The Best Man — Story, Setting & Ideas

Documents and Decisions

The title story repeatedly returns to documents as physical markers of choice. Carrington's folded paper, described as a 'monument to one man's greed,' becomes a symbol of the power to expose or conceal. Later, Newcomb produces a portrait from among old papers, shifting the weight from legal evidence to personal memory. MacGrath uses these objects to externalize internal conflicts: the document is balanced, the portrait is studied. The act of holding, folding, or putting away these items mirrors the characters' hesitation and resolve. In 'Two Candidates,' the political machinery hinges on lists and appointments, while 'The Advent of Mr. 'Shifty' Sullivan' likely involves written agreements or records. This recurring motif ties the stories together, suggesting that love and duty are often negotiated through tangible tokens of commitment or betrayal.

The City as Moral Arena

MacGrath's settings shift between office interiors and urban vistas, using the city to reflect the characters' ethical landscapes. Carrington sees 'the smoking, ragged sky-line' and 'the shifting, glittering river' from his window—a view that suggests both opportunity and instability. Newcomb, alone in his office at night, studies the darkness outside, his dreams of reform clashing with the ward's political realities. The city is never neutral; it breathes summer scents or looms as a backdrop for ambition. In 'The Advent of Mr. 'Shifty' Sullivan,' the title itself hints at urban trickery, while 'The Girl and the Poet' may contrast city and pastoral ideals. These environments are not mere decoration but active forces that shape the characters' choices, reinforcing the theme that personal integrity is tested in public spaces.

Voices of Conscience and Counsel

Dialogue in these stories often takes the form of argument or persuasion, with characters trying to sway one another toward or away from ethical action. In the title story, Carrington's internal debate is externalized through imagined voices: 'So many voices spoke that he seemed to hear none distinctly.' Later, McDermott advises Newcomb to use the document as leverage, calling it 'the only way out.' Newcomb rejects this as blackmail, asserting his 'sense of right.' These exchanges are crisp and pointed, revealing character through moral stance rather than lengthy exposition. The stories rarely feature extended monologue; instead, they rely on back-and-forth that mimics the push-and-pull of conscience. Even the love interest is introduced through Newcomb's silent study of her portrait, a one-sided conversation with memory.

Love as a Steady Beacon

Romantic love in MacGrath's stories is often described in terms of light and navigation. Newcomb's love for the woman in the portrait is 'the serene light, the steady burning light, that guides the ships at sea.' This metaphor contrasts with the flickering, uncertain light of political maneuvering. Love provides constancy in a world of shifting alliances and moral gray areas. Yet the stories do not present love as a simple solution; it is another battlefield where duty and desire collide. Carrington worries that exposing the document will destroy his own happiness and hers. Newcomb acknowledges that his friend Dick also loves the same woman, setting up a rivalry that tests friendship. MacGrath treats love as a force that demands sacrifice and clarity, not merely a reward for virtue.

Readers approaching The Best Man will find a collection that rewards attention to small details—the weight of a document, the angle of a portrait, the view from a window. MacGrath builds his moral dramas from these concrete elements, allowing the reader to observe characters as they weigh choices. The four stories share a concern with integrity under pressure, but each offers a distinct situation and resolution. For those interested in early twentieth-century American romance and political fiction, this volume provides a compact, varied sample of MacGrath's craft.

There’s something about MacGrath’s men, caught between what they want and what they owe, that lingers long after the page turns. I found myself thinking of that same quiet ache while rereading The Tracer of Lost Persons — how a search for someone else often turns into a search for oneself. The Tracer of Lost Persons — Inside the Classic felt like an old friend’s familiar handwriting, unhurried and true.