first name

Fortunately for avid bibliophiles, Harper Lee was an inveterate pack rat. Born in rural Monroeville, Ala., in 1926, the author of “To Kill a Mockingbird” — whose first name is Nelle, her grandmother Ellen’s name spelled backward — spent much of her adult life in Manhattan after moving there in 1949.

First, she lived in a cold-water flat on the Upper East Side (subsisting on peanut butter sandwiches and meager bookstore and airline ticket agent salaries); then in a room in a Midtown hotel where Edith Wharton and Mark Twain once resided; a third-floor York Avenue walk-up ($20 a month for five years, where “Go Set a Watchman” and “To Kill a Mockingbird” were written); and, finally four decades at 433 E. 82nd St. There, amid “piles of her correspondence and practically every pay stub, telephone bill and canceled check ever issued to her, were notebooks and manuscripts” and eight previously unpublished early short stories and eight once-published essays and magazine articles. Those writings, discovered in her New York City apartment after she died in her Alabama hometown nine years ago, have been gathered into the welcome hybrid compendium “The Land of Sweet Forever.”

The short stories take up the first half of the collection, but it’s an unusual selection in the second half, “Essays and Miscellaneous Pieces,” that may reveal as much about the burgeoning author as the fictional juvenilia. In a contribution to “The Artists’ & Writers’ Cookbook” (1961), along with entries by Lillian Hellman, William Styron and Marianne Moore, Lee offered a one-page recipe for crackling bread, complete with the authorial observation, “some historians say by which alone fell the Confederacy.” The opening instruction is, “First, catch your pig.” After that, the ingredients (water-ground white meal, salt, baking powder, egg, milk) and directions might just as well function as an analogy for the process of writing and editing a manuscript.

In her introduction, Lee’s appointed biographer Casey Cep observes that it “takes enormous patience and unerring instincts to refine a scrap of story into something … keen and moving.” Lee admits to being “more of a rewriter than a writer.” In a 1950 letter to one of her sisters, she outlines her typical writing day, working through at least three drafts:

From around noon, work on the first draft. By dinnertime, I’ve usually put my idea down. I then stop for a sandwich or a full meal, depending on whether I’ve got to think more about the story or just finish it. After dinner, I work on a second draft, which involves sometimes tearing the story up and putting it together again in an entirely different way, or just keeping at it until everything is like I want it. Then I retype it on white paper, conforming to rules of manuscript preparation, and run out & mail it. That sounds simple, but sometimes I have worked through the night on one; usually I end up around two or three in the morning.

It’s all rather like testing, perfecting a recipe. If the product was these eight short stories, then “yes, chef” has baked a perfect loaf.

Each story illuminates Lee’s quintessential talents as the “balladeer of small-town culture” and the chronicler of city life. They display narrative skills, an acute ear for dialogue (especially the vernacular), development of fully rounded characters and vivid descriptions of settings. They also introduce subjects and significant themes — family, friendship, moral compass — that reappear in her nonfiction and novels.

Country life imposes restrictions on childhood characters in the first three stories. In “The Water Tank” anxious 12-year-old Abby Henderson, reacting to schoolyard rumors, believes she’s pregnant because she hugged a boy whose pants were unbuttoned. Anti-authoritarian first grader Dody (one of Harper’s nicknames) in “The Binoculars” is chastised for not tracing but writing her name on the blackboard. Early glimpses of “Mockingbird’s” Scout and Atticus Finch appear in the amusing “The Pinking Shears” when third grader “little Jean Louie” (without the later “s”) undermines gender rules when she whacks off a rambunctious minister’s daughter’s lengthy locks.

In New York City, where “sooner or later you meet everybody you ever knew on Fifth Avenue,” urban stress leads to a shocking monologue with an incendiary conclusion about feuding neighbors in “A Roomful of Kibble,” a frivolous kind of parlor game involving movie titles in “The Viewer and the Viewed,” and a humorous parking incident when one friend agrees to help another with lighting for a fashion show in “This Is Show Business?”

