Culture
Why Scott Turow Brought Back His Most Famous Hero for ‘Presumed Guilty’
The author and lawyer Scott Turow has never forgotten a harrowing conversation he had long ago with the mother of a young man charged with murder. Turow had successfully defended him in an earlier, less grave case, but this time he was clearly guilty.
It was a tragedy on many levels. But what struck Turow about the conversation was the mother’s fierce, primal love for her son despite everything. “She was just torn apart,” he said.
That memory was floating in the back of his mind as he conceived his latest novel, “Presumed Guilty,” about a high school student accused of murdering his girlfriend on a camping trip gone awry. The plot was inspired, too, by the 2021 murder of Gabby Petito, killed by a boyfriend whose parents closed ranks to protect him.
“I’ve always been struck by how terrible it is, what a shattering experience, for a parent when a child gets accused of a serious crime,” Turow said. “They think, ‘Is my love for this child so huge that I can’t recognize that he or she is a monster?’”
“Presumed Guilty” is Turow’s 13th novel, and the third to feature the former prosecutor (and now former judge) Rusty Sabich. Fans of Turow’s emotionally astute, legally complex and compulsively readable novels will remember meeting Rusty for the first time in the 1987 blockbuster “Presumed Innocent,” widely considered the gold standard for the modern courtroom thriller. (He’s also been in a 1990 movie and a 2024 mini-series, played by Harrison Ford and Jake Gyllenhaal, respectively.)
Turow has been praised for writing popular books that rise to the level of literature, much as John le Carré elevated the espionage novel to an art form. Most of his books are set in Kindle County, a stand-in for Chicago, and many of his characters return later in different books, evoking a bustling fictional community. His work has been translated into more than 40 languages and sold more than 30 million copies worldwide.
Why resurrect Rusty, last seen suspended in a cloud of misery in the 2010 novel “Innocent”? Turow doesn’t think of his characters as people, exactly, but keeps their continuing stories tucked inside his imagination and felt a little uneasy, leaving Rusty hanging like that. “I feel a certain personal loyalty to him, because he’s the man who changed my life,” he said.
He was chatting at his part-time home in Naples, Fla., where the neighborhood has large houses on small lots and athletic senior citizens in tennis visors power-walking on the sidewalks. He spoke precisely, thoughtfully and almost encyclopedically. You got the feeling he remembered the details of every legal case he’d ever been involved with, whether fictional or real.
“Presumed Guilty” sends Rusty back to the courtroom, defending the son of his fiancée in a twisty murder trial — this time in the rural Midwestern community to which he’s retired. In classic Turow fashion, the truth of the case is withheld until the very end. The emotional complications of this scenario notwithstanding, the book gives Rusty, 77, a poignant shot at the domestic happiness that has always eluded him.
“Can you remake your life,” Turow said, “when you have a sense of your own mistakes and your own role in your prior unhappiness?”
At 75, Turow has considered that question and exudes his own hard-won contentment. He’s mostly retired from the law, though he’s working on a lingering pro bono case. In 2008 he and his first wife, Annette, divorced after nearly 40 years together — it was “incredibly painful,” he said, but the right thing to do — and eight years after that, he got married again, to Adriane Glazier, a bank executive.
The humorist Dave Barry, a friend of Turow’s for some 30 years and his bandmate in the writers’ rock group the Rock Bottom Remainders, officiated.
Turow may come across as a serious, even grave person. But he isn’t really. Barry said the author cheerfully acceded to an on-the-spot instruction to incorporate lines from the song “Wild Thing” — including “Wild Thing/I think I love you” — into his marriage vows.
Turow has been known to sing lead vocals when the band plays the song, sometimes wearing an inexplicable novelty wig. “We are a very bad band, and I am the most untalented member,” he said.
“One of the reasons we love having him in the band is that he will abandon his dignity and do pretty much anything we ask him to,” Barry said via email.
