Let the Great World Spin: Book 3, Chapter 9 Summary & Analysis

Everybody at the courthouse—the judges and the officers and the reporters and the stenographers—speak excitedly about the tightrope walker. Judge Soderberg considers to himself the way that New York has a way of presenting extraordinary events that help make sense of the otherwise straightforward drudgery of life. His theory is that New York is a city so uninterested in history that it lives in “a sort of everyday present,” and this makes it possible to still be surprised about the occurrence of some wild event. Soderberg believes that, since New York is so unconcerned with the past, there are very few meaningful monuments throughout the city, which is why he comes to respect the tightrope walker’s performance: the walker, he believes, has made a monument of himself in a perfectly New York manner, one that is temporary and brash.

Judge Soderberg does not witness the walk, which upsets him greatly. He misses it by the smallest margin, noticing people leaning out of their windows but paying them no attention, figuring that they are looking at a car crash or a fight. Shrugging it off, he goes inside. As he settles in at his desk, the door opens and a fellow judge starts talking about the tightrope walker. Soderberg rushes to the window but can only see the north tower, and his friend informs him that he missed the show.

The two judges start discussing the possible charges and sentences that could be leveled against the tightrope walker, who has been arrested and will be tried in their precinct. Much to his delight, Soderberg is on duty for the day, and it is possible he will receive the walker.

For the most part, Judge Soderberg’s days are dreary and discouraging. He feels beaten down by the constant flow of criminals unable to learn their lessons. Despite the respect the job has earned him, being a judge feels altogether unglamorous. When Soderberg was a young man at Yale, he was sure that he would have a profound impact on the world, but now he has resigned himself to the simple pleasures of life: going home to his wife, smoking cigars after a long day of work, occasionally making love in his fine sheets. Sometimes in the middle of the night he wakes up desperately grieving the loss of his son Joshua, and he goes to the kitchen to make a cheese sandwich. Reasoning through the pain, he tells himself that things could be worse: at least he’s eating a cheese sandwich on Park Avenue.

Judge Soderberg considers how he used to think he would be a “paragon of virtue” in the court system. But he slowly learned he was just another part of a backed-up, ineffective system, and now he knows that it is all he can do to stay afloat, to keep up with the constant flow of criminal behavior and never-ending charges.

Judge Soderberg is sure he will get the tightrope walker, but he calls the D.A.’s office to try to ensure that he will—he figures he can call in a favor, but nobody picks up the phone. Soderberg hangs up and makes his way to the courtroom, where he begins hearing cases one after another. After hearing twenty-nine cases, it is still only late morning, and he asks his court officer if there is news about the tightrope walker. He learns that the walker will most likely appear in the late afternoon; if Soderberg is able to get through enough cases, it is likely that he’ll get the walker. He calls a break for lunch.

Judge Soderberg goes to Harry’s, his favorite restaurant, where he orders wine and talks to Harry, the owner. The two men talk about the tightrope walker. As he drinks wine, Soderberg thinks about the balance between recklessness and freedom that the walker so beautifully achieved. He considers the fact that he himself constantly strives for this balance as a judge, and this line of thought mysteriously leads to his son. Soderberg doesn’t often like to think about Joshua; he usually hides his grief, sometimes weeping in the bathtub while the water runs, the constant splash of its fall drowning out his sobs. He frets over whether or not he somehow taught his son to gravitate toward the military by giving him toy soldiers as a child or by insisting that he learn to play “The Star Spangled Banner” on the piano.

At the same time, however, Judge Soderberg believes in the Vietnam War, maintaining that it was started in order to protect the very tenets of freedom that he himself works so hard to uphold in his courtroom. Soderberg knows that Claire disapproves of war and violence of all kinds, and he finds himself often agreeing with this outlook despite himself. But he does not express these feelings to her because he thinks that he must be strong. Soderberg feels himself, in this moment, wanting to talk to Harry about Joshua, but he doesn’t let himself. He starts to think that perhaps he doesn’t want the tightrope walker to come into his court after all.

