The Frozen River

As the novel’s primary antagonist, Joseph North remains largely one-dimensional in his absolute villainy throughout the course of the story. Both a colonel and a circuit judge, North wields an immense amount of power that he abuses without remorse. His obsession with dominance and control is reflected his words to Martha during the attempted rape at the mill: “I am the judge. I decide what is just” (383). In these short sentences, North’s god complex is on full display; he believes that by accruing judicial power in town, he has rendered himself immune from criticism and accountability. As a static character, North’s flaws remain unchanged throughout the novel.

Lawhon provides a backstory of North’s actions during the Seven Years’ War, directly connecting his racism, violence and abuses of power to a broader context of historical colonization and racialized violence against Indigenous communities in the United States. Coleman, the general store owner, tells Martha that during the war, “an Indian male scalp was worth one hundred and thirty pounds to the English. A female, less… And how do you think Joseph North built that fancy house on the hill? How do you think he hands out loans like candy?” (315). This villain origin story, entirely fabricated by Lawhon, lends intimate horror to the general historical context of the novel. Coleman’s conclusion that North “lost his soul” during the War positions North as representative of endemic white supremist and patriarchal power structures, Puritan Shame Culture and Gender Oppression.

Lawhon uses North’s own dialogue to expose his pervasive misogyny and desire for dominance. During the attempted rape scene, North tells Martha “You are going to be quiet about this. While I’m doing it, and afterward. You’ll not say a word, because no one will believe you” (387). Through North, Lawhon evokes a common refrain of rape culture that asserts rape survivors will not be (and do not deserve to be) believed if they speak out against their rapists. In this way, Lawhon parallels the struggles of 18th-century women with the struggles of 21st century women, contextualizing the novel within a larger history that has led to more recent activist movements such as Me Too and Time’s Up in which women continue to fight to be believed by their families, communities and the American justice system. Lawhon connects Martha and Rebecca’s struggle to that of contemporary readers, despite the three centuries that separate the characters and the audience.

Rebecca Foster is the wife of Hallowell’s parson, and the rape survivor who accuses Joseph North. Her accusation sets up the novel’s inciting incident—the discovery of Burgess’s body in the river—which sets the action of the plot in motion. Time and time again, the predatory men of Hallowell underestimate Rebecca. They expect her to be silent and meek, but instead, she displays exceptional bravery in her legal testimony. Martha recounts the astonishing moment in court when Rebecca speaks up, saying: “I have never seen a courtroom so quiet in my entire life. The testimony is horrifying” (214). With Rebecca’s emotional testimony, Lawhon incorporates a key trope of courtroom novels in which the verdict is ultimately decided by a compelling climactic testimony, pointing to the novel’s thematic interest in The Courtroom as a Theatrical Spectacle. In resting the outcome of the trial on Rebecca’s account of North’s rape, Lawhon highlights Rebecca’s bravery.

Lawhon incorporates Rebecca’s friendship with the Indigenous Wabanaki community into the plot, linking her fictionalized narrative to the historical account. Ulrich notes in A Midwife’s Tale that Rebecca’s childhood near Eleazar Wheelock’s Indian Charity School in Connecticut informed her tendency to host Indigenous people at the parsonage (Ulrich 109). Lawhon highlights this friendship through Martha’s voice, writing: “Rebecca Foster often keeps company with the Wabanaki—she has since childhood, encouraged by her parents at the parochial school they ran in Massachusetts” (61).

By highlighting Rebecca’s friendship with the Wabanaki people, Lawhon constructs a parallel between the personal violation Rebecca suffers and the historic violation of Indigenous people’s lands and bodies at the hands of white colonizers. North himself directly cites Rebecca’s friendship with the Wabanaki as his motivation for raping her intrinsically tying his violation of her to the racialized hatred and discrimination experienced by Indigenous Americans, who endure colonial violence on the book’s peripheries. Lawhon suggests that North acts out this violent entitlement and desire for dominance on Rebecca’s body, positioning the rape as an extension of the atrocities committed by North—and countless other colonizers—against Indigenous Americans during the Seven Years’ conflict—trauma that reverberates throughout American history. Notably, as white woman, Rebecca is given a voice in court and her rapist is convicted and punished—an opportunity denied to rape survivors from marginalized communities. Lawhon invests Rebecca’s character with immense historical weight, despite her largely passive role in the story. Aside from her climactic testimony at the January 29 court hearing, most of Rebecca’s actions take place behind closed doors, underscoring the Puritan Shame Culture and Gender Oppression rampant in Hallowell that consistently denies women autonomy. Indeed, her absence at the Pownalboro hearing is a key factor in North’s original acquittal.