Mr. White's Confession

What a marvelous novel: a searching exploration of memory, love, beauty, good/evil, and the hideously mistreated victim, who endures life and takes himself to a higher spiritual plateau. This novel is soaked in mystery, albeit most of it not of the superficial kind that litters most mysteries by, for example, Sandford, Grafton, Patterson, E. George. Readers enjoy a speed read through the kinds of novels written by most mystery authors. I have no quarrel with them. But I would argue vehemently that one Mr. White's Confession is worth more than all the "speed read" novels put together. I am of course making a value judgment, a rather absolute one, but the depth and beauty of this novel demands praise and the most heartfelt entreaty that if you are reading this commentary that you read this novel--your life will be enriched. This novel almost broke my heart at several points. But what it really did is stir into my consciousness the memories of love and beauty in my own life; it made me take stock of where I have been and how important it is that my future create memories that are full of love and beauty. Read this book and be the wiser for having read it.

This book, ostensibly the story of two murders in St. Paul in 1939, has long swatches of exquisite writing. These swatches are the journal entries of the Mr. White of the title, a sad and strange man with a memory problem, and a penchant for taking photos of taxi dancers. When one, and then another, is murdered, he becomes the prime, and only, suspect, and the story of how the "justice system" worked in those days is quite intersting, and chilling. The other protagonist is a middle-aged widower policeman who is involved in the murder investigation, and his relationship with a 16 year old female runaway. This is a very sad story, but brilliantly told, and well worth reading. The ending really doesn't tie up some loose ends, or even resolve the crimes, although there are hints scattered throughout the book. Even those hints, however, don't actually point out "whodunnit". Read the book and decide for yourself what actually happened so long ago.

At first you think this is going to be a 'noir' crime story. Then it becomes a character study of four very different people and their interactions. And then it becomes a sort of philosophical/psychological investigation of the meaning of "past" and "future." Actually, it's all those things, written in a way that will make you lie in bed and think about what you've read each time you quit for the night. The setting is St. Paul, Minnesota, August 1939 to April 1940, more or less -- a nine-month period in which at least two dime-a-dance girls are murdered, in which Lt. Wesley Horner of Homicide tries to convince himself he has solved the crimes, in which Wesley (whose wife has died after their daughter left home) also falls in love with a wise sixteen-year-old vagrant girl who saves him from despair, and in which Herbert White goes from being an large but inoffensive middle-aged man with a very poor memory and a fondness for amateur photography to being a lifer at Stillwater State Prison. You keep waiting for things to turn out "right," for Lt. Horner to turn up the bit of evidence that will get Herbert off. But, as Lt. Welshinger, a vice cop who believes in evil (and he should know) says to a number of characters, "That's not how the world is." I sort of expected to be depressed when I finished the book, but I wasn't. And I'm very impressed with Clark's writing. (. . . and I'm wondering about the intellectual capacities of previous reviewers who were upset because the Edgar wasn't awarded to an Ed McBain-type routine procedural. . . .)

See, here's the problem: publishers force books into categories because they think that's the only way to sell them. If a book doesn't fit neatly into a category, how will the booksellers know where to shelve it? And because selling is what today's publishing is all about, the fact that readers who buy a book like this expecting a typcial genre mystery will be disappointed doesn't matter to publishers. The readers have bought the book and that's all that counts. As for the Edgar awards, I've never agreed with them until now and this time I'm agreeing for a book I feel is far outside their frame of reference. Maybe they just felt like being intellectuals. Meanwhile, this was one of the best books I've ever read. I was very impressed by the writing, the characters and the atmosphere. Yes, there were some anachronisms. But I was willing to overlook them. I wanted to read quickly to find out "who done it," but I also read slowly to savor the voices of the characters.

The readers' comments about this book have been of two sorts: those who are disappointed because they expected standard mystery fare (closed room puzzles, gritty contemporary private eyes, etc.), and those who realize that this is indeed a great novel. So be forewarned. If you fall into the first camp, don't bother with this book. If, on the other hand, you want to read a beautiful novel with an unforgettable central character, exquisite yet simple language, a conjuring up of a bygone era, and a stunningly original take on the playings out of crime, this is the book for you. It's a treasure.