A Trial by Jury
By D. Graham Burnett. Alfred A. Knopf, 189 pages, $21.

You think a turn in your love life can put a damper on life? Wait until jury duty. You could be in for it. D. Graham Burnett certainly was.

Myself, I have never served. But I am glad for A Trial by Jury. Because even if it often felt like a long magazine piece, it read me a set of Miranda rights about performing a basic civic duty. It also reminded me how some people in these United States want the benefits of all articles and amendments, with fries, hold the attendant responsibilities.

The book is a memoir of the author’s experience serving as foreman on a New York City murder trial, The People of New York v. Monte Virginia Milcray. Part one describes the trial proceedings; part two re-creates the four days of deliberations. Those four days included crying, shouting, a breakdown of sorts, and general bad behavior among strangers. Hell, it turns out, is 11 other people. According to the author, much of the account was written longhand during the weeks following the trial; he reconstructed dialogue and altered various details " in the interests of privacy and propriety. "

One might suspect that an assistant professor who teaches the history of science as Burnett does (now at Princeton) would mull ad nauseam on the notion of tapping memory as a witness. Not so. Burnett offers an unburnished glimpse into the psyche of an academic who can navigate the " real " world. This can make for uncomfortable reading, especially the passages describing how the intrepid foreman ran the jury room like a classroom. On the third day, for instance, said foreman assures the others that he " has been deeply impressed by their hard work, and that they ought to congratulate themselves. "

It turns out, however, that the main pleasures of reading the book lie in the details and the writing itself. Burnett is a skilled observer and an excellent writer who composes with uncommon precision (maybe this has something to do with not owning a TV). Not only are the people rounded but the catch-all " whatever " does not make an appearance. Alas, " set great store by " and " poetaster " do. Burnett isn’t above clusters of jargon, an obscure reference, or a term so lofty it can leave you gasping for air. Ockham? Who’s he? " Thomistic "  . . . like, I remember this? Takutu? Familiar, but it is a river or a plain?

Even when these references are trackable in a dictionary, bunches of them can slow and even alienate a reader. What kept me going was Burnett’s story (told early on) of how years before, when his car was stolen, he stood at the spot where it had been parked, which was now occupied by a blue pick-up, and " for some inexplicable reason . . . got down on my knees and looked under the truck. " It makes him likable, trustworthy, in ways that declarations of self-awareness — for example, " Academics cultivate a certain pomposity, most of them; I doubtless reflected years in that world " — do not.

When lines of poetry or dilations on the nature of truth appear, the book begins to feel like a solid magazine piece stretched thin. More compelling are the bits about what it means and feels like to be a juror. Does it lend a feeling of power? No, the opposite.

Burnett writes, " We have seen the power of the state [and it is] a power even more terrifying, in a way, than a man with a knife in a closed room. " When jurors needing to refresh their memories request the testimonies of some witnesses, the state replies with a Catch-22: jurors must specify which part of the transcript they need. When jurors ask for a magnifying glass to scrutinize a photograph, the request is denied. Armed guards follow everywhere, even to the bathroom. And there is forced group eating; skipping breakfast is not an option. Ultimately it becomes clear that applying the law to evidence and rendering a just decision are two entirely different tasks. That knowledge proves wrenching for many jurors.

There is one confusing passage toward the end of the book when a piece of information surfaces after the trial concludes. It stands out in almost 200 pages of clear writing and analysis. But in retrospect it irks less than, say, the fact that two jurors want out. One tries the stairwell. That’s the kind of flaw an editor can’t fix.

Issue Date: September 13 - 20, 2001