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47 pages 1 hour read

Casey Cep

Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud, and the Last Trial of Harper Lee

Casey CepNonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2019

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Themes

True Crime and the Uses of Black Death and Suffering

At the heart of Furious Hours are stories about the deaths of African Americans, including those of Willie Maxwell and his victims. How Cep tells these stories is shaped by the demands of her genres as well as the history of the representation of black death and suffering for profit, entertainment, and instruction.

Furious Hours reflects some of the conventions of true crime, a genre that generally focuses on the graphic details of crimes such as murder, the process of pursuing the perpetrator, and the trial that brings the perpetrator to justice. Cep includes a substantial history of true crime in Chapter 20, indicating her deep knowledge of the genre. Given this knowledge, one can assume Cep’s decisions to engage with and depart from those conventions are meaningful.

As expected for a book that focuses on true crime, Furious Hours includes clinical descriptions of the corpses of Willie’s victims as well as details like the fact that Willie attempted to wipe his forehead before expiring after Robert Burns shot him. These descriptions serve to make the brutality of the crimes obvious. With the exception of Willie’s murder—more akin to an execution—Cep chooses not to represent the murders directly or to reconstruct them in any great detail, however. This unusual choice allows her to avoid some of the pitfalls white writers encounter as they seek to represent African Americans.

In American literature and culture black deaths are usually presented in sensationalistic and dehumanizing ways. One can trace the conventions of representing black deaths in this way to lynching and the works of ex-slave narrators and abolitionists. Lynchers unleashed racism and white supremacy on black bodies. The practice of taking souvenirs from the corpses of victims and creating mementos like photos, calendars, and postcards that included the victims and perpetrators completed the work of dehumanizing the victims and black viewers. These images made their way into popular culture in films such as Birth of a Nation (1915).

Marketing black death for profit and entertainment is a contemporary trend as well. Consider that however sympathetic the point of view may be, music and films that focus on spectacles of violent deaths and the suffering of black people is big business, as the success of films like Django Unchained shows. Cep avoids such spectacles entirely, and she also imputes concern about using such spectacles to sell books to explain why Harper Lee never completed The Reverend. Cep contends that Lee “didn’t want to disrespect the dead by making their deaths tawdry” (247) despite the violence of the subject matter. Although Cep includes black bodies, she mostly avoids doing so in a sensationalistic or gratuitous way.

There is another set of conventions related to the representation of black death, and that tradition is one that focuses on black death as an opportunity to offer instruction. Harriet Beecher Stowe relies on that tradition to condemn the cruelty of the slave trader through the longsuffering and saintly response of Uncle Tom in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the 1852 novel that galvanized the abolitionist movement in the United States and hardened opposition to slavery in some quarters.

Another strand of this convention appears in the work of ex-slave narrators like Harriet Jacobs, Mary Prince, and Olaudah Equiano. These writers engage in self-representation to provide testimony condemning the cruelty of the masters and endorse the humanity and resilience of the enslaved. These writers may present black deaths with sentimentality or in brutal detail, but all such details are there to serve the rhetorical purpose of moving readers to political action. Cep generally avoids making didactic points about race relations or racial violence in her discussions of the murders, however.

Cep sidesteps most of these conventions of representation. If there is judgment in her writing, it generally appears when she is discussing the issue of race. She discusses in Chapter 14 how the outcome of Robert Burns’s trial illustrates the presence of primitivism in Southern culture; describes in Chapter 8 how racism in Alabama politics shaped Tom Radney’s career; and includes many comments about how a victim’s race, gender, and class shapes the pursuit of justice. The presence of her criticism of Southern culture and racism in the justice system show that she is not shy about making judgments but refuses to use black bodies to do so.

Race, Racism, and Justice in the South

In Furious Hours Casey Cep paints a damning picture of justice in the South. Cep’s account of how Willie Maxwell managed to operate with impunity and her description of how his killer was acquitted show that racism is such a pervasive force in the criminal justice system that justice is in short supply, especially for black victims. The presence of racism in the justice system harms black victims, reflects specific aspects of Southern culture, and distorts the representation of victims.

