Americas
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A Civil Action
#1 NATIONAL BESTSELLER • NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD WINNER • The true story of one man so determined to take down two of the nation's largest corporations accused of killing children from water contamination that he risks losing everything.
"The legal thriller of the decade." -Cleveland Plain Dealer
Described as "a page-turner filled with greed, duplicity, heartache, and bare-knuckle legal brinksmanship" by The New York Times, A Civil Action is the searing, compelling tale of a legal system gone awry-one in which greed and power fight an unending struggle against justice. Yet it is also the story of how one man can ultimately make a difference. Representing the bereaved parents, the unlikeliest of heroes emerges: a young, flamboyant Porsche-driving lawyer who hopes to win millions of dollars and ends up nearly losing everything, including his sanity. With an unstoppable narrative power reminiscent of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, A Civil Action is an unforgettable reading experience that will leave the reader both shocked and enlightened.
A Civil Action was made into a movie starring John Travolta and Robert Duvall.
"The legal thriller of the decade." -Cleveland Plain Dealer
Described as "a page-turner filled with greed, duplicity, heartache, and bare-knuckle legal brinksmanship" by The New York Times, A Civil Action is the searing, compelling tale of a legal system gone awry-one in which greed and power fight an unending struggle against justice. Yet it is also the story of how one man can ultimately make a difference. Representing the bereaved parents, the unlikeliest of heroes emerges: a young, flamboyant Porsche-driving lawyer who hopes to win millions of dollars and ends up nearly losing everything, including his sanity. With an unstoppable narrative power reminiscent of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, A Civil Action is an unforgettable reading experience that will leave the reader both shocked and enlightened.
A Civil Action was made into a movie starring John Travolta and Robert Duvall.
Editorial Reviews
"Whether in truth or fiction, I have never read a more compelling chronicle of litigation." -John Grisham
"A page-turner. Rich and vivid ... eventful and gripping." -The New York Times
"Once you start A Civil Action, you probably will not be able to put it down." -Washington Post Book World
"The legal thriller of the decade." -Cleveland Plain Dealer
"A page-turner. Rich and vivid ... eventful and gripping." -The New York Times
"Once you start A Civil Action, you probably will not be able to put it down." -Washington Post Book World
"The legal thriller of the decade." -Cleveland Plain Dealer
Readers Top Reviews
aligottiChris McK
As many of the 'lower rating' reviewers may attest to, this book is certainly not devoid of a seemingly exhausting amount of facts and analysis, yet this is what makes 'A Civil Action' shine. For a thorough, intellectual and interested reader, the book will come alive as it sucks you in to the exact condition that plagued Schlichtmann so harshly in his near-decade long search for justice. The devil is certainly in the details and 'A Civil Action' provides them at earnest, allowing the reader to begin to come to their own conclusions and ideas of the case, pulling them into the trial even deeper. I ended up reading this book in one sitting as I was so captivated and enthralled by the findings and rulings that I quite literally could not put the book now. For anyone looking for a glitzy ready-for-film legal novel, this book is probably not for you. But if you are ready to step into the ring and take a good, long, hard look at an incredibly detailed and thrilling case I highly recommend this book. Test your minds; learn the case in a way that could never be achieved through Internet articles and newspaper clippings and fall in love with 'A Civil Action' for the exhilarating legal epic that it is. In terms of shipping I received the book quickly in 2 days through Prime and couldn't have gotten a better 'Used' copy of the book. The spine wasn't even creased (it is now though) and not even the slightest tear on any of the 502 pages. I am certainly glad I chose to buy it used, as it wouldn't have been in much better condition even if it was 'Brand New'.
michele hauserali
This is an amazing, tragic and infuriating story. And it goes a long way toward showing how important tort law is, why civil damages matter and how badly the courts often treat the little guy (especially the federal courts).
