotten more pressure from neighbouring counties when news of Tom’s death spread. I reckon it was a set up, calling it a “death” when it was a murder. I ain’t never gonna be a as good a lawyer as Atticus was, but if there’s even a thimble of a chance that I could clear him name I wasn’t about t give up. Jem wasn’t here to be a lawyer, so I was the next best choice. That what I’d like to think at least.
As Timmy pulled my hand towards the church doors, a smiled spread across my face. Looking at the bigger picture, Maycomb County hadn’t changed much from before. There were the little things that would have made Atticus proud. Like my chat with Miss Stephanie Crawford the other day.
She was going on about some black girl who had started to hang around the streets looking for work. She went on and on about how shameful she was, and how she reckoned someday a man would come and do her in. She said to me “I tell you Jean Louise, one of these days we’re gonna have us a negro president.” Then she went on about her dislike for my work. That’s when I realised it. Through her entire dialogue she had called the black girl a ‘negro’ instead of
Some were full of disgust others with welcome. Their soft “Hello”s or “G’mornin Miss Finch” were barely audible though. I nodded to give them a silent reply. The priest was absent at the moment. I took my seat next to Mr. Robinson who stuck out like a weed among grass. His cloths weren’t fine, his skin not fair but his God was the same. “Mr. Robinson, what are you doing here? I don’t think they’ll let n****r come in here. I can ‘cuz I’m a white woman’s baby,” Timmy looked at the older man with a smug expression of superiority. I smacked him on the back of his