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Volume 26, Number 4 (2000) reprinted by permission Memphis Law Review Advocacy in Literature: Storytelling, Judicial Opinions, and The Rainmaker JEFFREY L. HARRISON*, SARAH E. WILSON**
the same--to tell a story by using words as tools to produce a desired reaction. Take, for example, this well-known passage by Judge Cardozo in Wood v. Lucy, Lady Duff-Gordon: The defendant styles herself a "creator of fashion". Her favor helps a sale. Manufacturers of dresses, millinery, and like articles are glad to pay for a certificate of her approval. The things which she designs, fabrics, parasols, and what not, have a new value in the public mind when issued in her name. She employed the plaintiff to help her to turn this vogue into money.3 As Karl Llewellyn points out, the passage is seductive in the way in which it guides you to believe that the outcome of the case was the only natural possibility.4 And, from what we know from other sources about Lucy, Lady Duff-Gordon, she may have been a less than fully sympathetic person.5 But what goes on here is very subtle. Do we begin to turn against the defendant because her designs are used for "what not," a dismissive generalization? Or, is it because she desires to turn "vogue" (temporary and superficial) into "money" (always suspect)? In effect, the allure of Cardozo's argument, and others written as effectively, lies more in nuance than in blatant appeals. In another casebook favorite, Feinberg v. Pfeiffer Co.,6 we are told at the outset that "Plaintiff began working for the defendant, a manufacturer of pharmaceuticals, in 1910, when she was but 17 years of age."7 What is the relevance of "years of age" as opposed to the length of service, assuming that it was even relevant?8 Does it matter that the employer was a "manufacturer" or that it manufactured pharmaceuticals? How about just "employer"? Finally, why in this context is "17 years of age" modified by the adjective "but"? A more modern example is Rogers v. Koons9 in which Art Rogers, a commercial photographer, claimed that Jeff Koons, a sculptor, had committed a copyright violation by having a large sculpture done of Rogers' photograph, "String of Puppies."10 Well before any substantive law is discussed, it becomes clear that the court will find a violation. Rogers' process of taking the photograph is described in some detail as are his credentials, but Rogers escapes more general and personal commentary.11 Koons, on the other hand, is described as a thirty-seven year-old artist who has been a seller of mutual funds and a commodities broker.12 The court describes one of his best- known works as a stainless steel casting of an inflatable rabbit holding a carrot13 and quotes a New York Times art critic as saying that "Koons is pushing the relationship between art and money so far that everyone involved comes out looking slightly absurd."14 One is left wondering whether the court was more concerned with Koons' "art" and his life style15 than with the actual copyright issue. It is easy to imagine the decision going the other way, with Rogers' photograph described as a "snapshot" and Koons as the artistic innovator.16 Writing a novel involves advocacy no less than the writing of an effective legal brief or legal opinion. The novelist must present his or her characters to the reader as a lawyer presents a case to a jury or a judge writes an opinion. By "the advocacy of characterization" we mean the process of creating a character that is credible and who acts and reacts to events so as to not cause dissonance in the reader.17 The most important aspect of this "internal integrity" is the resolution of the character: does the character behave in a way that seems "right," given what has gone before? Like the outcome of a legal opinion, the resolution of the character must not be jolting; the outcome must flow from the characterization. Our purpose here is to identify and analyze instances of this type of advocacy in John Grisham's The Rainmaker.18 Approaches to characterization can be arranged along a continuum. At one end is the reliance on stereotypes. This is relatively easy, in that it relies on the appeal to common impressions or emotions. A good example is the use of the word "mother" in virtually any context. The mere description of someone as a "mother" is a blatant appeal to our emotions as is, say, "the flag," "war hero," and even "apple pie"--always full of small town goodness and innocence. Thus, in Matter of Baby M19 subtlety and nuance are cast aside in favor of the repeated use of the words "mother" and "money" and "baby" in conjunction.20 So we have "the sale of a mother's right to her child,"21 and that the case involves "taking advantage of a woman's circumstances . . . in order to take away her child."22 Here the writer is on safe ground because there can be no argument that mothers must be permitted to keep babies, and "money" is a virtually sacrilegious concept when used in conjunction with the other two. Similarly, two of the characters in The Rainmaker--Dot and Miss Birdie--are mothers and instantly become imbued with some level of goodness.23 Because the effective use of stereotypes requires commonly held beliefs, their use tends to tell us about popular culture.24 This is true at two levels. First, we can observe what those common perceptions are.25 Second, the avoidance of certain types of stereotypes may tell us what is no longer regarded as acceptable.26 For example, in The Rainmaker, the chief