First, a disclaimer: I did not read the book,
The Help. I heard all about
Kathryn Stockett's compelling narrative offering the perspective of Black maids in the south in their own distinctive dialect. I ran out and bought it, opened it and began it, and then I came screeching to a halt.
Repeatedly.
I tried to get through it, mainly because so many friends whose opinions I respected and admired, loved it, and because it promptly bec...