I mentioned in a blog recently that I viewed the film The Stoning of Soraya M. about an
Iranian woman being stoned to death. The
film reminded me that I have read two books about women awaiting
execution: The Execution of Noa P. Singleton by Elizabeth L. Silver and Burial Rites by Hannah Kent. Here are my reviews of those two novels.
Review of The Execution of Noa P. Singleton by
Elizabeth L. Silver
3 Stars
Thirty-five-year-old Noa is on death row; six months prior
to her execution, X-Day, Marlene Dixon, a high-powered attorney and mother of
the woman Noa was convicted of murdering, decides to petition for clemency and
has hired a young lawyer, Oliver Stansted, to assist in having Noa’s sentence
commuted. Through a series of flashbacks, we learn about Noa’s childhood, her
single mother’s serial monogamy, her friendship with Persephone Riga, her very
public miscarriage, her reconciliation with her absentee father Caleb, and the
murder of Sarah Dixon. These flashbacks alternate with Marlene’s letters to her
dead daughter.
Noa is not a likeable character. She feels alienated and
expresses that alienation in a cynical attitude. Her voice is brusque and
unemotional. The real problem, however, is that she doesn’t behave as a
supposedly intelligent person would. She is the salutatorian of her graduating
class and is accepted to Princeton, yet she makes terrible decisions that are
illogical. For instance, her initial involvement with Marlene makes little
sense. During her trial, she also refuses to participate in her own defense. Her
passivity may be the result of latent guilt over an incident involving a
childhood friend, but her motivation is never clarified.
The development of Marlene’s character is more interesting
than the revelation of Noa’s background. Marlene is initially sympathetic: she
is a grieving mother and cancer survivor. Gradually, however, she emerges as a
master manipulator who bullies people into doing her will. One of the major
questions throughout is why Marlene is in favour of clemency for her daughter’s
killer when she spoke in favour of capital punishment at Noa’s sentencing
hearing. Does she have a hidden agenda? There are several possible explanations
for her behaviour (i.e. learning the truth of what happened when Sarah was
killed, alleviating her guilt in her daughter’s fate or in Noa’s death
sentence), but, again, there is no real clarification of motivation.
The book examines guilt. Noa mentions at the beginning that
she is guilty of shooting Sarah: “I was lucid, attentive, mentally sound, and
pumped with a single cup of decaffeinated Lemon Zinger tea when I pulled the
trigger.” Although she does not contest her guilt, there is a suggestion that
there are degrees of guilt. In one conversation with Oliver, Noa says,
“’Everyone’s got something [to feel guilty about].’” And there is certainly the
suggestion that others may bear some responsibility in what happened to Sarah
and that she may not be the only victim.
Certainly, the reader is left to question the
appropriateness of Noa’s punishment. The author uses Noa as a mouthpiece to
express her opinion on capital punishment. Noa discusses the inequality of the
law and judicial system: “The law has created a protected class of individuals.
People who, on the basis of their age or status, are more valuable to society.
If they are killed . . . the party responsible must die. . . . A nation that
prides itself on equality treats its victims ever so inequitably in ritual. . .
. Some states have gone so far as to codify capital murder, applying the
sentence of death somewhat less haphazardly. . . Aggravating factors, they call
it. Like murder can be any more inflamed than, well, what murder already is.”
At one point Noa accuses Oliver of “linguistic foreplay,” an
apt phrase for that of which the author is occasionally guilty. At times there
are awkward metaphors which jar: “My hands were cuffed, facing each other like
confused children outside the principal’s office” and “My eyes pickpocketed the
room” and “[Perfecting the art of the guilt trip] is isolating, like a termite
scuffling up your innards” and “even his voice was typecast to match his
hairstyle and choice of wardrobe: docile as a prostrated ocean” and “His moans
lubricated the phone lines like a sexually transmitted disease. Whirls of
tornadic subjugation seeped through the little holes of the telephone receiver”
and “[The sun’s] talons skewering the clouds beneath. That elongated stretch
through the clouds; that beam downward, pointing like a strict schoolteacher”
and” [The clumsy excuses of unwilling jurors are] melodious sacraments to my
dissonant entr’acte.” Such affected prose does not work.
Despite its occasional florid, overwrought style, the book
is sufficiently entertaining and does provide food for thought. As a companion
piece, I would recommend Burial Rites
by Hannah Kent, another debut novel which also features a woman awaiting her
execution.