villain is older, wealthy, and an attorney. These characterizations alone mean the reader feels little discomfort by the time he (Drummond) is described, for example, as a "thug."27 Add his representation of an insurance company, and he descends to a virtually satanic quality. It goes without saying that insurance companies are bad, likely to be run by crooks. Similarly, the villain in the Cliff and Kelly saga28 is a Southern former high school sports hero, readily acceptable as a redneck and wife batterer. The trick with these stock characters is for the story-teller to make sure that the match between the stereotype and popular culture is "correct." Although the effective use of stereotypes as a form of advocacy tells us a great deal about popular culture, here we take a different tack. We are interested in the advocacy of the characters who are less stereotypical or in that facet of their personalities that do not fit a stereotype. In these instances, the author builds a character by more subtle references that seemingly allow us to form our own impressions. In other words, the author cannot depend on our perceptions of the characters as being informed by popular culture. These characters are the ones that the reader gets to know--and perhaps relates to subliminally--through words, whether in descriptions of the characters or in the characters' actions and reactions.29 To see the proposition again in the context of Feinberg v. Pfeiffer Co.,30 compare the difference between the description in the text of the case, "Plaintiff began working for the defendant, a manufacturer of pharmaceuticals, in 1910, when she was but 17 years of age,"31 with "Plaintiff was an innocent child of 17 when she went to work for the defendant, a large, very profitable corporation." The aim in both instances is the same, but we tend to be more comfortable when drawing our own conclusions. The author attempts to remain invisible so as to create a version of positivism32 in which the truth about the characters reveals itself.33 Of course, there is not a dichotomy of words or characters, either nuanced or heavy-handed: there is a continuum. Moreover, each character has sub-components, some of which are stereotypical and others subtle. Finally, there are laws about the use of these forms of character development and the words used. The effort to invoke a stereotype when none exists creates dissonance in the reader and reveals the author as someone with an agenda--forcing a story instead of telling us a real one. On the other hand, subtlety has its own set of risks and sanctions; characters that are ill-defined and inconsistent in their actions are simply not convincing. In standard fiction as well as judicial opinion writing these are severe sanctions.34 Here we have chosen three areas of Mr. Grisham's advocacy: Miss Birdie, Deck Shifflet, and Dot Black. We believe, in different degrees, these are among the less stereotypical and well-developed characters in the novel. Miss Birdie and Deck are somewhat unusual and thus must be advocated from whole cloth. Dot Black is a familiar character; the trick is to have us relate to her sympathetically rather than with condescension. Our intent is to identify specific words and passages of non-stereotypical advocacy. Before looking more closely at these characters, an important disclaimer is due. We cannot assess how effective Mr. Grisham is at this more difficult form of advocacy. Indeed, we disagree on this matter in many instances. Instead, we are searching for and analyzing the methodology. In each instance, we will identify the characteristics that have been advocated and suggest the critical point of the "argument." Miss Birdie is a "busy," manipulative, passive-aggressive person whose behavior is characteristic of a certain type of older Southern woman. A controlling personality masks her vulnerability.The character of Miss Birdie has to prepare us for the revelation that she is willing to use a claimed twenty million dollar estate as a means of attracting the attention of others. Whether she believes the money exists is a mystery, but her relatively modest lifestyle suggests that she must know the money is only her fantasy and that of others. As with all of the characters we examine, Mr. Grisham's advocacy begins with a name:36 Miss Birdie37 (Not Ms. anything and not Miss von Ubberall). The "Miss" speaks of old- fashioned values, and the "Birdie" evokes images of vulnerability coupled with williness. Her full name is Colleen Janiece Barrow Birdsong--the fullness of which suggests formality, perhaps would-be aristocracy. Mr. Grisham introduces her as "spry," a word that has a temporary feel to it, as opposed to "energetic" or "active." She is described as fluttering about and "chirping at this and that." At the outset of the book, Miss Birdie appears to be resourceful and fueled by false bravado. The superficiality of this initial image begins to be revealed by descriptions of her possessions (a dusty ten-year-old Cadillac, a neglected too-large house in an older neighborhood), her "gray and yellow teeth,"38 her desire to barter with Rudy for yard work, and her personal relationships. Her children and grandchildren all live far away and communicate only rarely, and she apparently has no friends. She is, above all, very lonely and eager for companionship. She latches onto Rudy by a combination of begging (watch sitcoms with poor-me, have instant coffee with poor-me, go to church with poor-me) and waving around her will while refusing to