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It is hard to imagine more odious citizens than some of those portrayed in Blind Faith. The villain of Fatal Vision had a perverse stature and a demonic intelligence that are totally lacking in McGinniss's Robert Marshall. His fabrications and the entreaties recorded on love cassettes to his mistress suggest a ludicrous absence of self-awareness. Marshall's low animal cunning hits bottom when he exploits his sons' conflict between filial loyalty and the truth about their mother's death. McGinniss makes the Marshall boys' loss of innocence the emotional center of an otherwise lurid and coldhearted book.
Aside from feeling superior to a number of vile and foolish characters, what is to be gained from reading an overheated version of this "true crime"? Not much. In fact, a few things are lost. For example, the real names of some people who were central to the case. Even though these names are matters of public record and appeared often in newspapers, McGinniss changes them to, as he says, "preserve privacy." A more probable reason for fictitious identifications is to prevent libel suits. Because the impact of true crime depends on melodrama, the scenes and dialogue are liberally re-created by the author. Some of the dialogue seems too good to be true -- unless it appeared in a George Higgins novel. To readers this may seem like New Journalism, but to publishing-house lawyers it is safe storytelling. Blind Faith belongs to a subliterary genre designed for a litigious age. Unfortunately, these are the measures that are taken to ensure that true crime pays for the author, not his subjects.