by John Grisham
I was raised on short stories. I love short stories. Just not these. Never mind that, here and there, the style is definitely Hemingway-esque (think Cannery Row) and that some of the narration might well be worthy of Dr. Greg House, there are still those nagging non-plots that can’t help but bring to mind the old Good Housekeeping promise: "A short story, complete on these two pages." If it can be reasonably done on two, you would think that the same results over 50-some pages was not an unreasonable expectation. Unfortunately, Grisham apparently does, and so does his publisher, who printed this non-novel.
I am an admirer of John Grisham’s but there are just some plots that cannot be overcome regardless of how compelling or appealing the writer’s style is. There are seven shorts in this collection but after reading the first two, my optimism faded to cautious but still hopeful anticipation, and with the third story even that began to wane.
I get the feeling that Grisham is relaxing in his stately lakeside retreat at Whatsyer Pointe, lounging in his hammock with a tall tropical drink, secure in the knowledge that all over the world, Grisham fans who’ve just waded through Ford County are thinking privately to themselves, "Is it me?" Sadly, although I never have difficulty recalling the plot of what I read, I had to skim through each of these stories a second time in order to write this review, and a second much abbreviated reading was more of a chore than the first.
The first story, "Blood Drive", details the adventures of three friends who undertake an overnight road trip to represent the more squeamish members of their community, the purpose to donate blood in the name of a friend who’s been hospitalized due to an industrial accident. Unfortunately, they steel themselves for the ordeal by consuming copious quantities of beer for almost the entire trip (transfusion blood with a head on it is frowned upon in most circles), with a not-brief-enough pit stop at a local strip joint. The plot thickens when, upon arrival at their destination, they realize they don’t know which of a half dozen hospitals their needy friend is in.
The second story is a cheery little number dealing with a wheelchair-bound mother and two of her cretinous, antisocial sons. They borrow an upholsterer acquaintance’s delivery truck in order to drive to the prison and bring back the body of the third son, who is to be executed for his crimes. Strike two.
In the third story, Grisham treats the title, "Fish Files", as though it were a standard legal term, easily identifiable by anyone laboring in the legal field. Although veteran members of the legal community, not only have neither I nor my attorney husband ever heard of it, but after reading the story I still don’t know what it means. About the only thing about this story that I can relate to fish is its resemblance to a flounder. But if you’re looking for confirmation that attorneys are scum, this story is right up your alley.
It’s like being the only other occupant in an elevator with a disagreeable coworker. You press the red Stop button and with the warning bell shrieking in your ear you bravely turn to your fellow traveler and demand something better of your relationship before going on. Thankfully you get it, but not until more than halfway through the collection.
"Quiet Haven", about a caregiver in a series of nursing homes, won’t make you feel a whole lot better about the human race in general, and neither will "Casino" although it does have a somewhat interesting plot twist. The literary tide begins to turn with "Michael’s Room", which is greatly reminiscent of several successful movies, in particular "The Verdict", which featured Paul Newman as a redeemed attorney. It should be standardized reading for anybody involved in the insurance industry dealing either with injuries or doctors.
But if there is redemption in Ford County, in my opinion it lies in "Funny Boy", the seventh and final story. Adrian Keane, the youngest of the town’s most well-to-do family, is coming home from San Francisco to die. His staunch southern family finds his homosexuality an embarrassment and the staunch but unenlightened community residents find his disease a threat.
But the family has a solution. The elderly longtime resident of a family-owned rental property is offered the gift of that property, which she loves, free and clear, provided she will take in the ailing son and care for him until he succumbs. Predictably, Miss Emporia accepts their proposition. After all, what’s more apple-pie American than a little old-fashioned southern extortion?
A rich white boy living with a black woman in Lowtown is a curiosity for the Lowtown residents, who initially have no idea why he is there and manifest their own brand of prejudice, essentially the only "human" trait they share with their white counterparts.
The journey the two unlikely companions make together, while as predictable as its resolution, is no less touching or compelling. In the end, the Keane family finds their solution in sweeping their "shame" under somebody else’s rug; young Adrian finds both acceptance and peace; Miss Emporia realizes her dream of owning the small pink, gingerbread house; and the reader, prepared for yet another dismal portrayal of human behavior if not of the human spirit, has reason to regain its optimism.