The South that serves as the setting for the book is the South of the 1940s through the 1970s, which was marred by violent racism and white supremacy. In Chapter 2 Cep references the trial of the Scottsboro 9 to establish a historical context for how deeply flawed Alabama’s justice system was. She points out the irony that even with the reforms inspired by the miscarriages of justice in the Scottsboro case in place, there was no justice for Mary Lou, Dorcas, James, John, or Shirley. Cep includes the story of the violent threats Tom Radney received in the 1960s and a long list of violent attacks on African Americans during the civil rights movement in Chapter 8 to paint a picture of a place where no one—not even whites or black children—is safe from violent, extrajudicial enforcement of the racial codes of the time.

Cep also makes the case for seeing the difficulty of obtaining justice for black victims of violent crimes as the result of some innate primitivism in the psychology of Southerners. She makes this argument in explaining how Robert Burns managed to escape punishment despite his obvious guilt. Cep states, “the Burns trial had turned on two kinds of primitivism: belief in the supernatural and belief in vigilante justice” (145), then she points out that this primitivism allowed the South to write Jim Crow and the theft of Native American land into legal documents. The South, Cep argues, talked itself into believing that “the law [was] elastic enough to bend without breaking, exempting lynching from the category of homicide” (145). Cep’s point is to argue that a natural consequence of structural racism is a lawlessness so pervasive that even whites and the justice system as a whole fall victim to it.

Cep uses the trial of Robert Burns to show that racism even plays a role when crime is perpetrated against black victims by black offenders. Cep notes that Robert Burns was acquitted by an all-white jury in a trial presided over by a white judge and argued by white lawyers. Robert Burns’s exoneration came about in part because this white legal system was willing to judge the death of Willie Maxwell, a black man, as negligible. The information that Tom Radney managed to uncover during the trial shows that the neglectful justice system missed many opportunities to hold Willie to account; the justice system’s failure to make a strong case against Willie seems to have been the result of both explicit racism and a lack of connections and insight into the black community where the crimes occurred. Radney’s ability to uncover details about the murders stems from the goodwill he held in those communities.

Cep’s last major point about racism and injustice extends to the stories we tell about crime as well. A related impact of racism and racially motivated injustice is how writers and ordinary people represent victims of crime and crime itself. As Cep notes in her many critiques of the true-crime genre, most victims of violent crime in the United States are people of color and poor people, but true crime paints a distorted reality of the nature of crime by focusing on affluent white victims.

The other form of representation of victims in popular culture unfolds in Alexander City itself, with the oral culture that sprang up around the apparent victims of Willie Maxwell and the means by which he murdered them. While Willie’s motivation was very pedestrian—greed—the justice system was so inept in pursuing justice on behalf of his black victims that this motive failed to be revealed until the trial, when it became apparent that “[t]here were no poisons or powders, no curses or charms”(133) at work in this delayed justice. Cep’s attention to the way that race, racism, and the misrepresentation of victims and perpetrators impede justice is an indictment of Southern culture.

The Writing Life: Demythologizing the Career of Harper Lee

As Cep notes in Chapter 23, Harper Lee is among those American writers whose reputations are based upon one very successful novel. To Kill a Mockingbird gained Lee critical acclaim and wealth, but it also brought negative forces into her life that nearly destroyed her. Cep’s book offers insight into the early influences on Lee as a writer, the role of gender in Lee’s career, and the limitations of Lee’s vision. The inclusion of these elements helps Cep paint a more realistic portrait of the life of a working writer and explain Lee’s inability to complete The Reverend.

In the beginning of Part 3 Cep carefully outlines the early influences that allowed Lee to become a writer. Lee’s family was relatively affluent, so the unconventionality that played a key role in her decision to become a writer could flourish. In addition, Lee had a fellow traveler—Truman Capote—with whom she engaged in play and storytelling, activities that fed the young writer’s imagination. Finally, her father owned a newspaper; the presence of the newspaper allowed Lee to gain some writing experience. Ultimately, Lee’s voice was shaped by the culture and language of the South and a journalistic commitment to telling the truth.