Turow and his wife divide their time between their houses up north — in Evanston, north of Chicago, and in rural Wisconsin — and Florida. The population down here is generally more conservative than they are, and many of their friends are Canadians fleeing south for the winter. The house is light and airy, with golf gear in the garage and, on a recent Friday, a large English cream golden retriever lying companionably in the living room.
An assistant was working in a nearby office; Adriane, now retired from her corporate job, was volunteering at the local Humane Society shelter; the family’s second retriever was out getting some exercise. The dogs’ names are Doug and Brian, though Turow prefers Brian’s nickname, Monkey.
“Adriane happens to like the idea that the dogs should have human names,” he said, laughing. “I’m not keen on it, personally.”
Turow was born on the north side of Chicago, in a Jewish neighborhood he describes as almost claustrophobically close-knit. His grandparents were Yiddish-speaking Belarusian immigrants.
His father, a doctor, was verbally abusive and had a deep-seated, explosive anger. Though Turow believes that everyone “has not only a reason for their shortcomings, but a point of view about the world founded on those things,” he said, his father’s foundational troubles did not excuse his behavior. “I was always terrified as a child,” he said.
Turow’s father wanted him to be a doctor, but he wanted to be a novelist. He studied writing at Amherst, began publishing short stories and won a coveted teaching-and-writing fellowship to Stanford. Working on a (never published) novel about a tenants’ rent strike, he unexpectedly found himself excited by housing law — and by law itself, which felt like a curative to the emotional chaos of his childhood.
He enrolled in Harvard Law School and distinguished himself while still a student by publishing the nonfiction book “One L,” an instant classic that was almost novelistic in its portrayal of the emotional and intellectual turmoil of the first year of law school.
Turow took a job at the U.S. attorney’s office in Chicago and plunged into high-profile trial work, successfully prosecuting a Cook County judge charged with mail fraud and extortion, among other cases.
His deep understanding of the law and panoptic attention in the courtroom have informed his fiction ever since. “He’s listening to what the witness is saying, what the defense attorney is doing, what the judge is doing, how the bailiff is rolling her eyes, how the jurors are looking at each other — all the things that make his books so good,” said his friend Julian Solotorovsky, who met him when they shared an office back then.
He began writing “Presumed Innocent” for half an hour each day on his morning commute. It took him eight years, and it would be hard to overstate the almost electric excitement that greeted the book’s publication — the paperback sale, the film sale, the laudatory reviews, how it seemed that everyone was reading it on the train. Turow’s next book, “The Burden of Proof,” leaped to No. 1 on the New York Times hardcover best-seller list when it came out — even as “Presumed Innocent” was No. 1 on the paperback list.
Turow’s father put “Presumed Innocent” on a shelf in his office, where his patients could see it, but couldn’t bring himself to praise it. When Turow asked him if he’d read it, he responded, “Yeah, but I still think you could have gone to medical school.”
More books followed, with Turow, now a partner at a big Chicago law firm, switching to a part-time role so he would have more time to write, even as he took on more pro bono work.
He shares with many members of his profession an alarm about the direction the courts are taking in the United States. “Of course, it makes me worried about the stability of democracy when you have a Supreme Court that is gaily tearing down some of the most important guardrails we have,” he said.
Turow is two years younger than his most famous character; they’ve aged in tandem. “We’re both fortunate in not suffering, you know, debilitating physical problems,” he said. But he’s not too preoccupied with his age. (It might help that his wife is 16 years younger.)
In any case, they have a marriage “in which we default to kindness,” he said, and are lucky that everyone in their extended blended family — her ex-husband, his ex-wife, everyone’s new partners, a total of five children and (so far) eight grandchildren — gets along.
With “Presumed Guilty,” he says he’s ready to leave Rusty Sabich behind. But though the character’s arc is complete, the author’s is not. He’s working on a new book that begins when an old lawyer is startled to read an obituary for a man he believed his client had murdered 50 years earlier.
