By Robert Kirby

| The Salt Lake Tribune

With all due respect to jails, floggings, pillories, firing squads and ankle monitors, Judge Thomas Willmore of 1st District Court in Cache County may have the best answer for reducing crime.

According to an Associated Press story, Willmore occasionally sentences prisoners to read a particular book and then — here’s the horrible part — write a book report. Specifically mentioned in the story is Victor Hugo’s epic justice-gone-awry novel Les Misérables.

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Depending on the criminal (they have to be able to read), initial results are encouraging. Inmates report finding better life directions and greater understanding of past mistakes in the books they are assigned to report on.

Let the record show I have never been hauled before Willmore. However, I have appeared before other judges. I believe Willmore’s pronouncements would have had a far greater impact on me than a stern lecture or a stiff fine.

There are two ways to look at a court-ordered book report, both of which are life-altering. First is the understanding that comes with broadening one’s mind through reading.

Second is the absolute dread that comes from being ordered to read a book so dull that you’d rather be flogged instead. I remember this part from high school.

In the 10th grade, I was ordered to read John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. It was like having a conversation with a cow. The two weeks it took me to read it lasted about a year. I’d do anything to avoid having to read it again.

Conversely, a book report on Lord of the Flies by William Golding changed my life. I’ve never read a more accurate observation of politics and collective human behavior.

Willmore is a visionary. Why not apply his program to other areas of the law?

The following example has not yet happened, but say I were to drive 102 mph through Sardine Canyon. Say also that I got stopped by UHP Sgt. Rick Mayo.

Mayo could write me a ticket approximately the size of a second mortgage. However, this would only impoverish me, annoy my wife and inevitably lead to a warrant for failure to appear.

But what if Mayo were to issue me a "book report warning" instead? Suppose he gave me two weeks to read and write a 15-page analysis of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility.

Given that I’d sooner have my corneas removed with a cheese grater than peek inside another Jane Austen, you can imagine my reaction. I’d fall to my knees and beg for mercy. I’d never exceed the speed limit again. I might even sell my truck.

Note: If you’re a fan of Jane Austen, I’m not saying that her work is entirely crap. Well, OK, I am. One person’s art is someone else’s waste of time. I’ve written a couple of poor-to-awful novels myself and wouldn’t blame anyone who accepted a plea bargain to get out of reading them.

What if civil suits were resolved with book reports? If the litigants (especially the potential losers) understood they were facing a book report on all 7 million words of the U.S. Tax Code.

Divorce? You might think harder about reconciliation if you had to read and report on the autobiography of Hugh Hefner.

Suppose a judge sentenced you to write an extensive book report on a large religious tome that wasn’t your own? Tell me that wouldn’t change your life for the better — or make you wish it was over.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/notpatbagley.