Midway through the first hour of the first day of my first visit to Savannah, back in the fall of 1996, I came to understand that in Savannah, this book is *The* Book. One does not need to mention author John Berendt, or give the book’s title. All one has to do is say, “She comes across really well in The Book,” or, “He doesn’t look very good in The Book,” or, “There’s too much [or not enough] about them in The Book.” It is simply “The Book,” like the Bible in Jerusalem.
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil unfolds a fascinating, compelling tale of author John Berendt’s time in Savannah. Berendt, an Esquire magazine columnist and former editor of New York magazine, says that he got into the habit of traveling to Savannah, and found himself in the midst of a bizarre story that involved larger-than-life characters, wild sexual escapades, and murder.
Having learned the three rules of Savannah life – (1) “Always stick around for one more drink”, (2) “Never go south of Gaston Street” (for a true Savannahian, that’s “North Jacksonville”), and (3) “Observe the high holidays – Saint Patrick’s Day and the day of the Georgia-Florida football game” (pp. 50-51) – Berendt quickly acquaints himself with an array of colorful individuals. One character that has made a strong impression on many readers is The Lady Chablis, a fearlessly self-expressive transgender woman of whom Berendt says that “she was definitely a she, not a he. I felt no tendency to stumble self-consciously over pronouns in her case” (p. 100).
In the main, however, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is the story of Jim Williams, a man who came to Savannah from a small Georgia town and achieved such success and wealth as an antiques dealer that he could install himself in the Mercer House, one of Savannah’s most prestigious old homes, and live like an antebellum Southern aristocrat. Many things made Jim Williams an outsider – his small-town origins and his sexual orientation among them. But his parties were the toast of Savannah’s high society, and even those who hated him hoped for an invitation.
All of that changed when Williams shot and killed 21-year-old Danny Hansford, a hot-tempered young man who was described by both men and women as “a walking streak of sex.” Hansford restored furniture for Williams part-time, was a sex worker much of the rest of the time, and constantly used drugs and alcohol in a manner that exacerbated a decidedly nasty violent streak. Everyone involved in the case, including Jim Williams himself, agreed that Williams had shot Hansford inside Mercer House. The question was whether the shooting was murder or justifiable self-defense.
The case quickly became a cause célèbre throughout Savannah – a case in which sex, violence, socioeconomic class, and money intersected. People followed the case with the same degree of rapt fascination that ordinarily would be reserved for the Georgia-Florida football game, as when a guest at one of Williams’s parties – Williams still gave the parties, whenever he was out of jail long enough to be able to do so – opined that “Jim has good lawyers. That’s why I think he’ll get off. That, and because of his standing in the community” (p. 200).
As one murder trial gave way to another, with twists and turns that one would not have thought possible outside of a Perry Mason episode, Williams himself maintained, with the enigmatic, serene equanimity that seems to have outraged his enemies, that “One way or another…I will get out. You can rely on that….My conviction will be reversed. You’ll see” (p. 300). Williams’s tactics ranged from the tried-and-true – hiring top lawyers with a reputation for securing acquittals, even in the most difficult murder cases – to measures that will never be found on the books in any law-school curriculum.
The title chapter, “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil,” shows Williams seeking out the help of a vodun priestess named Minerva. As Berendt tells it, he joins Williams and Minerva on a midnight visit to the grave of Danny Hansford, where Minerva tries to work rituals that will lessen the dead man’s wrath. Even dead, Minerva says, “That boy is still workin’ hard against you” (p. 251), trying from beyond the grave to ensure that Williams will come across as a cold-blooded murderer, and therefore will go to prison.
That story, compelling as it is, captures some of the things that made me wonder about this book. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is often described as a “nonfiction novel”; and as with other works of this genre, such as Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, one is left wondering where the borderlands between nonfiction and novel lie. When is Berendt describing what he saw, and when is he using the techniques of fiction to reconstruct? Interesting to wonder about.
Whatever the case, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is the kind of book that becomes a phenomenon. When my wife and I were in Savannah in 1996, we found it fun to go to the club where Emma Kelly, “The Lady of Six Thousand Songs,” played the piano. During Ms. Kelly’s breaks, visitors queued up, waiting patiently for Ms. Kelly to sign their copies of Midnight, no doubt on some page of Chapter 6 wherein Ms. Kelly’s story is told.
Today, I do not know whether Midnight tours of Savannah are as popular as they were in the 1990’s. Perhaps those tours still go on, along with the ghost-story tours for which hearses fitted with rooftop rows of seats make their way along Bay Street. Whatever the case, I do believe that Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil will be “The Book” in Savannah for many years to come. Savannah is truly the main character of Midnight; and as John Berendt depicts her, she is an intriguing and beguiling Southern belle indeed.