missouripopmichel
This is truly one story I hated to give up for sleep. John Grishim eat your heart out. Thank you
Paul Bulgermissou
Well, this might be the most bitterly disappointing thing I've read in the past decade. All my rage shall be directed toward Jonathan Harr, who had the audacity to set up an impossible situation, made me care about the real life characters this situations involved, meticulously set up the conditions under which this the real life characters finally decided to pursue the impossible task, bluff me into thinking they had a strong chance of being successful, and forced me to feel so many panging emotions as the characters suffer loss after loss after loss after loss, and leading me to think over and over and over "maybe things will be different this time, maybe justice will finally be served," and time and time again that optimism is revoked, and I'm forced down from my elation into reality. Harr has made me into a fool. A naive, overly optimistic fool. Having just finished this book, within the past few minutes, I think to myself, "how could I have been so stupid to really think, given everything I was subject to witness over the past four hundred pages, that there was even a slight hope for justice?" I really don't know. I mean seriously, Harr basically tells you, multiple times throughout the book, that this story is not going to have a happy, yet every new revelation, every new piece of information that's discovered, I was stupid enough to be dragged into Jan Schlichtmann's elation, to feel what he was feeling in those moments, to think to myself that the world is a just place where justice cannot help but be served when the divide between right and wrong is so painfully obvious, so clearly illustrated, so irrefutable, and then, alas, justice does not come. And the defeat failed to become real for me until the final ten pages of the book, which was when it became clear to me that there just wasn't enough book left for any kind've of miraculous twist of fate to manifest itself within the coming pages, and only then did I allow myself to accept defeat, and not a moment sooner. I'm sorry if I spoiled it for anybody, like myself, who was not aware of how these events ultimately turned out before it was introduced to them through this book, but the heroes lose in this true story. Knowing the ending shouldn't deter you from reading it, though. It is a truly marvelous work of non-fiction writing.
Short Excerpt Teaser
The lawyer Jan Schlichtmann was awakened by the telephone at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning in mid-July. He had slept only a few hours, and fitfully at that. When the phone rang, he was dreaming about a young woman who worked in the accounting department of a Boston insurance firm. The woman had somber brown eyes, a clear complexion, and dark shoulder-length hair. Every working day for the past five months the woman had sat across from Schlichtmann in the courtroom, no more than ten feet away. In five months Schlichtmann had not uttered a single word directly to her, nor she to him. He had heard her voice once, the first time he'd seen her, but he could no longer remember what it sounded like. When their eyes had happened to meet, each had been careful to convey nothing of import, to make the gaze neutral, and to shift it away as quickly as possible without causing insult.
The woman was a juror. Schlichtmann hoped that she liked and trusted him. He wanted desperately to know what she was thinking. In his dream, he stood with her in a dense forest, overgrown with branches and roots and vines. Behind the woman were several people whose faces Schlichtmann recognized, the other jurors. The woman was trying to decide which path in the forest to take and Schlichtmann was attempting to point the direction. He beseeched her. She remained undecided. A dream of obvious significance, and unresolved when the phone rang and Schlichtmann awoke, enveloped by a sense of dread.
The man on the phone identified himself as an officer at Baybank South Shore, where Schlichtmann had an automobile loan that was several months in arrears. Unless Schlichtmann was prepared to pay the amount due--it came to $9,203--the bank intended to repossess the car, a black Porsche 928.
Schlichtmann had no idea whether or not Baybank South Shore had been paid in the last several months, but on reflection he felt pretty certain it had not. He told the banker to speak with a man named James Gordon. "He handles my financial affairs," said Schlichtmann, who gave the banker Gordon's telephone number and then hung up the phone.
Schlichtmann was still in bed twenty minutes later when the phone rang again. This time the voice on the other end identified himself as a Suffolk County sheriff. The sheriff said he was at a pay phone on Charles Street, two blocks from Schlichtmann's building. He had come to repossess the Porsche. "I want you to show me where the car is," said the sheriff.
Schlichtmann asked the sheriff to wait for ten minutes. Then he tried to call Gordon. There was no answer. He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Again the phone rang. "Are you going to show me where the car is?" asked the sheriff.
"I think I will," said Schlichtmann.
The sheriff, a large, heavyset man in a blue blazer, was waiting for Schlichtmann at the front door. It was a clear and brilliantly sunny morning in the summer of 1986. From the doorstep, Schlichtmann could see the sun glinting off the Charles River, where the white sails of small boats caught a brisk morning breeze. The sheriff handed him some documents dealing with the repossession. Schlichtmann glanced at the papers and told the sheriff he would get the car, which was parked in a garage three blocks away. Leaving the sheriff at his doorstep, he walked up Pinckney Street and then along the brick sidewalks of Charles Street, the main thoroughfare of Beacon Hill. He walked past several cafés, the aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries coming from their doorways, past young mothers wheeling their children in strollers, past joggers heading for the Esplanade along the Charles River. He felt as if his future, perhaps even his life, hung in the balance while all around him the world followed a serene course.
