'The Help' Speak Up. What Will Kathryn Stockett Say?

When I met Kathryn Stockett at a luncheon discussion of her wildly popular book, "The Help," she was quite nice, though a bit defensive about all the fuss surrounding her tale of white women in Mississippi and the black women who served them.

It may have escaped the notice of many of her hundreds of fans that most of the non-white faces at that luncheon were indeed, the help, waiters and others who silently set and cleared the tables. When I opened my mouth to ask if an equal relationship can ever exist between maid and employer when the power differential is so great, Stockett expressed her love for the real-life maid and friend she said inspired her. She cherished Demetrie, Stockett said, and she believed Demetrie – who died when Stockett was 16 -- truly loved her, "because she said she did."

Right now, though, the feeling from 60-year-old Ablene Cooper, who works for Stockett's brother and sister-in-law and has babysat Stockett's daughter, is not so warm and trusting. In a tale of life imitating art imitating life that is no less complicated than the relationship between white families and the black women who care for them, Cooper is suing Stockett. The suit says Aibileen Clark, a character in the book, is too similar in name and story for it to be a coincidence.

Aibileen and another black maid narrate "The Help," along with a young white woman who decides to write a book about maids' jobs with Jackson's white families in the 1960s.

Cooper's lawsuit says the author was "asked not to use the name and likeness of Ablene," according to a New York Times report. A statement by the book's publisher said, "This is a beautifully written work of fiction and we don't think there is any basis to the legal claims."

It was easy at that luncheon a year ago to cringe when Stockett explained that Demetrie "was passed on" to her family by a relative, a tradition of the place and the time -- the 1960s. But you never doubted her respect and gratitude. Though Stockett isn't talking about the lawsuit, you have to wonder what she's feeling now that one of the help has decided to raise her own voice.

I have to admit I couldn't get too far into the book, put off by the exaggerated dialect and Stockett's filter. She is, of course, entitled as a writer to imagine a cast of characters that includes every gender, age, region and race. But as a reader, I can question the authenticity of the voices. I wondered if a different version of the book, from the points of view of "the help," would be met with such approval and acclaim – as well as that all-important movie deal.

Several of the women spoke lovingly, even tearfully, of their Demetries. One woman confessed with honesty and regret that it took eight long years and a reading of "The Help" before she tracked down the woman she had vowed never to forget, the woman to whom she finally said, "I could not have made it without you." I wanted to talk with all the unseen partners absent from the audience that day.

Cooper is asking for $75,000, and, it seems to me, the right to take charge of her own image. Legally, this would seem a tough case to win. Writers use bits and pieces of life in their work. Often fiction at its most successful is firmly rooted in reality. That's why many of the women clutching copies of "The Help" at the luncheon had similar stories to tell. There is no doubt Stockett meant to honor the role of Demetrie in her life, even if there are quibbles about the result. Ablene Cooper has been immortalized in a book, after all, in a positive portrayal.

I wonder, though, if Stockett gets it, that women who lived their lives in the background even while they held a family together might be upset when they are reminded of their powerlessness.

We'll watch as a family drama is being played out publically, and the principals will have to write the ending. Is Cooper entitled to a cut of the profits, a movie credit or nothing at all? I don't know.

It all might be worth it, though, if she gets some of her power back.

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