Who wants to be a lousy fiction writer?: A review of Drexel Law Prof. Lisa McElroy's new law school novel "Called On."

Last year, Drexel's celebrity law professor Lisa McElroy was harshly criticized for her snide and dismissive comments about the plight of recent law grads. More recently, there may have been a bit of unflattering commentary about McElroy's behavior in accidentally sending her students an email with a link to an anal beads sex video and then non-accidently publishing a self-righteous op-ed in the Washington Post suggesting that those students were blameworthy for having opened the link. I hate to pile on, but the fact is that McElroy's horrible new law school novel "Called On" has been seriously under-criticized, hopefully because few besides me were foolish enough to actually read the thing.

Seven reviews on Amazon as of this writing, and all seven gave "Called On" the highest possible rating of five stars (though at least three of the ratings are from McElroy’s fellow law professors). So perhaps I am all alone in my opinion that this book is crap. Scribblers like David Lodge and Francine Prose have written novels satirizing academia, but neither has scored anything close to unanimous five star ratings on Amazon. True, McElroy may not shine when it comes to crafting compelling narrative or memorable three-dimensional characters, but she is unparalleled in generating cutesy witticisms about (as one of the five star reviews puts it) "life, love, and the law." 

"Called On" is the story of an idealistic young One-L at elite Warren Law School named Libby Behl and her quest for love and legal wisdom.  It is also the story of Connie Shun, the brilliant, good-hearted, strong, perceptive, down-to-earth, endearing, and witty M&M-loving (that's M&M, not S&M) law professor who mentors and inspires Libby. (I wonder who Connie Shun could possibly have been based on).

Even though the author actually is a law professor, this novel is still badly misplaced. It should have been set instead in a high school or a summer camp. The story has a teen lit vibe, and all the characters speak and emote about "life, love, and the law" like angsty or stuck-up adolescents. 

 

Let’s start with Chapter 2. It is Libby's very first day of law school, indeed her very first class. The class is called Introduction to Legal Thinking, or ILT. Libby happens to sit down next to the ice-cold Quinn Everly, who is hogging all the electrical outlets. See if you can spot how McElroy sets up the subtle contrast between idealism and ambition:

"Um, hi. I’m Libby. Just wanted to plug in my laptop? Looks like we’re in for a long hour or so."  

The woman pushed her glasses up on her head.   

"Sorry. Need the plugs. Taping and typing, that’s my technique. Law review. Order of the Coif. Supreme Court clerkship. Every little bit helps. Early bird gets the worm and all that."  

Libby laughed. This woman couldn’t be serious. Law school was about saving the northern spotted owl (OK, so Libby was about two decades late for that one), standing up for marriage equality (and about a year late for that one, at least in part), and fighting for equal pay for women (never too late).  

                                                                   * * *  

Libby didn’t want to lose her cool. But seriously?   

"Yeah, so, don’t you think it’s fair for us all to be on the same playing field?"  

The woman put her glasses back on her nose. "We are. We can all get here early. And use the plugs we need. And those who don’t should just realize that they aren’t cut out to be federal appeals court judges."  

McElroy, Lisa (2015-09-18). Called On (Kindle Locations 160-165, 168-172). Quid Pro Books. Kindle Edition.

Looks seriously bad for poor idealistic Libby-- arrayed against such a ruthless competitor, like an overly-compassionate worm on the same playing field as an early bird. And things go from bad to mortifying when Libby spills a cup of coffee near the lectern, causing  Professor Connie Shun to slip and fall to the ground as soon as she walks into the classroom. Talk about a disastrous start to law school!

But the formidable professor keeps her composure. ("If Justice O’Connor had fallen in a pool of coffee, this is how she’d look. Together. In the least together situation ever.") Shun gets right back up on her feet and conducts a virtuoso class, even without her coffee-spoiled notes, using mistakes in sports officiating to illuminate how law and justice are not necessarily the same thing. Libby redeems herself too. She is "called on" in class, her worst fear realized, but meets the challenge with aplomb by out-arguing fellow student Anderson Kraft, the suave and handsome Harvard T-shirt-wearing guy with the cocky attitude, who turns out to be the villain of the novel.

Indeed, it is not long before the worthy underdog triumphs and the arrogant are humbled. Professor Connie Shun’s pedagogy, in its critical and humanistic depth,  guides students toward an understanding that law and justice, though different in nature, do not merely intersect or diverge, but can actually propel each other. Because Libby has a "calling" to use the law to do good, she is able to grasp this profound concept, which eludes the more self-centered or shallow students, one of whom ponders that, "Every ILT class was the same. They talked about law blah blah blah and justice blah blah blah and absolutely nothing that would ever help [him] do a deal or draw up a contract when he was a lawyer someday."

