Look, I usually prefer my bad guys to get taken out by a sniper team, not a legal team. And I definitely prefer my thrillers to move faster than a convoy in a sandstorm. Seventeen hours? Seriously? I listened to this whole thing while stuck in Austin traffic on I-35—which is basically its own form of prison—and walking Ranger until his paws were sore. And I've got a bone to pick with Grisham here: the middle of this book is absolute torture. Not the physical kind, the boredom kind. Just endless legal maneuvering.
But—and I hate to admit this—it paid off.
When the Monster is Grandpa
Let's be real for a second. Sam Cayhall is a piece of trash. A KKK bomber who killed kids. In my line of work, we call that a target, not a client. So spending 17 hours in his head? Not my idea of a fun weekend.
But here's the thing. Grisham (and the narrator, Alexander Adams) pulls a fast one on you. You start out wanting to pull the switch yourself, and by the end, you're... conflicted. It's uncomfortable. Adams does this voice for Sam that's just tired. Not cartoonishly evil, just old and bitter and resigned. It made the guy feel human, which frankly, pissed me off a little. I don't like sympathizing with domestic terrorists. But that's the point, isn't it?
(Linda asked me why I was scowling while doing the dishes. I told her I was hanging out with a Klansman. She left the room.)
Hours 8 Through 12: The Slog
The narration by Alexander Adams is the only thing that kept me awake during the middle stretch.
He's got this clear, dramatic delivery that works for the courtroom stuff. He doesn't do silly voices for the women, thank god. But man, the pacing... it dragged. It's just Adam Hall (the grandson lawyer) filing motion after motion. I get it, that's how the legal system works. It's a grind. But listening to it at 1.0x speed would be a death sentence of its own. I bumped this up to 1.35x just to get through the procedural sludge.
Adams shines when the clock runs down, though. When the legal jargon stops and the "Dead Man Walking" stuff starts, his voice drops a notch. It gets heavy. He nailed the atmosphere of the Row.
The Final Extraction
So, was it worth the 17-hour slog?
Yeah. The last two hours are a gut punch. I've seen some bad stuff in my time—Fallujah wasn't a picnic—but the clinical description of the gas chamber prep... yikes. It's cold. It's mechanical. And Adams delivers it with zero emotion, which makes it way worse.
I actually had to stop walking the dog and just sit on a park bench to finish the last chapter. Ranger was confused. I was a mess.
Who's This For?
Skip this if you need a fast-paced thriller where the hero saves the day with seconds to spare—go find a Jack Reacher book. Or honestly, pick up Rogue Lawyer—Grisham writes that one with way more momentum. This is for people who can stomach a slow, painful march to a brick wall. It's depressing as hell, but it sticks with you. A Time for Mercy put me through a similar emotional wringer, though at least that one had a kid I could root for without feeling dirty about it. Just make sure you have the patience for it.
