Prima Facie by Suzie Miller

First published in the UK in 2023; published by Henry Holt and Co. on January 30, 2024

The marketing of Prima Facie gives the impression that it is a legal thriller, but the impression is false. This is an agenda-driven novel. I have no quarrel with the agenda and I have no problem with using a novel to make a point if the writer honors the elements of successful fiction. Disguising an essay as a novel usually results in an uninteresting novel. That’s certainly true here.

Tessa Ensler is a barrister who is extraordinarily pleased with her cross-examination skills. Unfortunately, Suzie Miller writes courtroom scenes in the abstract. She rarely treats the reader to actual cross-examinations, opting to have Tessa boast of her technique without revealing the questions she is asking. Miller makes no effort to deliver the suspense that good cross-examination scenes generate.

Instead of following the traditional path of a courtroom thriller, the book focuses on Tessa’s personal experience as a crime victim and the impact of crime on her life and career. It’s fine that Miller didn’t write a legal thriller. She can write any book she wants. Unfortunately, the book she wrote isn’t interesting.

The novel is written in two parts. Both halves travel between the past and present. In the first half, the past focuses on the circumstances of Tessa’s acceptance into a prestigious law school. It’s a typical story of a working-class girl transitioning into a life where her contemporaries are posh. In the present, Tessa is pleased with herself because she regards herself as a masterful barrister. She enjoys flirting with posh Julian and enjoys even more his admiring comments. Before the first third of the novel has gone by, Tessa is feeling even better about herself because she shagged Julian on the couch in his office. When she actually goes on a date with Julian, however, they have wonderful drunken sex, Tessa wakes up and vomits, Julian wakes up and wants round two, and when Tessa declines he rapes her.

In the novel’s second half, the past focuses on Tessa’s report of her rape to the police and the present begins with her testimony in Julian's criminal trial. The then-and-now format slows the pace of a story in which only the now is interesting. I kept wanting Tessa to get on with the trial, but her trial narrative is constantly interrupted by flashbacks that the reader will recognize from countless similar stories. Tessa sees Julian at work, Julian seems perfectly normal and acts as if their encounter was insignificant, the police interview Julian and Tessa’s life at work becomes unbearable. Why frequent interruptions of the trial were necessary to flesh out the recent past is unclear to me. I’d chalk it up to deciding upon a trendy literary technique that wasn’t well executed, rather than sticking to a linear story. If the intent was to build suspense by delaying trial scenes, the technique instead caused all suspense to evaporate.

When Miller finally has Tessa on the witness stand, Tessa spends most of her time explaining her thoughts between questions. She has so many thoughts the jury must have wondered why it took her so long to answer. When she finally answers, almost always with a fluster, the answer is followed by an internal monologue questioning why she didn’t give a better answer. I understand that trial witnesses second-guess themselves, but all the fretting about answers — and I mean every answer, even those she has rehearsed with the prosecuting barrister —destroys the flow of direct and cross-examination that might have made the trial interesting. We are treated instead to an insecure witness who forgets her training as a barrister and seems incapable of clear thought.

Now, I get it. Miller wanted to bring home the trauma of testifying in a trial after being victimized. The reader can understand that trauma without having Tessa constantly telling us how traumatized she feels. To this reader’s dismay, Miller disregards the rule that advises writers to show, not tell.

Prima Facie is a well-intentioned but somewhat misleading indictment of the failure to secure more sexual assault convictions in England. A prosecutor repeatedly tells Tessa that the conviction rate in sexual assaults is very low. Dig into the statistics, and you’ll learn that the conviction rate of reported rapes is low because (for whatever reason) the complaining witness decides not to pursue the case before it goes to trial. Tessa wants her case to go to trial, so the overall conviction rate doesn’t apply to her case. She claims the conviction rate of cases that go to trial is 1.3%, but that’s just not true. The unsourced statistic pops up in the press, but it is an estimate of the percentage of rapes (not just those that go to trial or even those that are reported) that end with convictions. When charges go to trial in England, the conviction rate is somewhere around 75%, only a bit less than the 81% conviction rate for all crimes. Again, I have no quarrel with pursuing an agenda — it’s quite likely that the British system of justice does not serve rape victims well — but a writer who pursues an agenda loses credibility when she makes her point with inaccurate assertions of fact.

Tessa tells us about the psychological impact that the rape had on her, but again does more telling than showing. Miller makes the same error when Tessa describes a painful sexual assault exam as well as interviews with the police that (she tells us) leave Tessa feeling humiliated. The scenes feel like more like textbook accounts of rape and its aftermath as they are presented in social work literature, not as the first-person experience of a rape victim. I had the same impression when Tessa describes a failed rape attempt during her teen years. The narrative wants to make a point about feelings of powerlessness and shame experienced by rape victims, but Miller doesn't make the reader feel Tessa's pain.

When Tessa makes her complaint to the police, she suddenly feels it is unfair that the prosecution must prove the truth of her accusation while Julian is presumed innocent. I understand that becoming a victim might spark a change of perspective, but I have difficulty believing that a trained and experienced barrister would suddenly forget why all the rights she devoted her career to protecting are important. The story made me wonder whether Tessa was ever serious about her job or just enjoyed the glory of winning. Julian is repulsive, but he at least is unlikable from the start. When Tessa gives a self-righteous speech in court about feeling betrayed by the justice system she devoted her life to, I could only wonder why she forgot the reasons she devoted her life to giving exactly the same defense to her clients that Julian’s barrister gives to Julian. While she berates herself for doing “awful things to women” in her own cross-examinations (what we see of them is far from awful), the truth is that cross-examination is usually the most important protection that defendants have against false accusations. Cross-examination is not an “awful” feature of the criminal justice system even if the experience can be unpleasant or traumatic. It is the cost of assuring (not always successfully) that innocent defendants are not convicted.

In the end, by telling a one-sided agenda-driven story, Prima Facie is more a lecture than a convincing novel. Tessa is the only character who has a personality. The plot is entirely predictable because it is driven by the need to teach predictable lessons. Maybe people who are driven by the same agenda will appreciate Prima Facie but judging the novel solely by the standards of literature, Prima Facie does too little to earn a recommendation.

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