Curtis Bowman

Trying to Understand the Dallas Sniper

If you're trying to understand Micah Johnson's motivation for his attack on Dallas law enforcement, you might want to compare his case to that of Mark Essex. I don't know, maybe it will help.

I first became aware of Essex's shooting spree when I read chapter 8 of Elliott Leyton's Hunting Humans: The Rise of the Modern Multiple Murderer. I was just re-reading Leyton's analysis, and I realized that one of his main sources, which I had thought was out of print, is actually currently available in paperback. I'm referring to Peter Hernon's A Terrible Thunder: The Story of the New Orleans Sniper.

I haven't yet read Heron's book, but it's now on my reading list.

Senator Elizabeth Warren on Rigged Justice

Senator Elizabeth Warren just released a report (PDF, 1.2 MB) that discusses twenty civil and criminal cases from 2015 in which, according to the executive summary, "the federal government failed to require meaningful accountability from either large corporations or their executives involved in wrongdoing."

If that little snippet isn't enough for you, then here's an eye-opening paragraph:

Under the current approach to enforcement, corporate criminals routinely escape meaningful prosecution for their misconduct. This is so despite the fact that the law is unambiguous: if a corporation has violated the law, individuals within the corporation must also have violated the law. If the corporation is subject to charges of wrongdoing, so are those in the corporation who planned, authorized or took the actions. But even in cases of flagrant corporate law breaking, federal law enforcement agencies – and particularly the Department of Justice (DOJ) – rarely seek prosecution of individuals. In fact, federal agencies rarely pursue convictions of either large corporations or their executives in a court of law. Instead, they agree to criminal and civil settlements with corporations that rarely require any admission of wrongdoing and they let the executives go free without any individual accountability.

Just more evidence for the proposition that we are currently living in a plutocracy.

While you're pondering all of this, take a look at Senator Warren's op-ed in The New York Times.

Book Notes: Stephen King's "Joyland"

Despite my interest in horror fiction and film, I've never been an admirer of the work of Stephen King. Years ago I read a few of the stories in Night Shift, but since I found them rather derivative of H. P. Lovecraft, I didn't feel any need to read the whole book. Maybe that was a mistake on my part, but that's how I felt at the time. The many movies adapted from Mr. King's books have also never inspired me to read any of his works. Of course, that's not the best way to select what to read, but, once again, that's how I've felt about the movies and their source material. So, for good or bad reasons, I'm rather ignorant when it comes to Mr. King.

I've mentioned in some of my posts of the past couple of years that I've been reading a lot about crime, both fictional and non-fictional. For quite a while, though, I've been aware of a series of crime novels called Hard Case Crime. I read a handful of HCC books before I started my crime jag. Because I've enjoyed what I've read, I've continued with the series as time has allowed.

Mr. King has published two books with HCC. Because HCC hasn't let me down so far, I figured that I should give his work another chance, and so I recently read Joyland. To my surprise, I wasn't disappointed. Consequently, I've decided to devote one of my book notes to Joyland.

I've posted a photo of the cover of the first edition of the paperback edition of the book. My copy was from my local public library, and so it was a bit worn. In case you're wondering, the cover painting doesn't give anything away, since it doesn't depict an actual scene from the book, although it does nicely represent some of the amusement park atmosphere in which much of the dramatic action in Joyland takes place.

The protagonist of the book is Devin Jones, a college student who in 1973 takes a summer job at a North Carolina amusement park called Joyland. But the voice of the narrator, which is that of the older Mr. Jones as he recalls this time in his life forty years later, informs us as the book begins that it's now September, which means, of course, that he stayed on at Joyland after his summer job ended. The reader will eventually learn why he chose not to go back to college in the fall. This part of the novel turns out to be an affecting coming-of-age story.

As you would expect, though, there's more to Joyland than the story of a young man who graduates from immaturity to maturity. Along the way, Devon has to deal with an unsolved crime—after all, this book is an entry in the HCC series—filtered somewhat fitfully through Mr. King's penchant for the supernatural. A young woman named Linda Gray was murdered in the Joyland funhouse a few years before Devon arrived for his summer job. Her death is still unsolved, and she is said to haunt the funhouse. By the end of Joyland we learn the identity of the killer as well as the answer to the question of whether or not the funhouse is really haunted.

It's a convention of a murder mystery that the perpetrator of the crime is introduced to the reader at some point but in a way that deflects suspicion until the plot reaches its climax. Unfortunately, there's really only one plausible suspect, and so it comes as no surprise when this character's guilt is finally confirmed, but Mr. King never gives the reader any reason for suspecting this individual except for the narrative convention that someone in the story has to be the guilty party. That is, it's the mechanics of murder mysteries that drives the reader's suspicions, not the dramatic details of the plot. Consequently, the solution of the mystery is a disappointment.