reveal very much about it. She tells Rudy the sealed court file contains "a bunch of trash."39 Miss Birdie's loneliness is reinforced when Rudy walks through the whole house--upstairs and downstairs--after she leaves with her relatives, opening doors to empty rooms. If there is one bit of phrasing that captures and promotes the image of Miss Birdie as a Southerner who has learned to get her way by being non-committal and avoiding offending others at all costs, it is the use of "how nice." Miss Birdie says this more than once the first time Rudy visits her; whereas, she would not say it at Cypress Gardens, where she is more upbeat. Near the end of the book, Rudy imagines Miss Birdie sitting between her sons in a lawyer's office repeating "how nice." "How nice," especially if said with a Southern accent, is a polite, inoffensive, and empty reply. Compare it to "that's nice" or "that is nice." The directness of these is missing in "how nice." The caution and passivity can be understood simply by how it feels to say the words "how" and "nice." "How" starts in one's throat and "nice" a little further toward the roof of the mouth. "That" or "that's" requires a vocal aggressiveness with a pushing of one's tongue against one's teeth. This may seem inconsistent with her assertion to Rudy that her second husband left her "a helluva lot more"40 money than her first, but it is necessary to expose a sharper side of Miss Birdie to make the events that follow fit the character. This hardness is also evident in her efforts to alternately plead with and order Rudy to do the yard work she has planned for him, which, in itself, is another version of the same theme since it is far more work than Rudy and the reader thought he had bargained for. Finally, she opens Rudy's mail--the results of the bar exam--for which she has to sign. In the face of his anger, she is quick with her reply: "I'm sorry. I thought you'd want me to."41 This response works at two levels. First, the use of "you'd" as opposed to the more formal "you would" cuts against the image of Southern aristocracy that Miss Birdie seems to want to display at times. More important is the way we see Miss Birdie in the role of victim. In one sentence she manages to turn Rudy's understandable response to a patently aggressive act into something he has done wrong. And, in a final move, she recovers to "But isn't it exciting?"42 We see this again when she is visiting her family in Florida and, during a surreptitious call, pleads into the phone, "they're being mean to me."43 (She wants Rudy to rescue her.) It is this juxtaposition of "how nice" and "helluva" in a single person that is symbolic of Miss Birdie. The public persona "chirps" and "flutters," but in a more private context it can be all business. It is convincing that this is the way an elderly woman in the South is likely to behave. If it were all "chirps" and "flutters," she would be a target of all sorts of advantage-takers. On the other hand, too much hardness is still unacceptable in the context in which she lives. Has Mr. Grisham built a character that is believable--someone who would rely on the greed of others, including Rudy, to pull off her own scam with her story of twenty million dollars in order to get the attention she wants? Like a "successful" legal opinion, the outcome here is "in character" and leaves us, if not happy, at least understanding how we got there. B. Deck Shifflet Deck Shifflet has almost no natural attributes going for him--intelligence or appearance--but makes it through life on the basis of guile, chutzpah, and a series of symbiotic relationships.In order for the author to achieve a successful resolution of the character of Deck, Mr. Grisham must characterize him in such a way that he seems capable at the conclusion of the book of transporting four million dollars of illegally obtained cash from Memphis to Miami. It is probably equally important that the reader is somehow comfortable defining that act as justifiable. Deck's character begins with the name. Is it pronounced "Deck," as in a deck of cards or "hit the deck"? Or is it "Deek," with a long e? In either case, in combination with "Shifflet," there can be little doubt that this character is always moving. Even uttering the name results in some oral apprehension--a slip of the tongue here or there and we have Shifty or the dreaded Shitlette. In his first scene, we see him "sitting on the edge of his chair as if he might need to bolt at any moment."44 We don't know if this is because he's actually involved in illegal dealings or just paranoid. Later, we wonder whether he is going to do something that will jeopardize the case (by resuming contact with Bruiser) or just pop his cork (perhaps "deck" someone). At one point, Rudy glares at Deck for revealing too much, and Deck is "looking away, jerking around, waiting for strangers to attack."45 Deck works on instinct, and his judgment is questionable at times. The first thing we learn about Deck is that he has worked for an insurance company. He soon develops into the protagonist's primary ally in his effort against an insurance company. In a moral sense, this places him somewhere between the principle victim, Dot Black, and the chief villain, Leo Drummond. But this is not some kind of moral middle ground. Instead, it is a moral no-man's land, and Deck occupies this space not only in his personal morals (he knows the ins and outs of ambulance chasing and loves a good wreck) but in his association with the bar (he has attended law