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The Rainmaker (Paperback) (Paperback)
by John Grisham
| Category:
Law, Fiction |
| Market price: ¥ 148.00
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¥ 138.00
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| MSL Pointer Review:
It's a excellent book of portraying the lowly everyday working man who never loses sight of his dream despite obstacles. |
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Author: John Grisham
Publisher: Delta
Pub. in: September, 2005
ISBN: 0385339607
Pages: 576
Measurements: 7.9 x 5.4 x 1.3 inches
Origin of product: USA
Order code: BA00668
Other information: Reprint edition
ISBN-13: 978-0385339605
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- Awards & Credential -
#1 New York Times Bestseller |
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- MSL Picks -
Rudy Baylor is a young lawyer just starting out in Memphis. He's barely making ends meet and has to exchange mowing lawns for his rent. His first case falls into his lap and it's a chance of a lifetime - an insurance company refuses to pay the medical treatments for a man dying of leukemia. Several problems face Rudy with this case, a few minor things like first passing the bar exam, getting together enough money to even try this case since he's flat broke, and getting the courage to go up against a huge corporation who just happens to have hired the best defense attorney around.
John Grisham endures his characters to the reader and makes everyone think Insurance Companies are corrupt and only after profits. THE RAINMAKER is one of those books that will have the reader cheering against Corporate America and wondering just how many times this type of atrocity has actually happened. Many of Grisham's books make you think about things in real life and wonder just how much is being covered up by big money corporations. This is definitely one of those adventures!
Target readers:
General readers
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Long before his name became synonymous with the modern legal thriller, he was working 60-70 hours a week at a small Southaven, Mississippi law practice, squeezing in time before going to the office and during courtroom recesses to work on his hobby-writing his first novel.
Born on February 8, 1955 in Jonesboro, Arkansas, to a construction worker and a homemaker, John Grisham as a child dreamed of being a professional baseball player. Realizing he didn't have the right stuff for a pro career, he shifted gears and majored in accounting at Mississippi State University. After graduating from law school at Ole Miss in 1981, he went on to practice law for nearly a decade in Southaven, specializing in criminal defense and personal injury litigation. In 1983, he was elected to the state House of Representatives and served until 1990.
One day at the Dessoto County courthouse, Grisham overheard the harrowing testimony of a twelve-year-old rape victim and was inspired to start a novel exploring what would have happened if the girl's father had murdered her assailants. Getting up at 5 a.m. every day to get in several hours of writing time before heading off to work, Grisham spent three years on A Time to Kill and finished it in 1987. Initially rejected by many publishers, it was eventually bought by Wynwood press, who gave it a modest 5,000 copy printing and published it in June 1988.
That might have put an end to Grisham's hobby. However, he had already begun his next book, and it would quickly turn that hobby into a new full-time career-and spark one of publishing's greatest success stories. The day after Grisham completed A Time to Kill, he began work on another novel, the story of a hotshot young attorney lured to an apparently perfect law firm that was not what it appeared. When he sold the film rights to The Firm to Paramount Pictures for $600,000, Grisham suddenly became a hot property among publishers, and book rights were bought by Doubleday. Spending 47 weeks on The New York Times bestseller list, The Firm became the bestselling novel of 1991.
The successes of The Pelican Brief, which hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list, and The Client, which debuted at number one, confirmed Grisham's reputation as the master of the legal thriller. Grisham's success even renewed interest in A Time to Kill, which was republished in hardcover by Doubleday and then in paperback by Dell. This time around, it was a bestseller.
Since first publishing A Time to Kill in 1988, Grisham has written one novel a year (his other books are The Firm, The Pelican Brief, The Client, The Chamber, The Rainmaker, The Runaway Jury, The Partner, The Street Lawyer, The Testament, The Brethren, A Painted House, Skipping Christmas, The Summons, The King of Torts, Bleachers, The Last Juror, and The Broker) and all of them have become international bestsellers. There are currently over 225 million John Grisham books in print worldwide, which have been translated into 29 languages. Nine of his novels have been turned into films (The Firm, The Pelican Brief, The Client, A Time to Kill, The Rainmaker, The Chamber, A Painted House, The Runaway Jury, and Skipping Christmas), as was an original screenplay, The Gingerbread Man. The Innocent Man (October 2006) marks his first foray into non-fiction.
Grisham lives with his wife Renee and their two children Ty and Shea. The family splits their time between their Victorian home on a farm in Mississippi and a plantation near Charlottesville, VA.