 

I vaguely recall that there were a whole bunch of core classes in the first year of law school, but these are barely referenced in the novel, so Connie Shun's Introduction to Legal Thinking course basically represents all of law school. And Connie’s ability to trigger student involvement in class discussion disproves the scamblogger critique:  

"Connie sat and watched. For all the crap law school had been taking in the media lately, this was the kind of class discussion that proved all the "law school is a scam" bloggers wrong. She didn’t have to do anything but get the students started with a provocative question. Then they took over."  

McElroy, Lisa (2015-09-18). Called On (Kindle Locations 322-324)

Libby may suffer from bouts of self-doubt, but perceptive Professor Shun almost immediately identifies her as a future legal star. "The best ones — the ones Connie took under her wing — were always about more than wanting a prestigious career and beaucoup bucks. They were about solving major problems in the world."

Libby and her mentor have even more in common than legal talent harnessed to a commitment to justice. For instance, they both adore their pets. Professor Shun dotes on her dachshund "Felix Frankfurter" and Libby likewise dotes on her goldfish, "Breyer." Many pages of McElroy's novel are devoted to the characteristics and antics of these animals and the humorous imputation of all sorts of outrageous attitudes and opinions to dog and fish by their respective owners. 

 

Libby and Professor Shun are even similar in tragedy. McElroy grafts a tear-jerking backstory onto both Libby (her mom was a first responder who died heroically in the North Tower on 911) and Shun (she has recently lost her best friend, a gay man who was killed in a hate crime attack). Meaningful and evocative losses if crafted by a capable writer, but in McElroy's hands, they are about as affecting as cardboard that perished before its time.

 

One of Professor Shun’s innovations is mandatory assigned year-long three-person teams, so Libby is yoked to her early classroom antagonists Anderson and Quinn, leading to hijinks and exasperation galore.

 

Which brings us to the plot. Libby falls hard for Anderson Kraft in spite of herself, smitten by his good looks and displays of confidence, and deluded into thinking that beneath his preppy exterior, intermittent expressions of misogyny, and lack of social conscience is a caring and sensitive guy. Proving that even budding legal geniuses can be fools in love. ("Libby was outside her comfort zone here. Protests: She knew how to do those. Paint a couple of placards, put your ID and a power bar in your pocket in case you get arrested, blow into a pitch pipe for "We Shall Overcome.". . .But dating? This was a whole different kind of exhilaration.")

 

Alas, Anderson turns out to be a treacherous cad. He copies Libby’s ILT take-home exam while she is downstairs paying the pizza delivery man and then two-times her by having a fling with Quinn. Professor Shun spots the similarity in exams, and accurately suspects that Anderson is the plagiarist and that Libby is innocent of facilitating the deed. You see, Prof. Shun intuited all the way back in Chapter 4 that Anderson was a baddie because Anderson snarled, "Hey, mutt, could you shut the hell up?" at lovable Felix Frankfurter before realizing that the dog belonged to the Professor. Oh, Connie Shun knows his type. But Libby is less worldly, and Anderson made a show of liking her pet goldfish. 

 

About halfway through this masterpiece, I began to sense that McElroy had grown almost as bored with her novel as I had, given the increasing frequency with which she sped things along by employing the "tell, don't show" epistolary device of having her characters express their feelings via long, gushy emails. Libby corresponds with her father, a globe-trotting travel writer. Connie Shun corresponds mostly with her long-time BFF and drinking buddy, a giggly man-crazed federal judge named Sarah, who signs her emails "Your judgely friend" and who says things such as "But holy Thanksgiving, girlfriend! Did you say that we were having a real live man at this here table today? As in, a student’s dad? Funny how you didn’t mention that before."

 

It may take three years to graduate a JD, but it only takes one year of law school for the noble to be rewarded and the wicked duly punished, at least at Warren Law. Libby earns an "A" in Introduction to Legal Thinking and a 3.85 GPA overall, placing her at the top of her class. Anderson faces an Honors Board hearing and likely expulsion. No Order of the Coif for Quinn either– rather, imminent academic dismissal due to her 1.73 GPA. However organized and ambitious, she was just not suited for the deep and original thinking about justice that law school requires. Connie Shun hooks up with Libby’s dashing dad. Bestie Sarah also gets a romantic partner, the curmudgeonly Dean of Students at Warren Law, plus the additional goodie of a nomination to be Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. Sarah plans to hire Libby as a clerk and Connie Shun as her "top advisor."

 

What irritated me most about this novel-- I mean, other than the execrable writing, unimaginative plot, and poor pacing-- is that law school is depicted as such a benevolent enterprise, at least if you come to it with a pure heart and a love of justice.  True, "Called On"  is of the light romantic genre, but even so the novel readily admits that one may encounter undeserved pain, deception, and disillusionment in one's love life.  But not at all in one's law school life, except for those who lack integrity or depth, like Anderson Kraft and Quinn Everly.  Thus, McElroy's novel recalls her comments last year dismissing the notion that law school can fairly be blamed for bad outcomes.