school but failed the bar examination six times) and the law (he operates on the border of what is legal and illegal and passes back and forth). A perfect illustration of this is the plot he and Rudy carry out against Drummond with the jury pool. It would be highly illegal, as well as immoral, if they were not just acting, but the other side does not know it is not real. The most effective aspect of Deck's characterization is that it is sustained throughout the book. The words here take on the sense of someone on the edge. For example, Deck is "terribly thrilled"46 at the prospect of having his own office and keeping half the legal fees without being licensed. He goes "berserk"47 over the plot to deceive the phone-tapping Drummond. Still later, Rudy tells us that "Deck loves a challenge, especially when it involves the gathering of dirt through hushed phone conversations with unnamed moles."48 And, in another instance he is pictured as "twitching and jerking around."49 These words and phrases--terribly thrilled, berserk, unnamed moles, twitching and jerking--all suggest something quite apart from a nine-to-five, button-down person. The ease with which he faces embarrassment when making his hospital rounds and the fact that he has presented himself as a lawyer in court make it clear that Deck is a risk-taker. His gambling problem, which we discover near the end of the book, fits the mold that Mr. Grisham has cast.50 In all areas, Deck seems to have survival instincts; he gets along on wits alone since he is not physically imposing, physically attractive, or seemingly very bright. He knows when to abandon a lost cause and when to pick a new one. He seems to understand in this series of symbiotic relationships--first with Bruiser, then with Rudy, then back with Bruiser--that he has to have something to offer. He offers a combination of guile and chutzpah. After two days in Atlanta, he has solved the question of Miss Birdie's fortune. He can use the hard sell to sign up a client in a hospital bed. The sense of personal dignity most people would feel they are putting on the line when risking an openly dismissive response or expression of outrage at an aggressive act is absent with Deck. The resolution of Deck comes with his probable decision to transport the illegally skimmed four million dollars from Memphis to Miami. For this to be convincing, Mr. Grisham has to prepare us in two ways. First, are we surprised when Deck seems to opt to transport the ill-gotten money? We know by now that Deck is a gambler and his conversation with Rudy about the caper suggests that it is just another of many calculated risks in Deck's life. On the other hand, are we disappointed? This is the more important question; it is one thing for Mr. Grisham to prepare the reader for Deck's patently illegal and risky act, but it is another to permit us to feel it is somehow excusable, if not "right" in a moral sense. In a presentation not unlike that used to support a claim of self-defense, Mr. Grisham develops Deck as a hard luck person who is a victim of genetic and societal whims. He is bald, scarred, small, high-voiced, divorced, spent five years struggling through an unnamed law school, has had six bar exam failures, and is gambling-addicted. He seems utterly unsuited for anything except what Mr. Grisham uses him for--a kind of seam between a number of opposing currents. The help he has given to Rudy, and indirectly to Dot, means we want him to do no worse than those who have been more fortunate, and the promise of ten percent of four million skimmed dollars seems like a justifiable consequence of his position. Moreover, Deck is not exactly amoral. In the book, Mr. Grisham has schooled us on the morality of the practice of law. What we find out is that sometimes the ends do justify the means and that lawyering is sometimes like football--it's not wrong unless you are caught.51 Because of Mr. Grisham's preparation, we understand that Deck has a set of rules that are different. In fact, it is Deck's set of rules that helps Rudy overcome the superior assets and experience of Drummond. Indeed, the scheme in which Deck is about to engage at the end of the book is minor compared to what Great Benefit Insurance Company has done. The careful shaping of Deck's character and the sustained reinforcement make us ready to accept his actions without disapproval. By weaving the morality within which Deck lives, Mr. Grisham makes us hope that Deck is successful rather than worry about any moral implication of the legality of his action. Dot is a Southern working class woman who experiences little joy. She is angry, distrustful of the "establishment," prideful, and has nothing to lose. She is capable of rebellion.Mr. Grisham must prepare us for the outcome that has Dot--poor, unsophisticated, cynical--passing on a great deal of money although it could greatly improve her life: buy a bigger house; get help for Buddy;52 go somewhere. We must believe that this is both her personal rebellion and a stand she takes for common people generally. It is based more on principle than on personal happiness. Like Deck, she is willing to take a risk, and she has little to lose. In Deck's case, he literally has little to lose. In Dot's case, she has little to lose because she does not engage in a cost-benefit analysis in which material well-being is weighed against her moral outrage. It is this level of moral outrage in a person with great material needs that Mr. Grisham must advocate. More simply, is it credible that