In the garage bay the Porsche had acquired a fine patina of city grime. Schlichtmann had owned the car for almost two years, yet he'd driven it less than five thousand miles. Throughout the winter it had sat unused in the garage. When Schlichtmann's girlfriend had tried to start the car one weekend this spring, she'd discovered the battery was dead. She had the battery charged and took the Porsche out for a drive, but then James Gordon told her the insurance had lapsed and she shouldn't drive it anymore.
Schlichtmann drove the car back to Pinckney Street and handed the keys to the sheriff, who took out a screwdriver and began to remove
the license plate. Schlichtmann stood on the sidewalk and watched, his arms folded. The sheriff shook open a green plastic garbage bag and collected audio cassettes and papers from the dashboard. In the cramped backseat of the Porsche, he found some law books and several transcripts of depositions in the civil action of Anne Anderson, et al., v. ...
The woman was a juror. Schlichtmann hoped that she liked and trusted him. He wanted desperately to know what she was thinking. In his dream, he stood with her in a dense forest, overgrown with branches and roots and vines. Behind the woman were several people whose faces Schlichtmann recognized, the other jurors. The woman was trying to decide which path in the forest to take and Schlichtmann was attempting to point the direction. He beseeched her. She remained undecided. A dream of obvious significance, and unresolved when the phone rang and Schlichtmann awoke, enveloped by a sense of dread.
The man on the phone identified himself as an officer at Baybank South Shore, where Schlichtmann had an automobile loan that was several months in arrears. Unless Schlichtmann was prepared to pay the amount due--it came to $9,203--the bank intended to repossess the car, a black Porsche 928.
Schlichtmann had no idea whether or not Baybank South Shore had been paid in the last several months, but on reflection he felt pretty certain it had not. He told the banker to speak with a man named James Gordon. "He handles my financial affairs," said Schlichtmann, who gave the banker Gordon's telephone number and then hung up the phone.
Schlichtmann was still in bed twenty minutes later when the phone rang again. This time the voice on the other end identified himself as a Suffolk County sheriff. The sheriff said he was at a pay phone on Charles Street, two blocks from Schlichtmann's building. He had come to repossess the Porsche. "I want you to show me where the car is," said the sheriff.
Schlichtmann asked the sheriff to wait for ten minutes. Then he tried to call Gordon. There was no answer. He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Again the phone rang. "Are you going to show me where the car is?" asked the sheriff.
"I think I will," said Schlichtmann.
The sheriff, a large, heavyset man in a blue blazer, was waiting for Schlichtmann at the front door. It was a clear and brilliantly sunny morning in the summer of 1986. From the doorstep, Schlichtmann could see the sun glinting off the Charles River, where the white sails of small boats caught a brisk morning breeze. The sheriff handed him some documents dealing with the repossession. Schlichtmann glanced at the papers and told the sheriff he would get the car, which was parked in a garage three blocks away. Leaving the sheriff at his doorstep, he walked up Pinckney Street and then along the brick sidewalks of Charles Street, the main thoroughfare of Beacon Hill. He walked past several cafés, the aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries coming from their doorways, past young mothers wheeling their children in strollers, past joggers heading for the Esplanade along the Charles River. He felt as if his future, perhaps even his life, hung in the balance while all around him the world followed a serene course.
In the garage bay the Porsche had acquired a fine patina of city grime. Schlichtmann had owned the car for almost two years, yet he'd driven it less than five thousand miles. Throughout the winter it had sat unused in the garage. When Schlichtmann's girlfriend had tried to start the car one weekend this spring, she'd discovered the battery was dead. She had the battery charged and took the Porsche out for a drive, but then James Gordon told her the insurance had lapsed and she shouldn't drive it anymore.
Schlichtmann drove the car back to Pinckney Street and handed the keys to the sheriff, who took out a screwdriver and began to remove
the license plate. Schlichtmann stood on the sidewalk and watched, his arms folded. The sheriff shook open a green plastic garbage bag and collected audio cassettes and papers from the dashboard. In the cramped backseat of the Porsche, he found some law books and several transcripts of depositions in the civil action of Anne Anderson, et al., v. ...
