A Civil Action

“He’s also very generous […] because he knows he’s self-centered and he feels guilty about it.”

Teresa knows Schlichtmann better than anyone else in the book does and suggests that despite his obsessions, he has enough self-awareness to know that he can be self-absorbed to an unseemly degree. This tension between ego and altruism underpins much of the conflict later in the work—e.g., Schlichtmann’s desire to pursue a larger settlement than the families themselves want. Ultimately, the awareness Teresa describes does not prevent him from investing himself in the Woburn case in ways that prove destructive to both Schlichtmann and those around him.

“Schlichtmann’s gamble had paid off, but it had been foolhardy, dignified only by his inexperience and the fact that he’d won. It was not necessarily the best sort of lesson for a fledgling lawyer.”

Early in his career, Schlichtmann makes a habit of staring down risk and taking huge gambles. The more he wins, the more he thinks he is unbeatable. This helps his confidence but also sets him up for the downfall he will experience with the Woburn case.

“Little questions […] little bricks build big walls. Too many of you are afraid to ask simple questions. The tools of the trade are the English language and the rules of evidence.” 

This is Facher, speaking to one of his classes. It is ironic that he will soon find himself embroiled in a case so difficult that even simple questions are hard to come by. In its exploration of the Problems with the American Justice System, the book suggests that the legal system actually involves much more than Facher outlines here.

“Everything Richard Aufiero knew about lawyers he’d learned from television and the movies.”

Aufiero is nervous before he is deposed. He has stereotypical ideas about courtrooms, lawyers, and cross-examinations, which Harr suggests further complicates the pursuit of justice, as jurors and witnesses are likely to share similar views. Despite Aufiero’s concerns, he proves highly relatable—which is one reason why Cheeseman and Facher decide he can’t be allowed to testify during the trial.

“You think the jury’s going to pull out their handkerchiefs and dab their eyes […] It will never happen. Those families will never see the light of day.”

When the book begins, it seems logical that the families will eventually be involved in the case as witnesses. Facher makes it clear that there is little chance of that ever happening. An emotional, grieving parent on the witness stand could potentially win over a juror regardless of the arguments under discussion. However, Harr’s framing suggests that Facher’s decision was a calculated move by guilty corporations.

“Each trial is a drama in its own right […] a morality play watched by a public audience.”

Nesson emphasizes the spectacle of trial cases. The work’s behind-the-scenes glimpses into the Woburn case are indeed full of drama, but Nesson’s comment is concerned with the moralization of trials in the public imagination. A Civil Action suggests that the binary division of each case into victims and villains erases some of the complexity involved; even in the Woburn case, where one side seems clearly at fault, the motivations of actors like Schlichtmann blur clear ethical distinctions.

“The judgments of the courts are meant to reinforce social rules and values and, at the same time, to deter behavior contrary to those rules and values.”

This quote is from Nesson’s writings. Much of the Woburn case is punitive—it seeks to punish the corporations in the lawsuit and send a message to other boardrooms across the country. In the context of Nesson’s claims, the fact that the case does not result in a clear victory for the plaintiffs suggests that the corporations’ actions—e.g., the pursuit of profit at the expense of public safety—may not actually be contrary to American “social rules and values.”

“The main fuel, I think, in lawsuits for the death of children is an overwhelming sense of personal guilt. Mostly, I don’t think parents really want money. They want to have it said clearly that it wasn’t their fault.”

Though he phrases his remarks compassionately, Skinner suggests that the Woburn families’ lawsuit is essentially frivolous—an attempt to assuage the guilt he suggests parents inevitably feel when a child dies. The suggestion that the bereaved families do not actually want justice, or to prevent Grace and Beatrice from polluting, could lend credence to Schlichtmann’s belief that the trial is engineered to favor the corporations. Regardless, Skinner’s assumptions are a reminder of the fallibility of the legal system, as even the most impartial judge brings their own subjective opinions into the courtroom.

“I think it’s very difficult for any woman with small children to decide the case on evidence rather than emotion.”

Facher argues that a jury panel cannot be objective in a case involving the deaths of children. Although the question of how jurors reach decisions is a fair one (and one that A Civil Action raises), Facher particularly appeals to stereotypes of women as inherently emotional and maternal to make his point.

“What does it take to get you mad?”

