Review: The Valley, by Asher Emanuel
'The result is often the same, involving support that lets them down, rehabs that are full, bail conditions that set them up for failure, despite the best intentions of everyone involved...'
The Valley, Asher Emanuel’s debut book, charts the true stories of two men with lengthy criminal histories, Nathan Morley and Rikihana Wallace, and that of Lewis Skerrett, a public defence lawyer who defends the pair over 18 months, beginning in 2020. Emanuel has changed the names of all those featured.
Thirty-something Nathan Morley lives in a dysfunctional relationship with his ailing mum in a rundown Upper Hutt house. He has a six-year-old daughter he rarely sees. Emanuel, who works as a legal-aid lawyer, describes Morley’s predicament early on in this riveting look into the day-to-day workings of our criminal justice system: ‘He was afraid of detoxing, he was afraid of rehab, and he was afraid of being sober.’
Despite his prolific record, Morley’s no criminal mastermind. He once shot himself in the stomach to look like the victim in a robbery instead of the perpetrator and committed a burglary wearing a distinctive high vis vest.
Rikihana Wallace is in his late twenties when we meet him. He’s a compulsive shoplifter, banned from many of Wellington’s supermarkets, is often homeless, and, like Morley, has been in and out of the justice system for years. He also has two children he never sees.
These are people you won’t read about in the media; their many crimes are mostly minor, and it seems they can’t stop committing them, despite many detox and rehab programs, monitored bail, counselling, special courts and prison sentences. Although the pair only know each other slightly, their histories are predictably similar with broken and violent families, head injuries as children, alcohol and drugs from an early age, and a series of mental health issues. Despite this, both men have many likeable qualities. Emanuel has chosen well - within a few pages the reader is invested in their journey. Morley is smart, cheeky and quick witted, while Wallace - at least when sober - is gentle and philosophical about his situation, but is clearly struggling.
Emanuel deals with each man separately, and their torturous progressions through the justice system are different, but the result is often the same, involving support that lets them down, rehabs that are full, bail conditions that set them up for failure, despite the best intentions of everyone involved. Along the way we also encounter judges, prosecutors, court security guards, jaded drug councillors, WINZ staff, Lewis’s defence colleagues, the criminal mates of Morley and Wallace, and various ex-partners and family members.
The men are also their own worst enemies. They reoffend, cut off their electronic monitoring bracelets, forget to take their medication and continue drinking and drugging despite promising the court, their lawyer Skerrett and anyone who’ll listen that they’re ready to start anew. But like many the courts see, their deprived backgrounds, untreated addiction issues, and the inability of the state to provide the necessary coordinated support, are the real culprits.
The tireless and ever-patient Lewis Skerrett also grew up in the Valley and is around the same age as both men. He goes above and beyond for his clients, giving them bus fare, and even picking up their medication while they’re in prison. His law career has stalled; he is overloaded with cases and drives a rundown Mazda Demio. Morley and Wallace are his most challenging and time-consuming clients and much of this 440 page book consists of Skerrett trying to keep the men out of jail, however he can. It’s often a losing battle, but he wages it heroically nevertheless.
Emanuel has a novelist’s eye for detail, with the pages detailing Wallace’s first 24 hours out of prison riveting reading. The Valley is both a powerful call for criminal justice reform and an immersive page-turner. Emanuel’s prose is plain but effective, his sense of pace and structure exemplary. The lengths he’s taken to research and write this are astonishing, and the result is spellbinding.
Although Emanuel is working on a smaller canvas, the overall effect of the book recalls American true crime classics like Norman Mailer’s The Executioner’s Song and David Simon’s Homicide: A Year On The Killing Streets. If you read only one book from Aotearoa this year - fiction or non- fiction - make it this.
