The Book of Evidence
(1989, this edition 2001) is set in Coolgrange, Ireland. The narrator,
38-year-old Frederick Montgomery, is in prison as a remand prisoner, awaiting
his trial due in a month’s time.
Montgomery says he is
not seeking to excuse his actions, but to explain them. It started in the
Mediterranean when he borrowed money from an American guy called Randolph. He
can’t pay it back. He says he would have to go home to ask his friends and
family to help him out. He knows though that he is ‘running away’ from his
responsibilities.
Back home, he hopes to
sell his mother’s paintings, but Dorothy (Dolly) has sold all of them to Binkie
Behrens. Frederick is not happy about this and goes to Whitewater to visit Anna
Behrens – whom he loved briefly, 15 years ago. But she turns him away. He then
tries to steal a painting, bludgeons a girl (Josie Bell) to death, evades the
police, and implicates his 60ish-year-old friend, Charlie French.
Montgomery has been in
prison for two months. He is writing his explanation of what happened in
Whitewater. His wife, Daphne, visits him once a week.
He describes himself
as having bad (black) moods, an itinerant, a deserter, and a weeper. ‘I am
afraid to think what I have done’ he says, and tries hard not to cry. He’s
looking at the possibility of 30 years in prison.
His counsel,
Maolseachlainn (Mac) Gunna, was ‘hinting at the possibility of an arrangement’
whereby if he pleads guilty, no evidence will be heard. The Book of Evidence is
his evidence. What does Montgomery plead?
Whether you empathize
with Freddie or not (I did not), he is an articulate, educated man with the
gift of a turn of phrase. For example, his description of Daphne throughout his
account of his life is touching, beautiful, and full of longing and regret. For
example – ‘She was not nice, she was not good. She suited me’ and ‘I could have
hung back in the shadows and painted her, down to the tiniest, tenderest
detail, on the blank inner wall of my heart, where she would be still, vivid as
in that dawn, my dark, mysterious darling.’ Even Anna Behrens he describes
‘like one of Klimt’s gem-encrusted lovers.’
There is some fine
writing, but the topic and plot didn’t interest me enough to want to find out why
Montgomery committed the crime. It was too self-absorbed, and, in the end, an
excuse for his actions. Therefore the plot is not as riveting as his descriptions.
Comments
Post a Comment