A Time To Kill: A Novel

Paperback | June 23, 2009

byJohn Grisham

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Don’t miss a sneak peek of Sycamore Row, John Grisham’s new novel inspired by A Time to Kill, in the back of the book.

The life of a ten-year-old girl is shattered by two drunken and remorseless young men. The mostly white town of Clanton in Ford County, Mississippi, reacts with shock and horror at the inhuman crime. Until her black father acquires an assault rifle and takes justice into his own outraged hands.

For ten days, as burning crosses and the crack of sniper fire spread through the streets of Clanton, the nation sits spellbound as young defense attorney Jake Brigance struggles to save his client’s life–and then his own.

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From the Publisher

Don’t miss a sneak peek of Sycamore Row, John Grisham’s new novel inspired by A Time to Kill, in the back of the book.The life of a ten-year-old girl is shattered by two drunken and remorseless young men. The mostly white town of Clanton in Ford County, Mississippi, reacts with shock and horror at the inhuman crime. Until her black f...

From the Jacket

"Grisham's pleasure in relating the Byzantine  complexities of Clanton (Mississippi) politics is contagious and he tells a good  story...An enjoyable book."—Library  Journal. "Grisham excels!"—Dallas Times Herald“Grisham is an absolute master.”—Washington Post“Grisham enraptures us.”—Houston Chronicle

John Grisham is the author of twenty-five novels, including, most recently, The Racketeer; one work of nonfiction; a collection of stories; and a series for young readers. The recipient of the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction, he is also the chairman of the board of directors of the Mississippi Innocence Project at the University of ...

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Format:PaperbackDimensions:672 pages, 7.51 × 4.2 × 1.6 inPublished:June 23, 2009Publisher:Random House Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0440245915