“I took a few months to ask if I wanted to write another novel, since it would be natural to feel I’d brought everything full circle,” he said. “But yes, I do. I have too much fun to stop willingly.”
Culture
6 Poems You Should Know by Heart
Literature
‘Prayer’ (1985) by Galway Kinnell
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
“I typically say Kinnell’s words at the start of my day, as I’m pedaling a traffic-laden path to my office,” says Major Jackson, 57, the author of six books of poetry, including “Razzle Dazzle” (2023). “The poem encourages a calm acceptance of the day’s events but also wants us to embrace the misapprehension and oblivion of life, to avoid probing too deeply for answers to inscrutable questions. I admire what Kinnell does with only 14 words; the repetition of ‘what,’ ‘that’ and ‘is’ would seem to limit the poem’s sentiment but, paradoxically, the poem opens widely to contain all manner of human experience. The three ‘is’es in the middle line give it a symmetry that makes its message feel part of a natural order, and even more convincing. Thanks to the skillful punctuation, pauses and staccato rhythm, a tonal quality of interior reflection emerges. Much like a haiku, it continues after its last words, lingering like the last note played on a piano that slowly fades.”
“Just as I was entering young adulthood, probably slow to claim romantic feelings, a girlfriend copied out a poem by Pablo Neruda and slipped it into an envelope with red lipstick kisses all over it. In turn, I recited this poem. It took me the remainder of that winter to memorize its lines,” says Jackson. “The poem captures the pitch of longing that defines love at its most intense. The speaker in Shakespeare’s most famous sonnet believes the poem creates the beloved, ‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’ (Sonnet 18). In Rilke’s expressive declarations of yearning, the beloved remains elusive. Wherever the speaker looks or travels, she marks his world by her absence. I find this deeply moving.”
“Clifton faced many obstacles, including cancer, a kidney transplant and the loss of her husband and two of her children. Through it all, she crafted a long career as a pre-eminent American poet,” says Jackson. “Her poem ‘won’t you celebrate with me’ is a war cry, an invitation to share in her victories against life’s persistent challenges. The poem is meaningful to all who have had to stare down death in a hospital or had to bereave the passing of close relations. But, even for those who have yet to mourn life’s vicissitudes, the poem is instructive in cultivating resilience and a persevering attitude. I keep coming back to the image of the speaker’s hands and the spirit of steadying oneself in the face of unspeakable storms. She asks in a perfectly attuned gorgeously metrical line, ‘what did i see to be except myself?’”
‘Sonnet 94’ (1609) by William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
“It’s one of the moments of Western consciousness,” says Frederick Seidel, 90, the author of more than a dozen collections of poetry, including “So What” (2024). “Shakespeare knows and says what he knows.”
“It trombones magnificent, unbearable sorrow,” says Seidel.
“It’s smartass and bitter and bright,” says Seidel.
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
Classic and Contemporary Literature From France, Japan, India, the U.K. and Brazil
Literature
FRANCE
According to the writer Leïla Slimani, 44, the author of ‘The Country of Others’ (2020).
Classic
‘Essais de Montaigne’ (‘Essays of Montaigne,’ 1580)
“France is a country of nuance with a love of conversation and freedom and an aversion to fanaticism. It’s also a country built on reflexive subjectivity. Montaigne reveals all that, writing, ‘I am myself the matter of my book.’”
Contemporary
‘La Carte et le Territoire’ (‘The Map and the Territory,’ 2010) by Michel Houellebecq
“Houellebecq describes France as a museum, where landscape turns into décor and where rural areas are emptying out. He shows the gap between the Parisian elite and the rest of the population, which he paints as aging and disoriented by modernity. It’s a melancholic and yet ironic novel about a disenchanted nation.”
JAPAN
According to the writer Yoko Ogawa, 64, the author of ‘The Memory Police’ (1994).
