Shockingly, it took until 2022 for Congress to pass an anti-lynching law, something you’d assume had been ratified centuries earlier. Or maybe it’s not so shocking, since several books —including this week’s “In the Pines” — insist that lynching is very much with us.
I thought a lot about that when I read Cynthia Carr’s 2007 “Our Town: A Heartland Lynching, a Haunted Town and the Hidden History of White America.” It’s about the 1930 murder of two Black men who were (wrongly, probably) jailed in Marion, Ind., on suspicion of murder and rape.
There’s a famous photo of the killings. As Carr scanned onlookers depicted in the photo, she realized she was looking for her grandfather. Much like Truman Capote, Carr goes to the town to gather stories from survivors and, much like Capote’s “In Cold Blood,” her book is a riveting account of a crime and a reflection on memory and meaning. Many of the people Carr interviews are white, which unbalances the book, but she puts James Cameron — a third youth, who survived the lynchings — at its center.
Carr is not the only granddaughter re-examining her ancestor’s role in a lynching. In “In the Pines,” Grace Elizabeth Hale questions her sheriff grandfather’s presence at the 1947 murder of a Black Mississippian named Versie Johnson. Like Carr, Hale, who is white, is uncomfortable about writing about actions that affected Black people more significantly than white people. Her book, subtitled “A Lynching, a Lie, a Reckoning,” grapples with that.