ISBN - 13:9780440245919

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Rated 4 out of 5 by from A Time to Kill Great book read it 20 years ago and wanted to reread before I read Sycamore Road. Can't wait to watch the movie
Date published: 2015-04-14
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Loved it It's hard to believe that I had read most of his books but not this one. I enjoyed it immensely. I highly recommend this book to all Grisham fans and also to those just starting to read his books.
Date published: 2015-02-04
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Time to kill I really enjoyed this novel on to the next one by Grisham this was my second, they keep me reading.
Date published: 2015-01-11
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Time to Kill Book was well written very intriguing plot lots of twists to keep your interest. Unexpected ending .
Date published: 2015-01-08
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Classic An old favourite that gets better with every reading!
Date published: 2014-11-11
Rated 2 out of 5 by from A Time to Kill The book made a much better movie. It was difficult to truly like any of the characters, especially Briggance. Kind of a disappointment.
Date published: 2014-09-30
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Awesome book this book is my most favorite book ! I've aready read it three times !
Date published: 2014-07-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Awesome read I couldn't put this book down, as disturbing as the content was from the very beginning. On to my next Grisham!
Date published: 2014-03-09
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Awesome read amazing book! keeps you wanting to read non-stop!
Date published: 2014-01-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Awesome read I recently re-read this before I read Sycamore Row which takes us back to Clanton. This book is a hard book to read due to the topic and harshness of the culture then. But a great book. I give it 4 out of 5 because it's hard to read with the language but that also adds to the intensity of the situation and culture of the time.
Date published: 2014-01-23
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Brilliant Grisham is one of my favorite. Having read all of his books to date and this one for a second time. I think it shows that "A Time to Kill" was one of his first novels. An excellent story although I think he drops the ball towards the end. Ellen and her father are dropped out very fast. Carla never does find out her house was torched. However an excellent read overall.
Date published: 2013-11-09
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Excellent book A Time to kill was John Grisham’s first book, written in 1989. The main theme of the book was on racism and its legal consequence in Mississippi. This book is about a young lawyer who goes on trial to defend a black man, Carl Lee, who murders two white southern men who attack and rape his daughter. Since Carl Lee is black and the rapists where white, the trial ignites all sorts of reactions in the community as justice, prejudice and the law collide. It was a well written book that was very graphic and offensive at times, but I thought it to be necessary to depict the racial controversies in the southern society of the time.
Date published: 2012-04-02
Rated 3 out of 5 by from Pretty darn good A Time to Kill is a book that you need a lot of patience for. You also need to have an understanding of the author before you read it. It's very easy to assume Grisham is a morbid man until you read of his knowledge in the legal field and realize he is merely relaying his concerns and appreciations of the legal system. It's a good book, but it has a lot of holes to be sure. There are so many characters in and out, it's near impossible to keep track. Some of them are down right useless in the story and better serve as nameless faces on a bench, but time is wasted on them. The plot is also inconsistent at times, and you feel like your on a teeter totter through much of the story. That said, it has a lot of suspense. It shows the good, the bad, the ugly and the down right nasty side of it's specified judicial system. This book is not for the impatient or the weak of heart. If you have the patience and stomach for it, it's a pretty darn good read.
Date published: 2011-02-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Powerful and Thought Provoking !!! I'm an absolute fan of Grisham's. I'm his greatest fan, some might say. Grisham has been my favorite writer for many years. His work is a masterpiece of thought, approach, and the legal system. He's a master of writing and of expression. A Time to Kill is one of my all time favorites.
Date published: 2010-12-08
Rated 3 out of 5 by from Grisham's work This wasn't one of the most remarkable novels I have ever read, but I didn't dislike it. I found that the rape seen was a little horrific, and wonder what Grisham has going on up there. Like in all of the Grisham books I have read, there were way too many characters to keep straight. All in all A Time To Kill was a good book, but not spectacular. Definetly not as mentionable as Grisham's 'The Client'. That's some good reading right there.
Date published: 2004-01-15
Rated 4 out of 5 by from A Time to Kill This was a very good novel. I enjoyed reading it very much. It kept me on my toes.
Date published: 2000-12-21
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Still his best book If you are just starting to read Grisham,then save this one for last! It was the first, but still his best. The most riviting, couldn't put it down, one in the lot. This book set the standard, and I find none of his others to date come close. A must read.
Date published: 2000-04-28
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Great This book is one that you can not put down it keeps you wondering what is going to happen next. I give it 5 stars because of this simple fact. I love the way John Grisham keeps you in the book, like you actually are there.
Date published: 2000-04-17
Rated 5 out of 5 by from flasher this is a very insightful book tat show the realness of murder!!!
Date published: 2000-04-16
Rated 4 out of 5 by from A must Read! A Time to Kill was a great book and i realy enjoyed reading it. It caught my attention kept me wanting to read more.
Date published: 2000-04-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Best Grisham In my opinion this is Grisham's best book. It has the power to make you laugh and cry all at the same time. I enjoyed tremendously and strongly recomment it to anyone.
Date published: 2000-01-30
Rated 5 out of 5 by from A Time to Kill is A Time to Read This book is one of Grisham's best, in my opinion. It is definetly a great read. The rape is difficult to read because it is so graphic, but nessesary to get into the head of Carl Lee. Bravo Mr. Grisham.
Date published: 2000-01-20
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Its good Yup it was a good book
Date published: 1999-10-19