Classic
‘Man’yoshu’ (late eighth century)
“‘Man’yoshu,’ the oldest extant collection of Japanese poetry, reflects a diversity of voices — from emperors to commoners. They bow their heads to the majesty of nature, weep at the loss of loved ones and find pathos in death. The pages pulse with the vitality of successive generations.”
Contemporary
‘Tenohira no Shosetsu’ (‘Palm-of-the-Hand Stories,’ 1923-72) by Yasunari Kawabata
“The essence of Japanese literature might lie in brevity: waka [a classical 31-syllable poetry form], haiku and short stories. There’s a tradition of cherishing words that seem to well up from the depths of the heart, imbued with warmth. Kawabata, too, exudes more charm in his short stories — especially these very short ‘palm-of-the-hand’ stories — than in his full-length novels. Good and evil, beauty and ugliness, love and hate — everything is contained in these modest worlds.”
INDIA
According to Aatish Taseer, 45, a T contributing writer and the author of ‘Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands’ (2009).
Classic
‘The Kumarasambhava’ (‘The Birth of Kumara,’ circa fifth century) by Kalidasa
“This is an epic poem by the greatest of the classical Sanskrit poets and dramatists. The gods are in a pickle. They’re being tormented by a monster, but Shiva, their natural protector, is deep in meditation and cannot be disturbed. Kama, the god of love, armed with his flower bow, is sent down from the heavens to waken Shiva. Never a wise idea! The great god, in his fury, opens his third eye and incinerates Kama. But then, paradoxically, the death of the god of love engenders one of the greatest love stories ever told. In the final canto, Shiva and his wife, the goddess Parvati, have the most electrifying sex for days on end — and, 15 centuries on, in our now censorious time, it still leaves one agog at the sensual wonder that was India.”
Contemporary
‘The Complex’ (2026) by Karan Mahajan
“This state-of-the-nation novel, which was published just last month, captures the squalor and malice of Indian family life. Delhi is both my and Mahajan’s hometown and, in this sprawling homage to India’s capital, we see it on the eve of the economic liberalization of the 1990s, as the old socialist city gives way to a megalopolis of ambition, greed and political cynicism.”
THE UNITED KINGDOM
According to the writer Tessa Hadley, 70, the author of ‘The London Train’ (2011).
Classic
‘Jane Eyre’ (1847) by Charlotte Brontë
“Written almost 200 years ago, it remains an insight into our collective soul — or at least its female part. Somewhere at the heart of us there’s a small girl in a wintry room, curled up in the window seat with a book, watching the lashing rain on the window glass: ‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. …’ Jane’s solemnity, her outraged sense of justice, her trials to come, the wild weather outside, her longing for something better, for love in her future: All this speaks, perhaps problematically, to something buried in the foundations of our idea of ourselves.”
Contemporary
‘All That Man Is’ (2016) by David Szalay
“Though he isn’t quite completely British (he’s part Canadian, part Hungarian), Szalay is brilliant at catching certain aspects of British men — aspects that haven’t been written about for a while, now updated for a new era. Funny, exquisitely observed and terrifying, this novel reminds us, too, how absolutely our fate and our identity as a nation belong with the rest of Europe.”
BRAZIL
According to the writer and critic Noemi Jaffe, 64, the author of ‘What Are the Blind Men Dreaming?’ (2016).
Classic
‘Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas’ (‘The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas,’ 1881) by Machado de Assis
“Not only is it experimental in style — very short chapters mixed with long ones; different points of view; narrated by a corpse; metalinguistic — but it also introduces an extremely ironic view of the rising bourgeoisie in Rio de Janeiro at the time, revealing the hypocrisy of slave owners, the falsehood of love affairs and the only true reason for all social relationships: convenience and personal interest. After almost 150 years, it’s still modern, both formally and, unfortunately, also in content.”