The supernatural element is rather tangential to the plot. Throughout the book we are told that one of the characters is psychic. This claim is confirmed for us when we learn that the requisite confrontation with the killer reaches its final outcome by means of a supernatural twist. There's a nice surprise here that I won't spoil, but the book as a whole would not have been much different if the entire supernatural aspect had been omitted.

Overall, I should say that the atmosphere of the amusement park was what I liked most about the book. The coming-of-age story was just a little less enjoyable, since it was predictable at times. (How Devon is going to lose his virginity, that is, with which woman, is completely obvious. I'm not spoiling anything here, since Devon is constantly thinking about sex. As readers we know that some sort of resolution is in the offing.) The pursuit of the mystery is generally well handled (except that, as I noted above, its solution is disappointing), and the supernatural element is largely superfluous. In short, the positive qualities of the book outweigh its negative ones. I think that fans of Mr. King's work will like the book much more than I did, but, as I hope to have shown you, you don't have to be a fan to enjoy Joyland.

I'll soon read Mr. King's earlier contribution to HCC. It's called The Colorado Kid. I'm looking forward to it.

A Few Thoughts on James Rhodes's "Piano Man"

I blog about crime every once in a while, and as I've pursued this interest during the past couple of years, I've taken to following the work of the British criminologist David Wilson. I've read a couple of his books (more on them in the future) and watched as many of his documentaries as I could find on the web. I've also bookmarked his Facebook page, just in case something interesting turns up there as well.

Not quite three months ago Professor Wilson linked to an interview with the pianist James Rhodes. I had never heard of Mr. Rhodes before, and so I began to learn more about him. His story attracted Professor Wilson's attention because Mr. Rhodes was repeatedly raped as a young boy. The interview was conducted shortly after the conclusion of the legal brouhaha surrounding his autobiography Instrumental. He had been fighting a court injunction and had just won the right to publish his memoirs. Winning the right to publish his autobiography, I admit, sounds strange, but I don't need to recount the story for you. You can read the interview for yourself.

Well, I confess that I was intrigued. Because Mr. Rhodes's autobiography had yet to be published at the time of the interview, I had to wait a little while before I could read it. (I bought a copy as soon as it became available. It's quite a book, very grim at times.) In the meantime, though, I figured that I could watch his TV series Piano Man.

I ordered a copy of the DVD from a third-party seller on Amazon for about ten dollars (which included shipping and handling). So the price was right. Here are a couple of pictures to get you started.

The splashy graphics give you a hint about the intent of the series. It's not meant to be the sort of supposedly respectable program designed for those who have already been initiated into the alleged mysteries of classical music. In short, the show isn't stuffy. In each of the seven episodes Mr. Rhodes introduces various pieces of piano music and then plays them while the camera rolls. As he plays, graphics pop up on the screen to give the viewer tidbits about the composer and the composition. It's all good fun and very entertaining.

What struck me most about the series, though, is Mr. Rhodes's autobiographical approach to the music that he plays. I couldn't help noticing that Mr. Rhodes has a nervous, twitchy personality. It's part of his charm as a host, actually. As he goes through the seven episodes of the series he mentions his lifelong psychological difficulties (without ever revealing that he is a rape victim) and explains how classical music has always helped him to feel better when he was down.

In other words, Mr. Rhodes's approach to classical music is therapeutic. Whenever he introduces a composition, he tends to refer to the difficulties that the composer was experiencing while composing the music. Mr. Rhodes then typically marvels at how the composer was able to work through his emotional turmoil and create something of such great beauty and power.

In this way Mr. Rhodes hopes to make classical music accessible to listeners who have never thought that classical music really was for them. Mr. Rhodes's thinking behind this approach seems to be something like the following: "If classical music can help me to get through life, then maybe it can do the same for you. Isn't that a reason to give it a chance?"

There's nothing inherently wrong with such an approach to classical music. We certainly can turn to music for the emotional comfort that it can offer us, and we can certainly luxuriate in the relief that it can bring us. But the emotional benefits of music, as great as they can be, aren't really explained by reference to the emotional life of the composer. Our receptivity to music of any sort is more complicated than that.

Telling us that composer X was feeling emotions A, B, and C when he (or she, of course, but Mr. Rhodes restricts his attention to male composers in this series) composed some piece of music really tells us very little about why we happen to be moved when we hear a performance of that composition. The emotional content of music comes from, among other things, the history of musical style and technique.

Furthermore, facts about the composer's emotional life tell us very little about the composition's emotional content. A composer need not feel happy in order to write happy music, or feel sad in order to write sad music. Sad composers who know their stuff can write happy music, and happy composers can write sad music. Once again, the mechanics of musical composition are more important than the composer's mental state.

Our emotional troubles, however varied they may seem to us as individuals, are actually more uniform than we tend to think. All of Mr. Rhodes's composers experienced the many forms of human misery common to us all, yet each of his composers wrote music that differs from that of the other composers. These composers also experienced joy and ecstasy. But how to express all of these emotions depends on style and technique.