Grisham took time off from writing for several months in 1996 to return, after a five-year hiatus, to the courtroom. He was honoring a commitment made before he had retired from the law to become a full-time writer: representing the family of a railroad brakeman killed when he was pinned between two cars. Preparing his case with the same passion and dedication as his books' protagonists, Grisham successfully argued his clients' case, earning them a jury award of $683,500-the biggest verdict of his career.
When he's not writing, Grisham devotes time to charitable causes, including most recently his Rebuild The Coast Fund, which raised 8.8 million dollars for Gulf Coast relief in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. He also keeps up with his greatest passion: baseball. The man who dreamed of being a professional baseball player now serves as the local Little League commissioner. The six ballfields he built on his property have played host to over 350 kids on 26 Little League teams.
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John Grisham's five novels - A Time To Kill, The Firm, The Pelican Brief, The Client, and The Chamber - have been number one best-sellers, and have a combined total of 47 million copies in print. Now, inThe Rainmaker, Grisham returns to the courtroom for the first time since A Time To Kill, and weaves a riveting tale of legal intrigue and corporate greed. Combining suspense, narrative momentum, and humor as only John Grisham can, this is another spellbinding read from the most popular author of our time.
Grisham's sixth spellbinding novel of legal intrigue and corporate greed displays all of the intricate plotting, fast-paced action, humor, and suspense that have made him the most popular author of our time. In his first courtroom thriller since A Time To Kill, John Grisham tells the story of a young man barely out of law school who finds himself taking on one of the most powerful, corrupt, and ruthless companies in America - and exposing a complex, multibillion-dollar insurance scam. In hs final semester of law school Rudy Baylor is required to provide free legal advice to a group of senior citizens, and it is there that he meets his first "clients," Dot and Buddy Black. Their son, Donny Ray, is dying of leukemia, and their insurance company has flatly refused to pay for his medical treatments. While Rudy is at first skeptical, he soon realizes that the Blacks really have been shockingly mistreated by the huge company, and that he just may have stumbled upon one of the largest insurance frauds anyone's ever seen - and one of the most lucrative and important cases in the history of civil litigation. The problem is, Rudy's flat broke, has no job, hasn't even passed the bar, and is about to go head-to-head with one of the best defense attorneys - and powerful industries - in America.
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CHAPTER ONE
MY DECISION to become a lawyer was irrevocably sealed when I realized my father hated the legal profession. I was a young teenager, clumsy, embarrassed by my awkwardness, frustrated with life, horrified of puberty, about to be shipped off to a military school by my father for insubordination. He was an ex-Marine who believed boys should live by the crack of the whip. I'd developed a quick tongue and an aversion to discipline, and his solution was simply to send me away. It was years before I forgave him.
He was also an industrial engineer who worked seventy hours a week for a company that made, among many other items, ladders. Because by their very nature ladders are dangerous devices, his company became a frequent target of lawsuits. And because he handled design, my father was the favorite choice to speak for the company in depositions and trials. I can't say that I blame him for hating lawyers, but I grew to admire them because they made his life so miserable. He'd spend eight hours haggling with them, then hit the martinis as soon as he walked in the door. No hellos. No hugs. No dinner. Just an hour or so of continuous bitching while he slugged down four martinis then passed out in his battered recliner. One trial lasted three weeks, and when it ended with a large verdict against the company my mother called a doctor and they hid him in a hospital for a month.
The company later went broke, and of course all blame was directed at the lawyers. Not once did I hear any talk that maybe a trace of mismanagement could in any way have contributed to the bankruptcy.
Liquor became his life, and he became depressed. He went years without a steady job, which really ticked me off because I was forced to wait tables and deliver pizza so I could claw my way through college. I think I spoke to him twice during the four years of my undergraduate studies. The day after I learned I had been accepted to law school, I proudly returned home with this great news. Mother told me later he stayed in bed for a week.
Two weeks after my triumphant visit, he was changing a lightbulb in the utility room when (I swear this is true) a ladder collapsed and he fell on his head. He lasted a year in a coma in a nursing home before someone mercifully pulled the plug.
Several days after the funeral, I suggested the possibility of a lawsuit, but Mother was just not up to it. Also, I've always suspected he was partially inebriated when he fell. And he was earning nothing, so under our tort system his life had little economic value.
My mother received a grand total of fifty thousand dollars in life insurance, and remarried badly. He's a simple sort, my stepfather, a retired postal clerk from Toledo, and they spend most of their time square dancing and traveling in a Winnebago. I keep my distance. Mother didn't offer me a dime of the money, said it was all she had to face the future with, and since I'd proven rather adept at living on nothing, she felt I didn't need any of it. I had a bright future earning money; she did not, she reasoned. I'm certain Hank, the new husband, was filling her ear full of financial advice. Our paths will cross again one day, mine and Hank's.