Contemporary
‘Onde Pastam os Minotauros’ (‘Where Minotaurs Graze,’ 2023) by Joca Reiners Terron
“The two main characters — Cão and Crente — along with some of their colleagues, plan to escape and set fire to the slaughterhouse where they work under exploitative conditions. The men develop sympathy for the animals they kill, and one of them becomes a sort of philosopher, revealing the sheer nonsense of existence and the injustices of society in the deepest parts of Brazil.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
6 Myths That Endure
Literature
The Myth of Meeting Oneself
“This is evident in Virgil’s ‘Aeneid’ (circa 30-19 B.C.) when Aeneas witnesses his own heroic actions depicted in murals of the Trojan War in Juno’s temple, and again in Miguel de Cervantes’s ‘Don Quixote’ (1605-15) when Quixote enters a printer’s shop and finds a book that has been published with fake details about his quest even as he’s living it,” says Ben Okri, 67, the author of “The Famished Road” (1991) and “Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted” (2025). “In both stories, individuals throw themselves into the world and think they encounter objects, personae, obstacles and antagonists, but what they actually encounter is themselves. In our time, where our actions meet us in the echo chamber of social media, the process is magnified and swifter. Now a deed doesn’t even have to take place for it to enter the realm of reality.”
The Myth of Utopia
“I’ve always had trouble with the idea of utopia, feeling it derives its energy more from what it wishes to dismantle than what it wishes to enact,” says the T writer at large Aatish Taseer, 45, the author of “Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands” (2009). “Ram Rajya, or the mythical rule of the hero Ram in the Hindu epic ‘Ramayana’ (seventh century B.C.-third century A.D.), like all visions of perfection, contains a built-in violence.”
The Myth of Invisibility
“Invisibility bears power and powerlessness at the same time,” says Okri. “In ancient cultures, it was a gift of the gods. Jesus, for example, walks unrecognized among his disciples, and in Greek myths, Scandinavian legends and ancient African tales, heroes are gifted invisibility in the form of cloaks, sandals or spells. Modern works like the two ‘Invisible Man’ novels, by H.G. Wells (1897) and Ralph Ellison (1952), and the ‘Harry Potter’ novels (1997-2007) by J.K. Rowling reach back to those ideas. But today, people talk about visibility as the highest form of social agency, while invisibility can render a whole class, race, caste or gender unseen.”
The Myth of Steadiness vs. Speed
“‘The Tortoise and the Hare,’ one of Aesop’s fables (sixth century B.C.), doesn’t necessarily strike a younger person as promising — possibly it has a whiff of morality in it,” says Yiyun Li, 53, the author of “A Thousand Years of Good Prayers” (2005) and “Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life” (2017). “But the longer I live and work, the more I understand that it’s the tortoiseness in a person that carries one along, not the swiftness of the mind and body of the hare.”
The Myth of Magic
“Ancient magical tales like Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ (late eighth to early seventh century B.C.) were allegories of transformation, of secret teachings,” says Okri, “whereas modern forms of magic are narrative devices and tropes of storytelling that continue the child’s wonder of life. I think of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’ (1925), Gabriel García Márquez’s ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ (1967) and, again, the ‘Harry Potter’ books. The intuition of magic persists even in these atheistic and science-infested times, where nothing is to be believed if it can’t be subjected to analysis. This is perhaps because the ultimate magic confronts us every day in the mystery of consciousness. That we can see anything is magical; that we experience love is magical; and perhaps the most magical thing of all is the imagination’s unending power to alter the contents and coordinates of reality. It hides tenaciously in the act of reading, which is the most generative act of magic.”
The Myth of the Immortal Soul
“ ‘The soul is birthless and eternal, imperishable and timeless and is not destroyed when the body is destroyed,’ says Krishna in the ‘Bhagavad Gita’ (second century-first century B.C.). This belief in the immortality of the soul — what used to be called Pythagoreanism in ancient Greece — is still the most pervasive myth in India,” says Taseer, “and has more influence over behavior and how one lives one’s life than any other.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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