Despite Schlichtmann’s obsessiveness and passion, he falters when Riley fails to break on the stand. Of all the emotions that drive him, anger is the one that he has not made much use of, and it may be exactly what is needed. Schlichtmann’s use of emotion to make people react and to wound is at odds with the view that the law is dispassionate, though whether it ought to be is a question A Civil Action leaves open.

“In the enclosed, ritualistic world of the courtroom, where judges wore black robes, witnesses were sworn to tell the truth, and panels of silent strangers held one’s fate in their hands, reality was often a mere shadowland.”

What is real in court is less important than what can be shown to be real. The winner of a case may be the one who demonstrates a false version of events but does so more convincingly than the party in possession of the actual truth. This is one of the many problems with the US justice system, A Civil Action implies.

“The trial—their trial—became a distant echo.”

The case drags on for so long that the Woburn families stop following it except on the nightly news reports. Despite their involvement, they have no idea how long it will take to rule on justice for their children. Their response contrasts dramatically with Schlichtmann’s ongoing obsession with the case.

“The truth is at the bottom of a bottomless pit.”

Facher’s remark is perhaps the most cynical of the entire book. Everyone involved in the case is ostensibly trying to prove the truth, but Facher raises doubts about whether there is any such thing. Nevertheless, his observation aligns with the book’s portrayal of the legal system, which A Civil Action suggests is not ultimately a vehicle for adjudicating truth.

“The judge was, in effect, asking the jurors to create a fiction that would in the end stand for the truth.”

A Civil Action suggests that even Skinner cannot pretend that the goal of the trial is to get to the actual truth. Rather, Harr argues that courts work to manufacture truth via their rulings, which hearkens back to Nesson’s claims about the role of the legal system in enforcing social norms.

“He didn’t want to feel rested and calm. He wanted to feel on edge, feel the rush of adrenaline pulsing through his body.”

Schlichtmann denies himself sleep so that he can feel what he considers a productive sort of agitation in the courtroom. This is another instance of his dangerous obsession with the case, which impacts even his own body.

“Please don’t. Is this weakness?”

Schlichtmann asks the jury not to exonerate the guilty corporations. He suggests that the fact that he is making this request is a possible sign of weakness, as cases are ostensibly decided based on logical argument rather than personal appeal. The request illustrates how personally invested Schlichtmann has become in the trial.

“The jurors had some misgivings, but on balance felt they had done the best they could.” 

A Civil Action suggests that even when juries do their best, sometimes they get it wrong—particularly when they are unsuited to the tasks put before them. The reference to the jurors’ “misgivings” implies that they themselves recognize (as Harr argues) that the scientific complexities of a case like the Woburn one may make trial by jury a poor vehicle for delivering justice.

“That was a great night for me and he’ll never remember a minute of it.”

Schlichtmann is so fixated on the case that even a night of lovemaking barely registers with him the next day. By this point, the toll that his obsession with the case is taking on him is obvious to those around him.

“We got blinded by greed. Nothing wrong with that. It’s our motivating factor.”

Despite his odd relationship with money and his—occasional, at least—concern for the Woburn families, Schlichtmann flat-out states that greed is what is driving him. His remark that greed “motivates” lawyers to pursue cases raises further red flags about whether the US legal system is set up to deliver justice.

“Rich isn’t so difficult. Famous isn’t so difficult. Rich and famous together aren’t so difficult. Rich, famous, and doing good—now, that’s very difficult.”

In the legal profession, doing good can sometimes be at odds with the goals of making money and winning fame. This conflict is central to Schlichtmann’s arc.

“‘Just put me back to where I was two years ago,’ said Schlichtmann. ‘Make me whole again.’”

This takes place during a conversation about paying off creditors, but Harr uses Schlichtmann’s remark figuratively to refer to his actual sense of self. Woburn has warped his ideas about who he is and who he can be.

“She came to believe that he’d been using them simply as a vehicle for his own ambition, for his own fame and fortune.”

By the end of the book, Anne Anderson comes to resent Schlichtmann. He has worked tirelessly on the case, but her view of his motivations evolves. She begins to see him as overly theatrical, absorbed by self-interest, and relatively indifferent to the plights of the families. The book itself suggests her concerns have some validity, although it does not present Schlichtmann in a wholly unsympathetic light.

“Jan—all he wants to do is fight. This could go on for the rest of our lives. It’s Dante’s ninth circle. Win, lose, appeal, win, lose, appeal.” 

Conway has lost a great deal during the case. It is unclear why he wants to keep following Schlichtmann, particularly if Schlichtmann is driven at this point solely by an urge to fight.