I don’t know as I’d ever be quite comfortable among the residents of Ford County, Mississippi, and I’m not entirely sure it’d be worth the trip to find out; but if sorely pressed for nurturing without smothering, understanding without judgment, and a healthy dose of unconditional acceptance I’d look for it from Miss Emporia in a little pink house in Ford County.
Reviewed by Alana Carson
I am an admirer of John Grisham’s but there are just some plots that cannot be overcome regardless of how compelling or appealing the writer’s style is. There are seven shorts in this collection but after reading the first two, my optimism faded to cautious but still hopeful anticipation, and with the third story even that began to wane.
I get the feeling that Grisham is relaxing in his stately lakeside retreat at Whatsyer Pointe, lounging in his hammock with a tall tropical drink, secure in the knowledge that all over the world, Grisham fans who’ve just waded through Ford County are thinking privately to themselves, "Is it me?" Sadly, although I never have difficulty recalling the plot of what I read, I had to skim through each of these stories a second time in order to write this review, and a second much abbreviated reading was more of a chore than the first.
The first story, "Blood Drive", details the adventures of three friends who undertake an overnight road trip to represent the more squeamish members of their community, the purpose to donate blood in the name of a friend who’s been hospitalized due to an industrial accident. Unfortunately, they steel themselves for the ordeal by consuming copious quantities of beer for almost the entire trip (transfusion blood with a head on it is frowned upon in most circles), with a not-brief-enough pit stop at a local strip joint. The plot thickens when, upon arrival at their destination, they realize they don’t know which of a half dozen hospitals their needy friend is in.
The second story is a cheery little number dealing with a wheelchair-bound mother and two of her cretinous, antisocial sons. They borrow an upholsterer acquaintance’s delivery truck in order to drive to the prison and bring back the body of the third son, who is to be executed for his crimes. Strike two.
In the third story, Grisham treats the title, "Fish Files", as though it were a standard legal term, easily identifiable by anyone laboring in the legal field. Although veteran members of the legal community, not only have neither I nor my attorney husband ever heard of it, but after reading the story I still don’t know what it means. About the only thing about this story that I can relate to fish is its resemblance to a flounder. But if you’re looking for confirmation that attorneys are scum, this story is right up your alley.
It’s like being the only other occupant in an elevator with a disagreeable coworker. You press the red Stop button and with the warning bell shrieking in your ear you bravely turn to your fellow traveler and demand something better of your relationship before going on. Thankfully you get it, but not until more than halfway through the collection.
"Quiet Haven", about a caregiver in a series of nursing homes, won’t make you feel a whole lot better about the human race in general, and neither will "Casino" although it does have a somewhat interesting plot twist. The literary tide begins to turn with "Michael’s Room", which is greatly reminiscent of several successful movies, in particular "The Verdict", which featured Paul Newman as a redeemed attorney. It should be standardized reading for anybody involved in the insurance industry dealing either with injuries or doctors.
But if there is redemption in Ford County, in my opinion it lies in "Funny Boy", the seventh and final story. Adrian Keane, the youngest of the town’s most well-to-do family, is coming home from San Francisco to die. His staunch southern family finds his homosexuality an embarrassment and the staunch but unenlightened community residents find his disease a threat.
But the family has a solution. The elderly longtime resident of a family-owned rental property is offered the gift of that property, which she loves, free and clear, provided she will take in the ailing son and care for him until he succumbs. Predictably, Miss Emporia accepts their proposition. After all, what’s more apple-pie American than a little old-fashioned southern extortion?
A rich white boy living with a black woman in Lowtown is a curiosity for the Lowtown residents, who initially have no idea why he is there and manifest their own brand of prejudice, essentially the only "human" trait they share with their white counterparts.
The journey the two unlikely companions make together, while as predictable as its resolution, is no less touching or compelling. In the end, the Keane family finds their solution in sweeping their "shame" under somebody else’s rug; young Adrian finds both acceptance and peace; Miss Emporia realizes her dream of owning the small pink, gingerbread house; and the reader, prepared for yet another dismal portrayal of human behavior if not of the human spirit, has reason to regain its optimism.
I don’t know as I’d ever be quite comfortable among the residents of Ford County, Mississippi, and I’m not entirely sure it’d be worth the trip to find out; but if sorely pressed for nurturing without smothering, understanding without judgment, and a healthy dose of unconditional acceptance I’d look for it from Miss Emporia in a little pink house in Ford County.
Reviewed by Alana Carson
