Patricia S. (patsto) reviewed on + 33 more book reviews
Ever since he published The Firm in 1991, John Grisham has remained the undisputed champ of the
legal thriller. With A Painted House, however, he strikes out in a new direction. As the author
is quick to note, this novel includes "not a single lawyer, dead or alive," and readers will
search in vain for the kind of lowlife machinations that have been his stock-in-trade. Instead,
Grisham has delivered a quieter, more contemplative story, set in rural Arkansas in 1952. It's
harvest time on the Chandler farm, and the family has hired a crew of migrant Mexicans and "hill
people" to pick 80 acres of cotton. A certain camaraderie pervades this bucolic dream team. But
it's backbreaking work, particularly for the 7-year-old narrator, Luke: "I would pick cotton,
tearing the fluffy bolls from the stalks at a steady pace, stuffing them into the heavy sack,
afraid to look down the row and be reminded of how endless it was, afraid to slow down because
someone would notice."
What's more, tensions begin to simmer between the Mexicans and the hill people, one of whom has
a penchant for bare-knuckles brawling. This leads to a brutal murder, which young Luke has the
bad luck to witness. At this point--with secrets, lies, and at least one knife fight in the
offing--the plot begins to take on that familiar, Grisham-style momentum. Still, such matters
ultimately take a back seat in A Painted House to the author's evocation of time and place. This
is, after all, the scene of his boyhood, and Grisham waxes nostalgic without ever succumbing to
deep-fried sentimentality. Meanwhile, his account of Luke's Baptist upbringing occasions some
sly (and telling) humor:
I'd been taught in Sunday school from the day I could walk that lying would send you
straight to hell. No detours. No second chances. Straight into the fiery pit, where Satan was
waiting with the likes of Hitler and Judas Iscariot and General Grant. Thou shalt not bear false
witness, which, of course, didn't sound exactly like a strict prohibition against lying, but
that was the way the Baptists interpreted it.
Whether Grisham will continue along these lines, or revert to the judicial shark tank for his
next book, is anybody's guess. But A Painted House suggests that he's perfectly capable of
telling an involving story with nary a subpoena in sight.
legal thriller. With A Painted House, however, he strikes out in a new direction. As the author
is quick to note, this novel includes "not a single lawyer, dead or alive," and readers will
search in vain for the kind of lowlife machinations that have been his stock-in-trade. Instead,
Grisham has delivered a quieter, more contemplative story, set in rural Arkansas in 1952. It's
harvest time on the Chandler farm, and the family has hired a crew of migrant Mexicans and "hill
people" to pick 80 acres of cotton. A certain camaraderie pervades this bucolic dream team. But
it's backbreaking work, particularly for the 7-year-old narrator, Luke: "I would pick cotton,
tearing the fluffy bolls from the stalks at a steady pace, stuffing them into the heavy sack,
afraid to look down the row and be reminded of how endless it was, afraid to slow down because
someone would notice."
What's more, tensions begin to simmer between the Mexicans and the hill people, one of whom has
a penchant for bare-knuckles brawling. This leads to a brutal murder, which young Luke has the
bad luck to witness. At this point--with secrets, lies, and at least one knife fight in the
offing--the plot begins to take on that familiar, Grisham-style momentum. Still, such matters
ultimately take a back seat in A Painted House to the author's evocation of time and place. This
is, after all, the scene of his boyhood, and Grisham waxes nostalgic without ever succumbing to
deep-fried sentimentality. Meanwhile, his account of Luke's Baptist upbringing occasions some
sly (and telling) humor:
I'd been taught in Sunday school from the day I could walk that lying would send you
straight to hell. No detours. No second chances. Straight into the fiery pit, where Satan was
waiting with the likes of Hitler and Judas Iscariot and General Grant. Thou shalt not bear false
witness, which, of course, didn't sound exactly like a strict prohibition against lying, but
that was the way the Baptists interpreted it.
Whether Grisham will continue along these lines, or revert to the judicial shark tank for his
next book, is anybody's guess. But A Painted House suggests that he's perfectly capable of
telling an involving story with nary a subpoena in sight.
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