There’s no ‘Limit’ to compelling prose

Martin Clark may not take this as a compliment, but when I’d finished his third novel, “The Legal Limit,” I felt as though I had consumed a thick old-fashioned milkshake. A tall glass — metaphorically speaking — filled to the brim with creamy, substantive, compelling prose.

What is it about Virginia that inspires those whose professional stage is, or has been, the courtroom, to probe their interior selves and unearth fictional works? Works that have more than a page or two firmly planted in the truth? These are writers who find the ever-shifting sands of justice irresistible, and we are the beneficiaries of their creative scrutiny.

“Limit’s” primary character — in a book that resonates with many memorable ones — is Mason Hunt. He has overcome a childhood of want and brutality, the latter at the hands of his father, and earned “a free ride” to college and law school. While at a Richmond law firm, he is lured back to his rural hometown in Patrick County as its commonwealth attorney.

Fortune has smiled upon Mason in his personal life as well. His beautiful wife, Allison, is a talented painter, and their passionate, fulfilling marriage reaches its zenith with the birth of the enchanting Grace. Life is good; the first tragedy to hit the family occurs the day after Allison’s 40th birthday party, and the second forms the core of this excellent novel.

Mason’s older brother, Gates, saved him from their father’s vicious attacks, and Mason loves and is grateful to him. These emotions are proven when both are in their 20s — I hesitate to give away more of the plot. Suffice it to say that Gates, the kind of black sheep who’d make a real one look white by comparison, has been in jail, serving the last two years of a 44-year sentence. Gates has become a smoldering mass of envy, hatred and vengeance, and is now intent on destroying Mason’s life. The manner in which this is handled — the intricacies of the law, truth, justice and friendship — all the aspects of life that can affect and descend upon one, is masterful.

And then we have Curtis: Mason’s assistant — a black man with a hip sense of humor that hides a personal secret. One he has not shared, even with Mason although the two are each other’s best friend. The dialogue between them is wonderful, as is — in fact — all of the conversations these unforgettable people exchange. Particularly moving is the way Mason deals with his teenage daughter, and her teenage contempt for anyone older than her peers. The author makes us feel every bit of loving discord which is so commonplace but can, still, be celebrated as well as acknowledged.

“The Saturday morning after the cops came to Stuart, Mason cornered Grace and attempted to make her answer him with more than a grunt or sarcastic frown or sullen dismissive snort … ‘What?’ she said irritably when Mason straight-armed the control of the TV and the sound fell off incrementally. ‘There’s a mute button, you know,’ she remarked.”

This goes on, with Mason suggesting several things they could do that day, all of which are scorned as only a 14-year old can scorn. Until he suggests a trip to the mall where “… you can buy overpriced, faddish clothes and act like you’re older and hipper than you actually are.”

Grace: “If we go, will you not hover and not be totally nosey and promise not to embarrass me?”

This is conversation so real you can almost taste the tartness and sweetness of their shared loss.

Clark succeeds, too, in showing us small town life — changes in the seasons receive attention, as do the concerns and affection felt for those to whom life has been less than kind. People like Mason’s admirable mother, for example, whose husband abandoned her in every way long before he actually left.

“The Legal Limit” is full of twists and turns, but they are not mere literary devices. Clark keeps you on your toes, and you are happy to be in that position because you know you are not being manipulated. This is writing at its best — for this genre or any other — and one is almost tempted to urge the author to discard his black robe as a real-life circuit court judge in Stuart, and devote himself full-time to writing.

Perhaps, one day, he will, but right now there is tangible evidence he intends to combine both worlds comfortably, thank you very much, as the British would put it. I think it would be instructive to quote from the very beginning of the book, where Martin Clark speaks directly to the reader:

“… this book is fiction. I cut several scenes from whole cloth, portions of dialogue are an educated guess as to the actual conversations and names are tweaked or rearranged in places, although my friends in Stuart, Virginia, won’t have any problem deciphering who’s who.”

And then, perhaps most revealingly, he ends this section with a quote from his predecessor on the bench: “Justice can occasionally be a fickle, blind bitch, and somebody has to keep her honest.”

I can only surmise that Clark does this in his black robe, but I have no doubt about his doing just that when seated at his writing desk.