I have loved the Grisham
books for the same reason that I love the works of John
Irving, Richard
Russo, or Anne
Rivers Siddons: I get hooked by an early page, and
pure habit forces me to read until I am issued my
walking papers and can return to my normal life. These
writers are all wish-bringers who cast spells with the
bright enchantment of their stories, and the power of
story has retained its glamour and necessity for me.
I’ve always liked it when Grisham took a sabbatical from
his impressive fiction to romp in the field of sports or
non-fiction.
John surprised me by entering the ring
of danger that the short story represents for all
writers. In the world of writing, the poets come first
as they finger the language like worry beads and wonder
where their next meal is coming from. The art of the
short story writer is one of economy, concision, and the
genius of trying to craft a whole world inside a mason
jar. The modern world punishes the short story writer
with inattention. The literary reviews keep the short
story alive and finger-popping in America today, while
the New
Yorker tries
to strangle the form with its bare hands. But a great
short story is a source of joy, and the reading of Chekhov,
de Maupassant, Flannery
O’Connor and
others offer pleasures unmatched by any other form.
Since I’m incapable of writing the short story form, I
wanted to see how Grisham fared, knowing the critics
would sharpen their swords against him no matter how
accomplished his stories might be.
Ford County is
the best writing that John Grisham has ever done. One of
the many things I’ve admired about his books is his
intimate chronicle of Mississippi life in the
generations following William
Faulkner and Eudora
Welty. Grisham writes equally well about the
plantation south, the black south, and white-cracker
south. Over the years he has used the legal system as an
instrument to illuminate the world of mansions and
sharecroppers and everything in between as he not only
defined Mississippi but also staked it out as his home
fictional territory. His short stories were a surprise
to me. All of them are very good; three of them, I
believe, are great. Grisham has always had a rare gift
for breaking hearts when he invokes unforgettable images
of the broken, hopeless South. Some of the stories are
hilarious, and Grisham’s gift of humor has never found a
showcase like this. One of these stories should find its
way into the anthologies of the best short stories of
2009. It might not happen, but I for one think the
stories in Ford
County are
that damned good.--Pat Conroy
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