The closing title short story, “The Land of Sweet Forever,” adeptly merges locations and themes. It opens with a satirical nod to Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”: “It is a truth generally acknowledged by the citizens of Maycomb, Ala., that a single woman in possession of little else but a good knowledge of English social history must be in want of someone to talk to.” When adult Jean Louise (now with the “s”) leaves the city for home, she has a hilarious church encounter with someone she hadn’t seen since they were children, 21-year-old Talbert Wade, now with the taint of three years as an economics major at Northwestern University and a patina full of Europe, looking “suspiciously as if he had returned from a tour and had picked up a Brooks Brothers suit on the way home.” Together, they are trying to understand why the doxology, always sung “in one way and one way only” suddenly has been “pepped up” with an energetic organ accompaniment. Before it’s resolved there is an amusing anecdote about a cow obituary in verse and a concluding bow to Voltaire’s “Candide” when Jean Louise concedes that “all things happen for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds.” The story is a resounding example of Lee’s scintillating sense of wry humor.

Big themes of love, family and friendship recur in the eight previously published essays and articles (from 1961 to 2006) that appeared in Vogue, McCall’s, an American Film Institute program (about Gregory Peck), a Book of the Month Club newsletter (on the “little boy next door” Truman Capote and “In Cold Blood”), Alabama History and Heritage Festival, and O, the Oprah Magazine (a letter about the joy of learning to read). In addition to the crackling bread recipe that serves as a fingerpost to Lee’s writing process, the standout essay “Christmas to Me” details how she received a generous gift that changed her life, allowing her to become an accomplished, published writer. In 1956, best friends, lyricist-composer Michael Brown and his wife, Joy, surprised her with an envelope on the tree with a note, “You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas.” That meant $100 every month, covering more than five times her rent.

Juvenilia is tricky. It can be evanescent, exposing weaknesses or revealing strengths and talent. “The Land of Sweet Forever” reinforces Lee’s indelible voice, contributing a rewarding addition and resource to the slim canon of her literary legacy.

The recipe for crackling bread:

First, catch your pig. Then ship it to the abattoir nearest you. Bake what they send back. Remove the solid fat and throw the rest away. Fry fat, drain off liquid grease, and combine the residue (called “cracklings”) with:

1 ½ cups water-ground white meal
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 egg
1 cup milk

Bake in very hot oven until brown (about 15 minutes).

Result: one pan crackling bread serving 6. Total cost: about $250, depending upon size of pig. Some historians say by this recipe alone fell the Confederacy.

Papinchak, a former English professor, is a freelance book critic in Los Angeles. He has also contributed interviews to Bon Appetit.

Once upon a time, PBS was virtually the only portal through which British mysteries came to America. Jeremy Brett‘s peerless Sherlock Holmes, two flavors of Miss Marple, David Suchet as Hercule Poirot, Roy Marsden and Martin Shaw successively as Adam Dalgliesh, “Inspector Morse” and its prequel “Endeavour,” Michael Gambon in “Maigret,” Helen Mirren in “Prime Suspect,” “Rumpole of the Bailey,” “Foyle’s War,” the Benedict Cumberbatch contemporized “Sherlock,” Alec Guinness in John LeCarre’s “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy,” “Wallander” with Kenneth Branagh — classics, all. With the rise of cable, as channels looked abroad for content, there was eventually competition for shows, and in the streaming environment, with BritBox and Acorn TV wholly devoted to bringing U.K. content to the U.S., there is even more.

Meanwhile, PBS, which used to run “Mystery!” under its own flag, now has it booked as part of “Masterpiece.” Yet it still nabs some genre gems, often with something conceptually extra, recently including the meta “Magpie Murders” and its sequel, “Moonflower Murders.” Now comes “Patience,” an ingratiating episodic series premiering Sunday, whose title character, played by Ella Maisy Purvis, is autistic (as is Purvis herself).