Extra Content

Read from the Book

Chapter OneBILLY RAY COBB was the younger and smaller of the two rednecks. At twenty-three he was already a three-year veteran of the state penitentiary at Parchman. Possession, with intent to sell. He was a lean, tough little punk who had survived prison by somehow maintaining a ready supply of drugs that he sold and sometimes gave to the blacks and the guards for protection. In the year since his release he had continued to prosper, and his small-time narcotics business had elevated him to the position of one of the more affluent rednecks in Ford County. He was a businessman, with employees, obligations, deals, everything but taxes. Down at the Ford place in Clanton he was known as the last man in recent history to pay cash for a new pickup truck. Sixteen thousand cash, for a custom-built, four-wheel drive, canary yellow, luxury Ford pickup. The fancy chrome wheels and mudgrip racing tires had been received in a business deal. The rebel flag hanging across the rear window had been stolen by Cobb from a drunken fraternity boy at an Ole Miss football game. The pickup was Billy Ray's most prized possession. He sat on the tailgate drinking a beer, smoking a joint, watching his friend Willard take his turn with the black girl.Willard was four years older and a dozen years slower. He was generally a harmless sort who had never been in serious trouble and had never been seriously employed. Maybe an occasional fight with a night in jail, but nothing that would distinguish him. He called himself a pulpwood cutter, but a bad back customarily kept him out of the woods. He had hurt his back working on an offshore rig somewhere in the Gulf, and the oil company paid him a nice settlement, which he lost when his ex-wife cleaned him out. His primary vocation was that of a part-time employee of Billy Ray Cobb, who didn't pay much but was liberal with his dope. For the first time in years Willard could always get his hands on something. And he always needed something. He'd been that way since he hurt his back.She was ten, and small for her age. She lay on her elbows, which were stuck and bound together with yellow nylon rope. Her legs were spread grotesquely with the right foot tied tight to an oak sapling and the left to a rotting, leaning post of a long-neglected fence. The ski rope had cut into her ankles and the blood ran down her legs. Her face was bloody and swollen, with one eye bulging and closed and the other eye half open so she could see the other white man sitting on the truck. She did not look at the man on top of her. He was breathing hard and sweating and cursing. He was hurting her.When he finished, he slapped her and laughed, and the other man laughed in return, then they laughed harder and rolled around the grass by the truck like two crazy men, screaming and laughing. She turned away from them and cried softly, careful to keep herself quiet. She had been slapped earlier for crying and screaming. They promised to kill her if she didn't keep quiet.They grew tired of laughing and pulled themselves onto the tailgate, where Willard cleaned himself with the little nigger's shirt, which by now was soaked with blood and sweat. Cobb handed him a cold beer from the cooler and commented on the humidity. They watched her as she sobbed and made strange, quiet sounds, then became still. Cobb's beer was half empty, and it was not cold anymore. He threw it at the girl. It hit her in the stomach, splashing white foam, and it rolled off in the dirt near some other cans, all of which had originated from the same cooler. For two six-packs now they had thrown their half-empty cans at her and laughed. Willard had trouble with the target, but Cobb was fairly accurate. They were not ones to waste beer, but the heavier cans could be felt better and it was great fun to watch the foam shoot everywhere.The warm beer mixed with the dark blood and ran down her face and neck into a puddle behind her head. She did not move.Willard asked Cobb if he thought she was dead. Cobb opened another beer and explained that she was not dead because niggers generally could not be killed by kicking and beating and raping. It took much more, something like a knife or a gun or a rope to dispose of a nigger. Although he had never taken part in such a killing, he had lived with a bunch of niggers in prison and knew all about them. They were always killing each other, and they always used a weapon of some sort. Those who were just beaten and raped never died. Some of the whites were beaten and raped, and some of them died. But none of the niggers. Their heads were harder. Willard seemed satisfied.Willard asked what he planned to do now that they were through with her. Cobb sucked on his joint, chased it with beer, and said he wasn't through. He bounced from the tailgate and staggered across the small clearing to where she was tied. He cursed her and screamed at her to wake up, then he poured cold beer in her face, laughing like a crazy man.She watched him as he walked around the tree on her right side, and she stared at him as he stared between her legs. When he lowered his pants she turned to the left and closed her eyes. He was hurting her again.She looked out through