54 pages • 1 hour read
John GrishamA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The novel features three confessions: Donté’s false confession after being interrogated by police, Travis Boyette’s confession to Schroeder and Flak about his murder of Nicole Yarber, and Schroeder’s confession in court about aiding in the intra-state flight of a career felon on parole. None of these confessions has its intended effect; in the novel, the act of confession symbolizes the depths of failure of the US justice system.
Donté’s confession is a travesty. Without legal counsel and after 15 hours of interrogation and a series of illegal maneuverings by an overzealous, racist cop who presumes Donté’s guilt before investigating the murder, Donté signs this document in the hopes of being released and with the conviction that Nicole will soon be found alive. This confession is the opposite of an unburdening of conscience and the willingness to accept responsibility; instead, it is the result of torture: “Because he could not leave until he gave them back their story, and since he would, at that moment, confess to killing his own mother, why not play along?” (97). This bogus, illegally obtained confession becomes the justification for a gross miscarriage of justice: Donté’s conviction and death sentence.
Boyette’s confession is indeed an admission of guilt. However, it too has little to do with the baring of conscience. Instead, Boyette’s detailed explanation of his gruesome murder of Nicole only exemplifies his sociopathy: “Boyette’s detached narration and his command of details were chilling” (269). He feels no remorse for his actions; his confession is a self-serving money grab first and prelude to an escape attempt second. In the end, it does not stop Donté’s killing because a judge is more interested in tennis than in justice, and a governor’s staff cares more about reelection than truth.
Schroeder is a minister who understands the spiritual power of confession. (As he visits patients in hospice care, he emphasizes the importance of clearing one’s conscience.) Thus, his refusal to obfuscate his role in Boyette’s flight should bear some weight. However, it does neither. Schroeder’s eyewitness account of Donté’s fate brings minimum attention to the problems with capital punishment and earns him nothing more than a slap on the wrist—evidence of the irrelevance of truth in an unjust system.
By tradition, a high school class ring affirms membership in a community: Classmates wear identical rings, symbolizing their collective academic achievement. Nicole’s class ring, however, shows the opposite: her isolation as the victim of a horrific and vicious crime. After murdering her, Boyette puts her class ring on a gold chain around his neck as a memento. The novel often ignores Nicole’s personhood, since its focus is on Donté’s fate. However, the ring does symbolize her missing body. For most the novel, all that represents this innocent young woman is a gold band, “narrow and small and obviously worn by a female” (66).
Some of the novel’s legal plotline hangs on the issue of habeas corpus—the need for the state to produce a victim’s body when charging someone with illegal killing (the Latin phrase literally means “you have the body”). Absent the body of Nicole, the ring is proof of Boyette’s story: It convinces Schroeder to drive Boyette across state lines, allows Flak to give record Boyette’s confession, and prompts Nicole’s mother to realizes that the wrong person had been executed for her daughter’s murder.
Nicole’s gold ring has another, even more disturbing resonance. Gold bands are traditionally exchanged during a wedding ceremony as symbols of unity between bride and groom. That Boyette keeps and wears Nicole’s gold ring—coupled with his unhinged desire to see her dead body and his gleeful pride in his horrible crime—symbolizes that Nicole and her murderer are linked forever.
The egg-shaped brain tumor, “malignant, deadly, and basically untreatable” (9), that afflicts Travis Boyette and is at least in part responsible for his decision to approach Reverend Schroeder about the murder of Nicole Yarber symbolizes a kind of karmic retribution in an unfair world.
As Donté’s execution approaches, Boyette, the actual murderer, lives under a kind of parallel death sentence. While Donté’s fate is obviously wrong, Boyette’s end is fitting. Readers, otherwise on tenterhooks about whether Donté will get a reprieve, can at least rest assured that the novel’s sociopathic villain won’t be around for long. Donté’s harrowing experiences imprisoned on death row for something he did not do are presented alongside Boyette’s physical suffering: his limp, headaches, nausea, seizures, facial tics, labored breathing, the unbearable pressure on his skull, frequent lapses into unconsciousness, as well as his panic over dying young. Premature death creates a symbolic parallel between the two characters. Both know that hope is illusive.
However, the novel muddles this neat parallel when Boyette is sentenced to death for Nicole’s murder. While readers have become aware of the deep injustice of state-sponsored killing as punishment for crimes, readers are also deeply convinced that Boyette should not be alive after his actions—his execution undercuts the divine retribution angle of his tumor, seemingly arguing that capital punishment does have a place in the system after all.
In one of the most moving scenes in the novel, Donté’s mother gently and lovingly prepares her son’s body for burial in the Slone funeral home. The scene centers on the inconsolable grief of a mother coming to terms with the needless death of her “beautiful boy, lying there so peaceful, and so healthy. Dead but not diseased. Bead but not injured. Dead but not maimed” (367). As she cuts off her son’s prison garb, takes away all evidence of his incarceration, and then carefully washes her son’s body while recalling moments from his childhood, she hums the gospel song “Take My Hand, Precious Lord.”
The hymn holds a particular place within the culture of the Black civil rights movement. Written in 1932 by Thomas A. Dorsey (1899-1993) after his wife died giving birth to their stillborn son, the song records the anguish of loss and the need to rely on God to make it through boundless grief: “I am tired, I’m weak, I am worn / Through the storm, through the night / Lead me on to the light.” The hymn later became a favorite of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., particularly the stirring rendition by gospel icon Mahalia Jackson. King used the hymn frequently in his public appearances to inspire followers to keep the faith in the darkest moments of the civil rights movement. The hymn was played at King’s memorial service after his assassination.
Thus, the hymn brings together consolation for parental grief and righteous anger over racism and hate. Its use in the novel is a reminder that the execution of Donté Drumm is part of a long tragic history of violence and hate directed against Black people in the US.
Minor character Adam Flores appears only in the last three paragraphs of the novel, but his death symbolizes the ongoing moral obscenity of the death penalty as exemplified by the state of Texas, which leads the nation in annual executions. In the novel, seven months after the flagrant injustice of Donté Drumm’s execution, drug dealer Adam Flores, who has spent more than 25 years on death row for killing another drug dealer, is executed in Huntsville. Flores’s execution is the first since Donté’s. He is executed without outrage, symbolizing the mundane resumption of institutionalized killing.
If the case of Donté Drumm raises thorny questions about what happens when the innocent are victimized by the flawed capital punishment system, and if Boyette’s execution brings a level of righteous satisfaction, then the case of Adam Flores asks whether the state killing someone, even a convicted killer, is ever moral.
Donté is clearly innocent. Boyette is an unrepentant sociopath whose guilt is undeniable. But by ending the novel with the execution of a forgotten nobody whose backstory is never revealed, John Grisham makes this faceless prisoner a symbol for the kind of routine execution that has become acceptable in the name of justice.
By John Grisham
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