a person who has prevailed in a multi-million dollar lawsuit would beam in delight upon hearing that there will not be any recovery but that she has instead scored a moral victory? Her name reveals her position in society, her weak and powerless side: "Dot Black," or is it "Black Dot?" She is but a speck or, more appropriately, the tiniest piece of data in Great Benefit's computers. Her smallness is perpetuated throughout by Mr. Grisham's imagery of her as "a quiet presence," "always in the background," "little . . . woman in Memphis, Tennessee," "in the dimness," and sitting "alone at our long table," "in an empty courtroom," or crying "quiet" tears. We hear the mantra in a variety of ways: quiet, alone, empty, thin, little. She is the real antithesis of Drummond; she is the true agent of the down- trodden, and he is the hired gun for the privileged. Much more than Rudy, Mr. Grisham's alter-ego, it is Dot who is the driving force behind the David and Goliath plot. Dot's character is in a sense stereotypical because the things with which Mr. Grisham surrounds her are those we associate with "white trash": broken car in the yard; high weeds; two sons, the more successful of whom has stayed far away, out of shame, one presumes. Her real name is Marvarine--perhaps the Southern female counterpart of Wayne or Dwayne or even Wayland. Her accent and way of speaking fits: "marrow" is "mare."53 She tells Rudy that Donny Ray54 "hasn't eaten a bite today,"55 as opposed to "hasn't eaten anything today." And, in anticipation of guests, "Dot is brewing coffee and washing walls."56 By including information that seems inconsequential, Mr. Grisham tells us about her pride and knowledge of what "proper" people do. When we first meet Dot, she is "holding a bulky wad of papers secured by rubber bands," and she "mumbles" and does not take Rudy's hand when offered.57 Compare that image with a Dot who is smartly dressed and has her "documentation in a manila folder," and who walks with proper posture, extends her hand, and says, smiling, "Hi, I'm Dot Black." Better yet, compare her initial presentation by Mr. Grisham with the presentation of Drummond--"distinguished," "navy suit," "dramatically rising"58 --and the context--a courtroom surrounded by men with "the same appearance and dress--short hair, dark suits, white shirts, striped ties, stern faces, contemptible smirks."59 Having created this image of powerlessness, Mr. Grisham must blend it with enough energy and moral outrage to "justify" the outcome. He supplies Dot with an "edge." She is an unrepentant smoker and very stubborn. She has submitted her claim to Great Benefit eight times when she meets Rudy. (By giving us this information, along with her name, very early in the book, Mr. Grisham lays out the foundation of this character.) She has rugged skin from hard work and a husky voice that seems to go with years of smoking. Moreover, her cynicism about Rudy, lawyers in general, and life is the result of first-hand experience. Women with this edge are often viewed as off-putting in the sense that they can be aggressive, but they do not know the codes of civil conduct that allow them to mask this aggressiveness. Thus, one of Dot's first statements upon meeting Rudy is to call the officials at Great Benefit "sumbitches"60 and the seller of the policy "some little goofy twerp,"61 and later, "Sumbitch gonna ask me about my sex life?"62 and "Nosy Bastard."63 She rolls her eyes at Rudy's naivete. She does not have at her disposal modern "Teflon"64 words like "inappropriate" or "insensitive"65 that are designed to portray oneself as reasonable and the subject of the words unthinking. Mr. Grisham does not let Dot become a stereotypical victim, nor is she, unlike Miss Birdie, willing to play the part of a victim. The difference between Dot's type of working class woman66 and another type is that her consciousness has been raised. She has developed a sense of "relative deprivation"67 that allows her to feel the sting of injustice and to rebel. What are the signals and symbols that pull us toward Dot's case and, more specifically, make us comfortable with a level of moral development in a character that, in many respects, could be troubling? Some are easy to the point of almost committing the overuse of stereotypes: she is a mother; the enemy is an insurance company that may be responsible for the death of her child. Some are more subtle: Dot and her cause are so much more appealing, more human, because of the impersonal military-like presences of Drummond and his synchronized briefcase-snapping associates. More critical is her reaction to the testimony of the fired Great Benefit employee that claims were always paid when lawyers were hired. This testimony is met with Dot's "quiet" tears. This is a vivid moment, because it tells us once again that this admission, though enormously important to the legal action, is devastating news to Dot as a mother. But if there is a single point where words are used carefully to prepare us for the outcome, it comes early on when Dot explains, in her own words: "They think we're just simple, ignorant trash . . . . I worked in a blue jean factory for thirty years, joined the union, you know . . . . Big corporation running roughshod over little people."68 "We," "the union," and "the little people," sounding of populism and "collective consciousness,"69 tell us that Dot's sense of injustice is not simply her own but that of an entire class of people for whom rewards are few and justice infrequent. |
