Shaming the Speed Limit — Context and Discussion

Secret Alliances and Forbidden Reading

Bessie’s reading habits are not merely a private pleasure but a small conspiracy. Lemuel Dodd, described as “red-headed, freckled, and homely as a slump fence,” spends twenty-five cents of his wages twice a week to buy her the most promising titles. His motive is bluntly self-serving: he hopes that enough romantic fiction will make Bessie “desprit” enough to grab whatever is handy—namely, himself. Aunt Sally, meanwhile, tries to cut off supply by forbidding the village news dealer to sell Bessie such books. The conflict between authority and desire is played out through the medium of cheap novels, with Lemuel acting as a go-between who believes he can manipulate Bessie’s tastes for his own gain.

The Judge vs. the Governor: A Clash of Eras

The central confrontation occurs when Governor Hitchens is caught speeding through Greenbush and hauled before Judge Wiggin. The judge fines him, refusing to show favor despite the governor’s rank. The governor’s secretary threatens violence, but the governor himself notes that the judge “would take as much pleasure in fighting as in fining a speeder.” When the judge later explains his actions, he declares he would fine “the Czar of Roosia” for speeding, and contrasts his own horse expertise with the newfangled automobile: “A good, fast-steppin’ hoss suits me.” The governor retorts that the judge likely drove horses at speeds far exceeding eight miles an hour, endangering pedestrians. This exchange highlights a generational and technological divide, with each man defending his own mode of transport as safe and reasonable.

Voice and Dialect as Character Markers

The narrative voice shifts between formal description and colloquial dialogue. Judge Wiggin speaks in a rustic dialect—“skihooting,” “ketched,” “figgered,” “hoss”—that marks him as a man of the land, proud of his horse-handling skills and suspicious of automobiles. The governor’s speech is more polished, but his secretary’s crude threat (“twist that old lunatic’s nose”) reveals a different kind of bluntness. Bessie’s inner life is conveyed through her choice of reading material and her secretive actions, while Lemuel’s internal monologue is given in a folksy, self-interested tone. These contrasting voices create a social map of Greenbush, where class, education, and attitude toward progress are signaled by how characters speak.

Readers should pay attention to how the novel uses its small-town setting to stage larger debates about authority, romance, and technology. The judge’s courtroom is a theater where personal grudges and political power collide, while Bessie’s hidden novels suggest that even forbidden stories shape expectations. The excerpts offer no resolution to these tensions, but they invite speculation about whether Bessie’s reading will lead her to choose Lemuel—or someone entirely different.

I’ve always fancied that Shaming the Speed Limit holds its breath the way that Our Lady of Darkness — Reading Companion does—both watch the old world slipping away, not with shouting, but with a long, quiet blink. The judge’s horses, the hostler’s longing—they’re kindred to that shadowy San Francisco dusk. Some books just share a window. This one stays open.