THE EDGE magazine | Book reviews | John Berendt | Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
John Berendt
Vintage paperback, 400 pages
Review by David Clark (1995)

This is a curious beast, the offspring of a heavy-on-atmosphere travelogue crossed with a true crime paperback. Furthermore, Esquire columnist Berendt’s evocatively titled book takes the form of a well told novel; one rarely notices that this is non-fiction, despite Berendt’s occasional altering of facts. That occasional altering, of course, makes Midnght useless as a straightforward or standalone historical account. This is an interpretation at best, something to be read (if taken as history) alongside more factual tellings.

Bored in New York, excited at the prospect of exploring the rest of their big country, Berendt and his friends used to make weekend excursions, often ending up somewhere around New Orleans. As Berendt tells it, intrigued by its reputation, he went on to investigate the port of Savannah, in Georgia, and fell under the spell of its gentle, old world sensibilities, its stately white mansions, old money, and oddball locals.

Halfway through this ambitious work (in May 1981) there’s murder. John Williams, antique dealer and sparkling flame of the well-to-do society moths, shot dead his 21-year-old assistant, Danny Hansford. The older man argued self defence; claiming that philandering, drug-using, short-tempered drunk and hustler Hansford had pulled a pistol on his employer. Williams’ actions were justified, he said, and he expected money to oil the wheels. But bitter rivalry and local politics interceded and Williams was soon on trial, asked to explain a number of glaring inconsistencies in physical evidence. This is how a rich man can kill his lover and presume to get away with it. Cue a long, tortuous tale of accusation, court, jail and appeal before we reach a satisfying, novelistic conclusion.

Berendt is particularly good on Savannah society. He befriends the extraordinary Lady Chablis, a celebrated local drag act; is invited to piano bars and gay clubs; and still manages to ingratiate himself into the best places and parties. He is a fly on the wall, and hangs with Williams and his pet voodoo priestess as they lay graveyard dirt on the man’s accusers. He is an observer, and they seem prepared – even desperate – to be observed. Justice, on the other hand, is neither seen nor done.

The title notwithstanding, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is snappy, sassy stuff. We overlook the ease with which everything slides together and the fact that for almost the first 200 pages nothing actually happens. The book succeeds with enormous wit and panache; it reads better than many novels. Like Savannah itself, Midnight seems to be hiding a lot behind its tasteful exterior, making the mundane more exotic, and the sordid sexy. Berendt is perhaps a little disingenuous in the way he tries to disengage himself from the narrative (especially where the confessional Williams is concerned) but it scarcely matters.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil can be said to be non-fiction, true crime crossed with travelogue. I call it a good novel. •

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