Adapted by Matt Baker from the French series “Astrid et Raphaëlle,” it stars Purvis as Patience Evans, a civilian clerk working in the seemingly uninhabited and endless archives of the York police department, where, by wheeling some shelves together, she has fashioned herself a little fortress of solitude in which she hides out with some pet mice. In the opening two-part episode, she detects a pattern linking a new and old murder, which brings her into the orbit of detective inspector Bea Metcalf (Laura Fraser), her juniors Jake Hunter (Nathan Welsh) and Will Akbari (Ali Ariaie) and their boss Calvin Baxter, played by Mark Benton, whom BritBox watchers will recognize from “Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators,” if considerably cleaned up and a little lighter.

While Bea sees the merits of bringing Patience into the investigation, Jake rejects her, both as an outsider and as “temperamentally unsuitable for this kind of work,” though — spoiler alert — he will come around. (It’s a friendly show.) “I don’t care if she’s autistic,” says detective Bea, “I just care if she’s right.” (She is — mostly.) For her part, Patience tells Bea, “Your deductive leaps of logic can be haphazard and your notes are cursory,” but she admires her clearance rate, the best in the country.

Whether diagnosed (or diagnosable) or not, the quirky sleuth has been a feature of detective fiction since Holmes first whipped out a magnifying glass. Fans and scholars have retrospectively diagnosed the character as being on the spectrum, and you can easily find essays and discussions as to whether Poirot’s fastidiousness at least borders on OCD. There are arguments pro and con, but some fraction of the neurodivergent community is happy to claim them as their own. In this century, television has given us “Monk,” “Bones,” “Professor T.” (also via PBS, and streaming from the website), the ongoing “Ludwig” and broadcast shows “Will Trent,” “Elsbeth” and “High Potential,” with heroes whose preternatural, if not pathological, focus amounts to a superpower. (Diane Kruger’s Det. Sonya Cross on FX’s “The Bridge,” is often held up as particularly true to life.) Of course, all fictional detectives, whether social, antisocial or introverted, tend to be superhuman to some degree, whatever personal challenges they might face, with a more original, more acute perception than their colleagues. That’s why we love them.

Billy Thompson (Connor Curren) leads an autism support group that Patience (Ella Maisy Purvis) attends.

(Eagle Eye Drama / Toon Aerts)

The opening episodes offer a primer in autism, conducted mainly by Patience’s godfather, retired Det. Douglas Gilmour (Adrian Rawlins), with whom she lives, and Billy Thompson (Connor Curren), who leads an autism support group. (Curren is also autistic.) If it’s a little on the money in terms of dialogue, it’s useful information given that many are aware of autism without knowing much about it — it shows up more on TV because it shows up more in the zeitgeist, and screenwriters are always looking for a new angle. (It’s especially welcome here, given the ignorant remarks of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the current secretary of health, on the causes and experiences of autism.) Still, the neurotypical viewer might wonder how accurately the series portrays neurodivergence, and indeed, within the community, which is nothing like homogeneous, one finds a multiplicity of views. (The series has already shown in the U.K.) That Purvis, now 21 and diagnosed at 17, is herself autistic, suggests that, while she’s playing someone other than herself, the series is to some degree true to her own experience.

Patience carries two umbrellas in case one breaks. (It rains a lot in England, you know.) Building up to approaching Bea, she writes out what she wants to say in a conversational flow chart. She won’t cross a “police line, do not cross” tape unless ushered through and she jumps from an elevator as soon as it becomes too crowded (and exceeds its legal capacity). She’s incapable of small talk (“Are you just being polite or do you really want to know?” she asks Bea, when Bea asks how she is), but does point out that Bea’s socks are mismatched and tells cute forensic specialist Elliot Scott (Tom Lewis) that “Your surname’s a first name and your first name’s a surname,” though, to be picky about it, both names are first names and surnames. Still, it’s the beginning of something.