the woods and saw something—a man running wildly through the vines and underbrush. It was her daddy, yelling and pointing at her and coming desperately to save her. She cried out for him, and he disappeared. She fell asleep.When she awoke one of the men was lying under the tailgate, the other under a tree. They were asleep. Her arms and legs were numb. The blood and beer and urine had mixed with the dirt underneath her to form a sticky paste that glued her small body to the ground and crackled when she moved and wiggled. Escape, she thought, but her mightiest efforts moved her only a few inches to the right. Her feet were tied so high her buttocks barely touched the ground. Her legs and arms were so deadened they refused to move.She searched the woods for her daddy and quietly called his name. She waited, then slept again.When she awoke the second time they were up and moving around. The tall one staggered to her with a small knife. He grabbed her left ankle and sawed furiously on the rope until it gave way. Then he freed the right leg, and she curled into a fetal position with her back to them.Cobb strung a length of quarter-inch ski rope over a limb and tied a loop in one end with a slip knot. He grabbed her and put the noose around her head, then walked across the clearing with the other end of the rope and sat on the tailgate, where Willard was smoking a fresh joint and grinning at Cobb for what he was about to do. Cobb pulled the rope tight, then gave a vicious yank, bouncing the little nude body along the ground and stopping it directly under the limb. She gagged and coughed, so he kindly loosened the rope to spare her a few more minutes. He tied the rope to the bumper and opened another beer.They sat on the tailgate drinking, smoking, and staring at her. They had been at the lake most of the day, where Cobb had a friend with a boat and some extra girls who were supposed to be easy but turned out to be untouchable. Cobb had been generous with his drugs and beer, but the girls did not reciprocate. Frustrated, they left the lake and were driving to no place in particular when they happened across the girl. She was walking along a gravel road with a sack of groceries when Willard nailed her in the back of the head with a beer can."You gonna do it?" asked Willard, his eyes red and glazed.Cobb hesitated. "Naw, I'll let you do it. It was your idea."Willard took a drag on his joint, then spit and said, "Wasn't my idea. You're the expert on killin' niggers. Do it."Cobb untied the rope from the bumper and pulled it tight. It peeled bark from the limb and sprinkled fine bits of elm around the girl, who was watching them carefully now. She coughed.Suddenly, she heard something—like a car with loud pipes. The two men turned quickly and looked down the dirt road to the highway in the distance. They cursed and scrambled around, one slamming the tailgate and the other running toward her. He tripped and landed near her. They cursed each other while they grabbed her, removed the rope from her neck, dragged her to the pickup and threw her over the tailgate into the bed of the truck. Cobb slapped her and threatened to kill her if she did not lie still and keep quiet. He said he would take her home if she stayed down and did as told; otherwise, they would kill her. They slammed the doors and sped onto the dirt road. She was going home. She passed out.Cobb and Willard waved at the Firebird with the loud pipes as it passed them on the narrow dirt road. Willard checked the back to make sure the little nigger was lying down. Cobb turned onto the highway and raced away."What now?" Willard asked nervously."Don't know," Cobb answered nervously. "But we gotta do something fast before she gets blood all over my truck. Look at her back there, she's bleedin' all over the place."Willard thought for a minute while he finished a beer. "Let's throw her off a bridge," he said proudly."Good idea. Damned good idea." Cobb slammed on the brakes. "Gimme a beer," he ordered Willard, who stumbled out of the truck and fetched two beers from the back."She's even got blood on the cooler," he reported as they raced off again.Gwen Hailey sensed something horrible. Normally she would have sent one of the three boys to the store, but they were being punished by their father and had been sentenced to weed-pulling in the garden. Tonya had been to the store before by herself—it was only a mile away—and had proven reliable. But after two hours Gwen sent the boys to look for their little sister. They figured she was down at the Pounders' house playing with the many Pounders kids, or maybe she had ventured past the store to visit her best friend, Bessie Pierson.Mr. Bates at the store said she had come and gone an hour earlier. Jarvis, the middle boy, found a sack of groceries beside the road.Gwen called her husband at the paper mill, then loaded Carl Lee, Jr., into the car and began driving the gravel roads around the store. They drove to a settlement of ancient shotgun houses on Graham Plantation to check with an aunt. They stopped at Broadway's store a mile from Bates Grocery and were told by a group of old black men that she had not been seen. They crisscrossed the gravel roads and dusty field roads