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You may be familiar with this book, published in 1994.

It’s a novel, loosely based on a 1981 incident in Savannah in which a prominent society gentleman shot and killed a male prostitute.

Eight years and four trials later, the society gentleman was acquitted of murder. The court decided it was a lover’s quarrel that, like, you know, ended badly.

“The Book,” as Savannahians called it, was a huge hit, and it captivated the city in a major way.

Berendt emphasized the eccentric, mysterious, Southern Gothic aspects of Savannah. He sprinkled in numerous colorful characters, some of them well-know locals playing themselves. He flavored the story with doses of hoodoo folk magic, spells, and potions.

The title of the novel refers to the hoodoo idea that midnight is the dividing line between the time of good magic and the time of evil magic. The garden in the title is a cemetery in nearby Beaufort, South Carolina.

Berendt’s novel was critically acclaimed, and umpteen million copies have been sold in a couple of dozen languages. Not only were the locals smitten, but Savannah tourism exploded.

Waves of well-heeled visitors came to see where it all happened. A Midnight-related cottage industry quickly sprang up, selling guided tours, t-shirts, mugs, postcards, and more.

In 1993, the year before Midnight was published, 5 million visitors spent an estimated $587 million in Savannah. Ten years later, in 2003, 12.5 million visitors spent $2.2 billion.

Remarkably, the Midnight phenomenon has not yet faded. The tourists still arrive, still take the trolley tours, still buy the merchandise. In a grateful Savannah, April 26 is now John Berendt Day.

Having a personal connection to Savannah, I know the details about all this. But the truth is, I haven’t read the novel. Nor have I seen the 1997 movie version directed by Clint Eastwood.

Frankly, the plot didn’t appeal to me. Savannah is the Smith family home and all that, but I simply wasn’t interested in the details about some rich guy dispatching his boyfriend.

Moreover, I was kind of offended by the infusion of hoodoo and witchery into the story. It seemed gratuitous. I know Savannah pretty well, and to label it a place of conjuring and folk magic is silly.

Hoodoo spirituality and practices surely exist in a city that size, but Savannah isn’t New Orleans. Forcing it to be for the sake of a book seemed… tacky and uncool.

Well, you ask, if I have such disdain for the story, why did I bring it up?

Because of the photograph on the cover of the book.

The photo was taken at a place close to my heart, Bonaventure Cemetery, where several generations of Smiths are spending eternity. The bronze sculpture in the photo is known as the “Bird Girl.”

The novel made her nationally famous, but she was already a Savannah landmark, a favorite of the locals for decades. When I was growing up, I knew her as just one of the many enchanting statues at Bonaventure.

In my next post, the story of the Bird Girl continues.