I will finish law school in May, a month from now, then I'll sit for the bar exam in July. I will not graduate with honors, though I'm somewhere in the top half of my class. The only smart thing I've done in three years of law school was to schedule the required and difficult courses early, so I could goof off in this, my last semester. My classes this spring are a joke: Sports Law, Art Law, Selected Readings from the Napoleonic Code and, my favorite, Legal Problems of the Elderly.
It is this last selection that has me sitting here in a rickety chair behind a flimsy folding table in a hot, damp, metal building filled with an odd assortment of seniors, as they like to be called. A hand-painted sign above the only visible door majestically labels the place as the Cypress Gardens Senior Citizens Building, but other than its name the place has not the slightest hint of flowers or greenery. The walls are drab and bare except for an ancient, fading photograph of Ronald Reagan in one corner between two sad little flagstone, the Stars and Stripes, the other, the state flag of Tennessee. The building is small, somber and cheerless, obviously built at the last minute with a few spare dollars of unexpected federal money. I doodle on a legal pad, afraid to look at the crowd inching forward in their folding chairs.
There must be fifty of them out there, an equal mixture of blacks and whites, average age of at least seventy-five, some blind, a dozen or so in wheelchairs, many wearing hearing aids. We were told they meet here each day at noon for a hot meal, a few songs, an occasional visit by a desperate political candidate. After a couple of hours of socializing, they will leave for home and count the hours until they can return here. Our professor said this was the highlight of their day.
We made the painful mistake of arriving in time for lunch. They sat the four of us in one corner along with our leader, Professor Smoot, and examined us closely as we picked at neoprene chicken and icy peas. My Jell-O was yellow, and this was noticed by a bearded old goat with the name Bosco scrawled on his Hello-My-Name-Is tag stuck above his dirty shirt pocket. Bosco mumbled something about yellow Jell-O, and I quickly offered it to him, along with my chicken, but Miss Birdie Birdsong corralled him and pushed him roughly back into his seat. Miss Birdsong is about eighty but very spry for her age, and she acts as mother, dictator and bouncer of this organization. She works the crowd like a veteran ward boss, hugging and patting, schmoozing with other little blue-haired ladies, laughing in a shrill voice and all the while keeping a wary eye on Bosco who undoubtedly is the bad boy of the bunch. She lectured him for admiring my Jell-O, but seconds later placed a full bowl of the yellow putty before his glowing eyes. He ate it with his stubby fingers.
An hour passed. Lunch proceeded as if these starving souls were feasting on seven courses with no hope of another meal. Their wobbly forks and spoons moved back and forth, up and down, in and out, as if laden with precious metals. Time was of absolutely no consequence. They yelled at each other when words stirred them. They dropped food on the floor until I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I even ate my Jell-O. Bosco, still covetous, watched my every move. Miss Birdie fluttered around the room, chirping about this and that.
Professor Smoot, an oafish egghead complete with crooked bow tie, bushy hair and red suspenders, sat with the stuffed satisfaction of a man who'd just finished a fine meal, and lovingly admired the scene before us. He's a kindly soul, in his early fifties, but with mannerisms much like Bosco and his friends, and for twenty years he's taught the kindly courses no one else wants to teach and few students want to take. Children's Rights, Law of the Disabled, Seminar on Domestic Violence, Problems of the Mentally Ill and, of course, Geezer Law, as this one is called outside his presence. He once scheduled a course to be called Rights of the Unborn Fetus, but it attracted a storm of controversy so Professor Smoot took a quick sabbatical.
He explained to us on the first day of class that the purpose of the course was to expose us to real people with real legal problems. It's his opinion that all students enter law school with a certain amount of idealism and desire to serve the public, but after three years of brutal competition we care for nothing but the right job with the right firm where we can make partner in seven years and earn big bucks. He's right about this.
The class is not a required one, and we started with eleven students. After a month of Smoot's boring lectures and constant exhortations to forsake money and work for free, we'd been whittled down to four. It's a worthless course, counts for only two hours, requires almost no work, and this is what attracted me to it. But, if there were more than a month left, I seriously doubt I could tough it out. At this point, I hate law school. And I have grave concerns about the practice of law.