for three square miles around their house.Cobb could not find a bridge unoccupied by niggers with fishing poles. Every bridge they approached had four or five niggers hanging off the sides with large straw hats and cane poles, and under every bridge on the banks there would be another group sitting on buckets with the same straw hats and cane poles, motionless except for an occasional swat at a fly or a slap at a mosquito.He was scared now. Willard had passed out and was of no help, and he was left alone to dispose of the girl in such a way that she could never tell. Willard snored as he frantically drove the gravel roads and county roads in search of a bridge or ramp on some river where he could stop and toss her without being seen by half a dozen niggers with straw hats. He looked in the mirror and saw her trying to stand. He slammed his brakes, and she crashed into the front of the bed, just under the window. Willard ricocheted off the dash into the floorboard, where he continued to snore. Cobb cursed them both equally.Lake Chatulla was nothing more than a huge, shallow, man-made mudhole with a grass-covered dam running exactly one mile along one end. It sat in the far southwest corner of Ford County, with a few acres in Van Buren County. In the spring it would hold the distinction of being the largest body of water in Mississippi. But by late summer the rains were long gone, and the sun would cook the shallow water until the lake would dehydrate. Its once ambitious shorelines would retreat and move much closer together, creating a depthless basin of reddish brown water. It was fed from all directions by innumerable streams, creeks, sloughs, and a couple of currents large enough to be named rivers. The existence of all these tributaries necessarily gave rise to a good number of bridges near the lake.It was over these bridges the yellow pickup flew in an all-out effort to find a suitable place to unload an unwanted passenger. Cobb was desperate. He knew of one other bridge, a narrow wooden one over Foggy Creek. As he approached, he saw niggers with cane poles, so he turned off a side road and stopped the truck. He lowered the tailgate, dragged her out, and threw her in a small ravine lined with kudzu.Carl Lee Hailey did not hurry home. Gwen was easily excited, and she had called the mill numerous times when she thought the children had been kidnapped. He punched out at quitting time, and made the thirty-minute drive home in thirty minutes. Anxiety hit him when he turned onto his gravel drive and saw the patrol car parked next to the front porch. Other cars belonging to Gwen's family were scattered along the long drive and in the yard, and there was one car he didn't recognize. It had cane poles sticking out the side windows, and there were at least seven straw hats sitting in it.Where were Tonya and the boys?As he opened the front door he heard Gwen crying. To his right in the small living room he found a crowd huddled above a small figure lying on the couch. The child was covered with wet towels and surrounded by crying relatives. As he moved to the couch the crying stopped and the crowd backed away. Only Gwen stayed by the girl. She softly stroked her hair. He knelt beside the couch and touched the girl's shoulder. He spoke to his daughter, and she tried to smile. Her face was bloody pulp covered with knots and lacerations. Both eyes were swollen shut and bleeding. His eyes watered as he looked at her tiny body, completely wrapped in towels and bleeding from ankles to forehead.Carl Lee asked Gwen what happened. She began shaking and wailing, and was led to the kitchen by her brother. Carl Lee stood and turned to the crowd and demanded to know what happened.Silence.He asked for the third time. The deputy, Willie Hastings, one of Gwen's cousins, stepped forward and told Carl Lee that some people were fishing down by Foggy Creek when they saw Tonya lying in the middle of the road. She told them her daddy's name, and they brought her home.Hastings shut up and stared at his feet.Carl Lee stared at him and waited. Everyone else stopped breathing and watched the floor."What happened, Willie?" Carl Lee yelled as he stared at the deputy.Hastings spoke slowly, and while staring out the window repeated what Tonya had told her mother about the white men and their pickup, and the rope and the trees, and being hurt when they got on her. Hastings stopped when he heard the siren from the ambulance.The crowd filed solemnly through the front door and waited on the porch, where they watched the crew unload a stretcher and head for the house.The paramedics stopped in the yard when the front door opened and Carl Lee walked out with his daughter in his arms. He whispered gently to her as huge tears dripped from his chin. He walked to the rear of the ambulance and stepped inside. The paramedics closed the door and carefully removed her from his embrace.

Editorial Reviews

"Grisham's pleasure in relating the Byzantine complexities of Clanton (Mississippi) politics is contagious and he tells a good  story...An enjoyable book."—Library Journal

"Grisham excels!"—Dallas Times Herald

“Grisham is an absolute master.”—Washington Post

“Grisham enraptures us.”—Houston Chronicle