Lee’s development as a writer was also shaped by gender. Cep notes that as a young woman, Lee made choices that met her family’s expectations. For example, she went to college and almost completed law school instead of pursuing opportunities to write professionally. Cep emphasizes the impact these conventional choices had on Lee by contrasting the relatively flat trajectory of Lee’s early career with that of Truman Capote, who gained experience and a valuable network because he started his career immediately after high school.

Leaving law school was a pivotal moment because Lee at last shrugged off convention and got down to the business of writing. Throughout the rest of her career, Lee was a single woman, which freed her from the responsibilities of caring for children, domestic work, or a husband. As she aged, however, Lee’s ability to work was impeded as she returned home to care for her aging father. Dealing with the deaths of family members likely played a role in her ongoing struggle with depression. All in all, Lee’s decision to lead an unconventional life in terms of gender expectations helped her gain the freedom she needed to be a writer.

Lee’s own vision of the writing life was that it was a solitary life that allowed the writer to engage in self-expression. She also associated the creative life with suffering. Lee’s writing process and life did not always align completely with her beliefs, however. Lee certainly was a solitary creature, but the process of creating To Kill a Mockingbird was a collaborative one that involved a generous gift of money from friends so Lee could focus on writing. Lee benefitted from frequent feedback and guidance on rewrites from professionals like Maurice Crain and Tay Hohoff. Their feedback allowed Lee to write work that would appeal to readers. These resources allowed Lee to turn her draft of To Kill a Mockingbird and short stories into a classic of American literature, while the absence of such support led to failures like The Reverend and Go Set a Watchman. When Lee’s suffering—her depression and her drinking—reached a pinnacle, she ceased writing.

Cep answers the question of why Lee ceased writing by undercutting myths about writing and writers. The popular representation of Lee is that she was a champion of racial equality, and this reputation is largely built on To Kill a Mockingbird. Cep systematically demythologizes this version of Lee. Lee’s vision of the function of writing and the writer was that it was the writer’s job to use their work to tell a broader story about human experiences, even when using particularities of a place like the South.

According to Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird “has a universal theme” and is “not a racial novel. It portrays an aspect of civilization—not necessarily Southern civilization” (201). In other words, in To Kill a Mockingbird Lee uses her very Southern story to tell a big story about the American desire for fairness, even when realizing that desire comes with risks and disapproval from peers. Atticus Finch, the hero of the novel, is also taken by many to represent the ability of the good intentions and character of moderate whites to overcome challenges to America’s vision of itself as the land of the free.

Despite the reception of the novel as one about civil rights, Lee did not see Atticus or the South through such rosy lenses, as shown by what she did with his character in Go Set a Watchman, in which Atticus is not a brave, white lawyer defending a black man. Instead, he is a member of the “White Citizen’s Council [an anti-civil rights, white supremacist organization] and oppos[es] the work of the NAACP” (178). Lee was also mostly quiet on the issue of civil rights. Her choices in how she used her platform imply that she did not see political activism as a part of the writer’s role. One of the sources of her anxiety about writing was fear about what would happen if her work did not coincide with the myth of Harper Lee as a civil rights crusader.

Lee’s inability to complete The Reverend also shows some of the shortcomings of her vision of universal themes and experiences as the bedrock of good writing. Cep notes that Lee would have needed much greater insight into black culture and the lives of her subjects to pull off writing the book. Lee “could have learned about Willie Maxwell’s South only through patient research and ongoing conversation” (225) with the black members of Willie’s community. Like most of her contemporaries, Lee chose to stay in her comfort zone with other white Southerners like Tom Radney.

Cep’s ultimate explanation for why Lee never finished The Reverend is that Lee was a victim of her own success and the writing life as she envisioned it could not sustain her.

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