The Final Case

In the summer of 2013 I sat in the gallery of a courtroom for weeks on end while a trial unfolded.  At the same time, my father--who'd been a criminal attorney for something like half a century--was in steep decline.  Regularly, after the gavel dropped to end a day's proceedings, I went to see him.  That fall, he passed away.

These two things--the courtroom drama and my father's demise--came together for me when I set out to write The Final Case.  If that makes it sound like a sad novel, it's not.  I think it's better described as a courtroom drama fused to a love story--love in many senses of the word, as a force that suffuses our existence with meaning. 

Praise

"A tender, closely observed, and often surprising novel . . . Guterson is the kind of writer about whom people used to say, when there were such things, ‘I’d read him, even if he wrote the phone book.’ Every sentence has a graceful weight and meter and is illumined by a subtle intelligence that makes his descriptions arresting but never showy . . . Vivid and wrenching.”
—Scott Turow, New York Times Book Review

“A unique, moving book . . . Nearly impossible to put down . . . It has an unexpected poignancy that builds as the pages turn.” 
—Moira Macdonald, Seattle Times

“Masterful . . . Sublime . . . The Final Case (provides) readers truth about the human condition in that satisfying way only great fiction can do.”
—Elena Hartwell, New York Journal of Books