The mysteries are of the usual unusual sort common to cozy mysteries. (They can be a little sillier than they’re meant to, but it’s not fatal.) Why are apparently happy men killing themselves, on the fourth Friday of the month? One, set in a natural history museum, involves fossils; there’s a locked room mystery (with a mystery writer for a victim), which delights Patience, an Agatha Christie fan, and there’s a corpse that seemingly walks off a table in the morgue. Patience, who cannot resist an unsolved puzzle, is drawn reluctantly out of her shell, and Bea begins to notice things in her young son Alfie (an impressively individual Maxwell Whitelock) that remind her of Patience.

There are times when characters act less than reasonably, or less intelligently than their official position might indicate. If Patience is fast in making calculations and connections, the others can seem slow off the mark, and although everyone is on the case — in cop shows, teamwork typically makes the dream work — she makes the breakthroughs that lead to a solution. Of course, the very logic of the series demands she be invaluable, and in this regard, it’s no different from most mystery series, where one character is out ahead of everyone else in solving the crime.

Not everything makes perfect, or even imperfect, sense. But as always, the plots are there almost as a pretext to spend time with the characters, and the whole cast is good company. But Purvis especially, in spite of Patience’s self-containment, radiates quiet charisma — new-star power. A second season, happily, is already on the cards.

PARIS — As popular as Coco Gauff is, she knew full well that nearly all of the 15,000 fans at Court Philippe-Chatrier would be against her during the French Open semifinals Thursday. That’s because Gauff, an American, was taking on a French opponent — and one who came from nowhere, 361st-ranked Loïs Boisson.

So the No. 2-seeded Gauff turned to a trick that 24-time major champion Novak Djokovic has talked about using: When the partisan crowd was loudly singing Boisson’s first name, Gauff pretended they were chanting “Coco!” Not that it mattered much, truly, because Gauff was by far the superior player throughout a 6-1, 6-2 victory that earned her a second trip to the final at Roland-Garros.

Three years ago, Gauff missed out on a chance to leave with the trophy when Iga Swiatek beat her. This time, Swiatek won’t be around for the championship match on Saturday because her 26-match unbeaten run at the clay-court Grand Slam tournament ended earlier Thursday with a 7-6 (1), 4-6, 6-0 loss to No. 1 Aryna Sabalenka.

Sabalenka vs. Gauff will be the first No. 1 vs. No. 2 final in Paris since 2013, when Serena Williams defeated Maria Sharapova, and just the second in the last 30 years.

Gauff figures to hear at least the occasional “Allez, Coco!” while meeting Sabalenka.

But that wasn’t in the offing against Boisson, who beat No. 3 Jessica Pegula and No. 6 Mirra Andreeva while becoming the first woman since 1989 to get all the way to the semifinals in her first Grand Slam tournament.

Coco Gauff, left, and Lois Boisson shake hands after their French Open semifinal match on Thursday.

(Aurelien Morissard / Associated Press)

It’s been a quarter of a century since a woman representing France won the singles title at Roland-Garros — Mary Pierce in 2000 — so Boisson became front-page news. The flags flapping in the stands, and the raucous applause and yells accompanying each point Boisson won, were hard to miss.

“I was mentally prepared before the match that it was going to be 99% for her. But I just tried to block it out,” Gauff told the spectators during her on-court interview, laughing as she explained her thought process. “And actually, when you guys were chanting her name, I was saying to myself my name. Just to kind of psych myself out. You have to do that.”

Then she added: “I know you guys would usually root for me if I’m not playing a French (foe).”

Gauff never really allowed the atmosphere to become much of a factor, because she took Boisson out of the match from the get-go, grabbing 20 of the first 30 points to lead 4-0.

As much as Boisson’s game is fit for clay, Gauff is rather adept on the slower surface, too. Her speed and reflexes allow her to track down shot after shot, elongating points and making the player across the net come up with the goods over and over.

Boisson finished with just seven winners while Gauff made only 15 unforced errors, fewer than half of Boisson’s total of 33.

When the exchanges grew longer, Gauff got better. She won 34 of 51 points that lasted five strokes or more.

“Congratulations to her on an incredible tournament,” Gauff said, “but today just happened to be my day.”