This is my first confrontation with actual clients, and I'm terrified. Though the prospects sitting out there are aged and infirm, they are staring at me as if I possess great wisdom. I am, after all, almost a lawyer, and I wear a dark suit, and I have this legal pad in front of me on which I'm drawing squares and circles, and my face is fixed in an intelligent frown, so I must be capable of helping them. Seated next to me at our folding table is Booker Kane, a black guy who's my best friend in law school. He's as scared as I am. Before us on folded index cards are our written names in black felt--Booker Kane and Rudy Baylor. That's me. Next to Booker is the podium behind which Miss Birdie is screeching, and on the other side is another table with matching index cards proclaiming the presence of F. Franklin Donaldson the Fourth, a pompous ass who for three years now has been sticking initials and numerals before and after his name. Next to him is a real bitch, N. Elizabeth Erickson, quite a gal, who wears pinstripe suits, silk ties and an enormous chip on her shoulder. Many of us suspect she also wears a jockstrap.
Smoot is standing against the wall behind us. Mis...
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| View all 11 comments |
Los Angeles Times (MSL quote), USA
<2007-02-02 00:00>
Great fun to read...The complex plotting is Grisham's major accomplishment. |
Jeffrey Clinard (MSL quote), USA
<2007-02-02 00:00>
Rudy Baylor has nothing. He delivered pizzas and waited tables to get through college and law school. He passed the bar, and got his licence - and one interesting case in a throwaway class in his last year at law school.
Circumstances force him into ambulance chasing with a man who never passed the bar. But Rudy's one case is legal dynamite. His clients were the victims of a bad-faith case that is textbook. He has the dirt, and has the witnesses that has the dirt. He has a favorable judge. He is even smart enough to know how to turn the defendent's high priced lawyers into unwitting shills for his case.
Maybe being a rookie with nothing to lose worked in his favor. He had no money, no professional reputation, or anything else to lose. The trial scenes are amazing. The green kid, the rookie, absolutely humilates the defendants, as well as the best legal defense money can buy. Trust me, they wre rueing the day that he was ever born.
Yeah, Grisham rigged the facts, the evidence, and everything to favor the rookie... in short a case any trial lawyer would love, combined with the favorable judge. It's still fun. I have to say though, if Grisham could rig the trial in Baylor's favor, he could rig the outcome. Maybe the point is that his client got the justice she deserved, I have to feel her lawyer should have walked away from it all with the money. Still, he got the girl - and maybe that was enough. Along with the knowledge he quit being on top.
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Roger Buffington (MSL quote), USA
<2007-02-02 00:00>
"The Rainmaker" is one of Grisham's better novels ("The Firm" still remains my favorite by Grisham). It is the story of a young law student-then lawyer who is trying to make it in the legal profession; specifically, in the world of small-time civil litigation. Young Rudy Baylor lucks into a fairly big-time case, and the fun begins.
Grisham gives us a cynical, funny, and mostly authentic look at the law. Oh, there are a few flaws. I doubt many judges would ever favor one side as much as the judge did in this novel, although I suppose such things happen (I've seen it once.) But overall, Grisham gives the reader a more or less accurate look at the world of civil litigation. This give the novel a gritty sense of realism that carries the reader through what is mostly an excellent read. There are some hilarious pieces to the story-I love that "paralawyer" guy. And Grisham's cynical portrayal of big firm lawyers hits the mark. This is a very funny book.
One of Grisham's better ones. By the way, the novel is quite a bit better than the movie.
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A reader (MSL quote), Morocco
<2007-02-02 00:00>
This amazing, "hard-to-put-down" book portrays the life of a young law student, Rudy Baylor's rather short career as a lawyer in Memphis. Very unpredictable, you will never know what is going to happen next if you do not keep on reading. It is really surprising to see an author that can change the situation of the whole story in few pages and make it sound like a real piece of of literature. John Grisham, with his amazing knowledge of law weaves perfectly the two subjects that don't seem to go together well: Courtroom/law and Suspense. It is really intriguing to see the author give great amount of details about the court that in our normal life would put us into sleep in less than 5 minutes. In this ingenious work of literature, you can experience all kinds of emotion: sadness, happiness, love, fear, hatred...Adding to all the compliments on this novel, this book is frightfully realistic and its story could happen anytime and anywhere around us. In addition, Grisham depicts the corruption of the U.S. Courtroom, the law firms, and harsh reality about insurance companies. This book can be compared to a car with a diesel engine; starts real slow but once it reaches above 100km/h just keeps gaining speed. That means the first 100 pages of The Rainmaker is rather boring but after that 100 pages, the novel becomes a really "hard-to-put-down-page-turner".
In short, this book is a masterpiece legal suspense novel, probably the best one in the 21st century. There are only two faults about The Rainmaker. It is that the book has a rather deceptive ending and that the book is only about 500 pages. |
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