When Soderberg returns to the court, a line of defendants walk through the door. Among them is the tightrope walker. He is smaller than Soderberg imagined, but he emits a confidence that the judge finds appealing. He looks, Soderberg thinks, like a smaller version of Joshua. Soderberg accidentally makes eye contact with the walker, breaking one of his general rules to never look a defendant directly in the eye. Soderberg grows nervous, wondering what he can possibly sentence the man for; he doesn’t want to be too harsh on the man, but he also doesn’t want to let him off without anything—the public, he knows, is watching with anticipation, and there is pressure to make sure the court system receives good press.

The first defendants on Judge Soderberg’s list are Jazzlyn and Tillie Henderson. He observes the two prostitutes as they come to the front of the room, finding Jazzlyn’s swimsuit outfit ridiculous. Tillie looks over her shoulder and blows a kiss at a white man sitting in the audience; he blushes and bows his head. When Soderberg scolds her, telling her that his courtroom is not a nightclub, she responds by saying, “Sorry, Your Honor—I’d blow you one too ’cept I’m all blowed out.” Laughter goes through the room and Soderberg calls for order. He thinks he hears Tillie call him an asshole and wonders to himself why people like her always make it so much harder for themselves by acting disrespectfully in court. Looking at their rap sheets, he sees the number of charges each woman has. He knows Jazzlyn will continue to wrack up offenses as she grows older.

Judge Soderberg begins reviewing the case, proud of his sharp efficiency. He hopes that the reporters in the courtroom—who are there to watch the tightrope walker’s case—are taking note of his prowess as a judge. As he proceeds, however, Tillie and he get into several light arguments, resulting in him asking her to refrain from speaking. He realizes with surprise that Jazzlyn is Tillie’s daughter.

Because Tillie has decided to take full responsibility for the robbery that she and Jazzlyn committed, Judge Soderberg dismisses Jazzlyn’s case, and she is free to go. She kisses her mother on the eyebrow, and Tillie touches the side of her face in return. Although he is depressed by the twisted mechanisms that might create a mother-daughter crime duo like this, Solomon can’t help but feel touched by the love between them. He watches as Jazzlyn whispers in her mother’s ear; Tillie laughs and waves over her shoulder at the man sitting in the audience. On her way out, Jazzlyn takes off the black shirt she had been wearing, so that now she is in only her neon swimsuit.

Judge Soderberg orders Jazzlyn to put the shirt back on. She refuses, and then Soderberg asks the white man she’s with whether or not he’s related to her. Corrigan responds in his Irish accent that he is her friend, and Soderberg thinks he is a strange kind of pimp.

As the hearing continues, Judge Soderberg turns his attention to Tillie, the remaining defendant. She mouths off to him, calling him “babe,” and this makes him uncomfortable. After all, the reporters are watching. He wonders if he should pretend that he didn’t hear her or if he should call her up in contempt. He decides to move past it. As they continue talking, she again refers to him informally by calling him “pops.” Soderberg stares at her and for a brief moment, as he looks into Tillie’s eyes, he understands how she might be attractive. Before sentencing her, he asks if she has anything else to say. She states that she would like to be put in prison at Rikers Island in order to be near her grandchildren. He agrees to do what he can, and then he sentences her to eight months.

Tillie is upset and surprised by the fact that she is sentenced to eight months in prison rather than six (the length of time her lawyer had estimated she would receive). She speaks up but Judge Soderberg threatens to increase the sentence to twelve months. Meanwhile, Corrigan tries to make his way to the front of the courtroom, but an officer stops him. Corrigan asks if he can say something and Soderberg says no. Corrigan yells to Tillie that he will be back later.

Judge Soderberg waves the court officer over to him and whispers about getting the tightrope walker up next. As Tillie is being led out of the room, Soderberg watches her and feels as if he is seeing her for the first time. He detects something “tender and carved” about her face. For a moment, he finds her beautiful, and then she moves forward through the door and is lost to him forever, “vanished into her own namelessness.” Soderberg then leans over to the court officer and says it again: “Get the tightrope walker up. Now.”