Review of Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
4 Stars
This is a fictionalized account of the final months in the
life of Agnes Magnúsdóttir, the last person to be executed in Iceland. It is
1829 in northwestern Iceland; Agnes is placed in the custody of a farmer in the
months leading up to her execution. As she awaits her end, she helps with the
farm chores and comes to know the family who are her custodians. She also meets
with a clergyman, Thorvadur “Tóti” Jónsson, who is to serve as her spiritual
guide but who becomes her confidant; it is to him that she relates much of the
story of her “miserable, loveless life” (211).
Agnes emerges as a fully realized character. There is a
great deal of sympathy for her since her life was nothing but “a dull-eyed
cycle of work . . . nothing but chores, chores, chores . . . the stifling
ordinariness of existence” (210). There is also much to admire about her:
intelligence and compassion. She even shows compassion towards a woman who
spreads gossip about her. She is not perfect, however. Because her life was
circumscribed by isolation, loneliness and abandonment, she naively fell in
love with a man who paid her some attention: “For the first time in my life,
someone saw me, and I loved him because he made me feel I was enough” (210).
And she was certainly slow in realizing the truth about her relationship with
this man.
One of the themes is that truth is not simple and
straightforward, but open to interpretation. Agnes herself claims that there is
“’No such thing as truth’” (105) because different people think different
things are important, and for her, “There is only ever a sense that what is
real to me is not real to others” (106). Agnes tells Tóti “’All my life people
have thought I was too clever. . . .If I was young and simple-minded, do you
think everyone would be pointing the finger at me’” (126). She believes she is
not believed because, “’how other people think of you determines who you are. .
. . People around here don’t let you forget your misdeeds. They think them the
only things worth writing down’” (104).
Agnes tells Tóti her version of the crime, but it does not
tally with what the officials believe happened. Does she tell him the truth or
is the District Commissioner correct when he says, “’I do not doubt that she
has manufactured a life story in such a way so as to prick your sympathy’”
(162)? Does she choose a “young and inexperienced” churchman believing that she
can manipulate him into appealing her death sentence? Certainly her thought
that, “I will have to think of what to say to him” (97) could suggest
forethought and planning.
There is no doubt that being an audience “to her life’s
lonely narrative” (158) influences the listeners. At the beginning everyone is
reluctant to have anything to do with Agnes; Lauga, the younger daughter, is
openly hostile. Margrét fears for her family’s safety with a murderess in the
house, and Jón worries about the influence Agnes might have on his daughters.
Their attitudes change gradually. Margrét, who initially speaks of Agnes as a
murderess and a criminal, later tells Agnes, “’No one is all bad’” (259) and
“’You are not a monster’” (307). Margrét realizes that her relationship with
Agnes has become “more natural and untroubled” but what is also interesting is
that “Margrét worried at this” (192).
Tóti’s reaction to Agnes is also interesting. Agnes tells
him that they had met years previously when he had helped her ford a river, yet
he “couldn’t remember meeting a young woman” (78). Later, however, he “thought
again of their first meeting . . . a dark-haired woman preparing to cross the
current . . . Her hair had been damp against her forehead and neck from
walking. . . . Then, the warmth of her body against his chest as they forded
the foamy waters on his mare. The smell of sweat and wild grassing issuing from
the back of her neck” (200). Does he really remember this first meeting?
The Icelandic setting is almost another character in the
narrative. The descriptions of the harsh climate, the increasing darkness as
winter looms, and the barren landscape certainly reflect Agnes’ feelings of
loneliness. There is also no doubt that such an environment can have an
influence on people’s actions. At one point, Margrét says, “’It’s hard to be
alone in winter’’’ (260). As winter advances so do the reader’s feelings of
dread about what will happen to Agnes.
It is evident that the author did considerable research and
she gives a vivid picture of rural life in Iceland in the early 19th century. I
was not aware of the high level of literacy amongst Icelanders as far back as
that time period. The inclusion of historical documents provides some facts about
the case and stylistic contrast to Agnes’ interior monologues.
There is much to like about this book. It is not perfect
because some of the minor characters, especially District Commissioner Björn
Blöndal, are stereotypes, but it does have much to recommend it: suspense, a
great mystery, a wonderfully atmospheric setting, and interesting character
development.
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