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By Edward Zelinsky

Like most Connecticut residents, I watched with a mixture of fascination and horror the trial of Steven J. Hayes. Hayes is one of two defendants accused of the particularly gruesome home invasion murders in July, 2007 in suburban Cheshire, Connecticut. Hayes has been found guilty; the jury has sentenced Hayes to receive the death penalty.

Like everyone who followed this trial, I have both admired and sympathized with Dr. William Petit, Jr. whose wife and two daughters were brutalized and killed by Hayes. Unsurprisingly, Dr. Petit wanted the death penalty in this case as would I had I been in Dr. Petit‘s position. So compelling have been the facts exposed at Hayes’ trial that many normally outspoken opponents of the death penalty have remained silent as the jury assigned that penalty to Hayes for his truly evil crimes.

During the Hayes trial, I also spent much time thinking about Ricardo Beamon. Mr. Beamon too was killed in July, 2007 in Connecticut. Mr. Beamon had led a troubled inner-city life which he had turned around by founding, in the words of the New Haven Register, a “high-end urban clothing” store. Mr. Beamon, who left a two year old daughter, was killed in a robbery. In a plea agreement, Mr. Beamon’s murderer agreed to a twenty year prison sentence. Mr. Beamon’s murder has occasioned relatively little public attention.

Undoubtedly, distinctions can be drawn between these two cases. However, the similarities are great as well. Both the members of the Petit family and Mr. Beamon are gone, leaving their respective loved ones to grieve for their undeserved losses.

In this context, I have been thinking as well of my nephew Brandon who was killed last summer by a negligent car driver. I am angry about the loss inflicted on us. If I could, I would like to take matters into my own hands. Instead, he will receive a prison sentence and then resume his life. Our loss is no less because the individual who killed Brandon acted negligently, rather than intentionally.

Under these circumstances, I cannot say that we inflict the ultimate penalty of death in a principled fashion.

One other family member has influenced me as I mull these issues, my late uncle, Justice Seymour F. Simon of the Illinois Supreme Court. Seymour was a consistent dissenter in his court’s death penalty cases. The legal basis for his dissent was, at one level, quite technical, namely, that the Illinois death penalty statute permits excessive prosecutorial discretion and violates the separation-of-powers provision of the Illinois state constitution.

However, Seymour came to be a profound critic of capital punishment. Seymour did not oppose the death penalty out of a soft-minded sympathy for those who commit horrible crimes. Rather, sitting atop a large state judicial system, he became convinced that we inflict the death penalty in an unprincipled manner.

I suspect that, when she grows up, Ms. Beamon will agree.

I can’t oppose the death penalty in all cases. Capital punishment was appropriate at Nuremberg. The Israelis were right to hang Adolf Eichmann. If we catch Osama bin Laden, I would favor, in Abe Lincoln’s famous phrase, hanging him like Haman “upon the gallows of [his] own building.”

But short of these cases,

Author Kevin J. Hayes has been very busy writing American Literature: A Very Short Introduction, but he needs your help. Find out what you can do below. Check out his past posts here.

My previous blog took for its topic the genre of autobiography, which will be the subject of Chapter 3 in my forthcoming book, American Literature: A Very Short Introduction. This topic generated less comment than my earlier blogs, which surprised me somewhat. To me, autobiography is an exciting genre for critical exploration. I still welcome comments on autobiography, but for this new blog I am moving on to the subject of my fourth chapter: the short story. And I have come up with a question certain to generate some lively discussion: what are the five greatest short stories in the history of American literature?

Before anyone answers that question, perhaps I should establish one or two ground rules. Were I to answer it myself, the top five short stories in American literature might all be stories by Edgar Allan Poe. No doubt others feel the same way, too. But if all of you submit lists consisting solely of Poe stories, your responses will not really help me very much. Let’s make the following rule: only one story per author allowed in the list.

Top five and top ten lists have been around for a long time. In 1928, as I noted in The Cambridge Companion to Herman Melville, Edward O’Brien made a list of the top fifteen short stories of all time, putting Herman Melville’s “Benito Cereno” at the top of the list and claiming that it was “the noblest short story in American literature.” Does O’Brien’s claim hold up eighty years later? The short story is a product of the nineteenth century, and many of the best writers of short fiction in American literature emerged then. But what impact did the twentieth century have on the development of short fiction? Have there been any good short stories in the twenty-first century? I look forward to hearing what you have to say.

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Hello, dearest readers. What follows is an interview with Libba Bray, author of the Gemma Doyle Trilogy. (The third book, The Sweet Far Thing, recently came out. You can see our review of it if you scroll down.) We asked her 13 questions, because 13 is a most excellent number. So, read on, the Dark Lord commands thee! (Warning: VERY LONG POST.)

Zombies, all the way. Unicorns would only exist so that zombies could feast upon their flesh and fashion their horns into mod zombie breast plates.