Mary Anne's Reviews > The Help

The Help by Kathryn Stockett
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Mar 03, 10


Have really just begun and can't stop reading. I am immediately taken back to my childhood and the relationships between black people and white in East Texas of the 1950's. There was this enormous wall separating black from white and yet this incredible intimacy.

In fact, I had to stop reading in Chapter 5 (page 67)when Skeeter, the white teenage narrator, is talking to Constantine, the "help."

Constantine is sharing a story about her own life with Skeeter, a no-no in those days:

I listened wide-eyed, stupid. Glowing by her voice in the dim light. If chocolate was a sound, it would've been Contantine's voice singing. If singing was a color, it would've been the color of that chocolate.

"One time I was boo-hooing over hard feelings. I reckon I had a list of things to be upset about, being poor, cold baths, rotten tooth, I don't know. But he held me by the head, hugged me to him for the longest time. When I looked up, he was crying too and he....did that thing I do to you so you know I mean it. Press his thumb up in my hand and he say...he sorry."

We sat there, staring at the puzzle pieces. Mother wouldn't want me to know this, that Constantine's father was white, that he'd apologized to her for the way things were. It was something I wasn't suppoed to know. I felt like Constantine had given me a gift.


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