You would have to be living on the dark side of the moon to have not heard of the book The Help.
With all the reviews that have been published what on earth would I have to add to what has already been said about Kathryn Stockett’s destined-to-become-a-classic?
Well, I did grow up in that era. As a child, I can tell you I harbored no feelings of superiority towards any race. A life of luxury would have been as foreign to me as it was to any African American. At 9 years old, I remember going to the home of a little girl in my school class and thinking it was a mansion. Years later, as an adult I had the opportunity to revisit that home and figured I’d realize it was only grandiose because I was young and unsophisticated. Wrong. The home really was the mansion I had remembered. Growing up in rural Arkansas, I was mostly ignorant of race relations.
The thought that has kept me captivated about this story was the time element. The polite “white” society spent their days in the pursuit of club meetings, fashion magazines, and other meaningless drivel. The hired help spent long, backbreaking hours—much longer than our 8 hour workday, slaving away and were not even allowed the courtesy of using the home toilet. All my life I have believed that shortcuts and taking the easy way are ultimately the hard path. This is one of those stories that won’t turn me loose, even though I have turned the last page. I’m still pondering…………