The most important composers tend to be those who create forms of musical expression that allow them to express familiar emotions in new ways. These composers are the musical geniuses, and their originality becomes exemplary. They blaze a trail for others to follow, until some new genius comes along and shakes things up again.

Mr. Rhodes talks about style and technique from time to time. For example, in episode 1, when he talks about Beethoven's Waldstein sonata, Mr. Rhodes briefly discusses the way in which Beethoven used chords, scales, and arpeggios to compose the first movement. In episode 3, when he introduces Chopin's Étude Op. 25, no. 12, Mr. Rhodes fleetingly mentions arpeggios, scales, and repeated notes. And in episode 5, he talks about the impressionistic musical style when he introduces Debussy's Clair de lune. But, of course, he never goes into much detail on such matters. After all, the series is intended to entice people into enjoying classical music, not to lecture to them.

I'm not a member of Mr. Rhodes's target audience. I've been listening to classical music and opera for much of my life. I'm even currently translating a book by Richard Wagner. (See my Wagner posts for more on this project.) And since I'm not really one of his intended listeners, he doesn't need to convince me to give classical music a chance. It's all to the good, though, if he manages to win new admirers for classical music.

But since Mr. Rhodes clearly has a talent for explaining things to his audience, it behooves him to go beyond his preferred autobiographical approach. If he did, he could help to dispel some of the genuine difficulty involved in listening to classical music. It can be very complex, and thus can be very demanding on an audience, which no doubt turns away some people.

It's comforting to know that even great geniuses have the same problems as everyone else. It's slightly more comforting to know that the fruits of their compositional labor can move us deeply and help us to get through life's traumas. (And more power to Mr. Rhodes on this score, by the way. My emotional troubles fall vastly short of his. I'm impressed that he has managed to achieve so much.) But if you ask me, what is most comforting to know is that we can learn to appreciate the great works of musical genius that have moved and comforted us. The distance between great composers and mere listeners, while it exists, is not as wide as we tend to think. Mr. Rhodes is in an excellent position to help us to bridge this gap.

Book Notes: James Jessen Badal's "In the Wake of the Butcher: Cleveland's Torso Murders"

Not long ago I read a wildly interesting true crime book, and I thought that I should add it to my crime posts. The book in question is James Jessen Badal's In the Wake of the Butcher: Cleveland’s Torso Murders.

But, first, some photographs to get you started. Here are the cover and the title page.

Next, the table of contents.

As you can see, I read the revised edition, which was published in 2014. Because I haven't read the original edition, I can't compare the two versions of the book. But, of course, you should stick with the 2014 edition, since it's the more recent one.

As the title indicates, Mr. Badal's book is about the Cleveland Torso Murders, a series of twelve unsolved homicides that took place between 1934 and 1938. The story of the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run doesn't seem to be much discussed these days, which is odd, since these serial murders intersected with the career Eliot Ness, who became the Cleveland safety director during the time of the murders. Given Ness's place in American popular culture, regardless of how inaccurately his exploits are usually portrayed, you would think that more attention would be paid to his hunt for a serial killer. It's hard not to think that we won't eventually see a major Hollywood movie based on this story.

Mr. Badal makes a good case that Ness and the Cleveland police managed to identify the murderer, a doctor named Francis Edward Sweeney. Unfortunately, though, they were never able to prosecute him for the crimes. He spent much of the remainder of his life in and out of mental institutions, occasionally sending a taunting postcard to Ness through the mail.

If you read much true crime writing, you've no doubt noticed that a lot of it, stylistically speaking, doesn't rise above the level of semi-literacy. Fortunately for us, Mr. Badal's book is highly literate. I found his book to be well written and properly sourced. He does his best to support his conclusions with real evidence, and thus avoids the sort of speculation that sometimes ruins an otherwise good true crime book.

In some of my earlier crime posts I complained about a lack of maps. Mr. Badal's book contains maps of the relevant areas of Cleveland, but I have to say that they strike me as being somewhat rudimentary. Here are a couple of examples:

As maps go, these aren't especially informative, and since Cleveland doesn't have much of a place in our popular imagination, I sometimes had trouble getting a sense of where the murders took place. Some aerial photographs of Kingsbury Run would have been helpful, I think, but perhaps there are no such photos from the 1930s.

Since part of the mystery surrounding the murders involves precisely where Dr. Sweeney (if he was in fact the killer) killed, decapitated and dismembered his victims, perhaps it was fitting that from time to time I had trouble imagining the killer's hunting grounds. But don't let the poverty of my imagination deter you from reading this excellent book. I highly recommend it.

One word of warning. Mr. Badal's book contains several grisly photographs of the Mad Butcher's victims (or, in some cases, merely their severed body parts). So just keep that in mind if you're squeamish about such things.

Mr. Badal has written two other books connected to the Cleveland Torso Murders—Though Murder Has No Tongue: The Lost Victim of Cleveland’s Mad Butcher and Hell’s Wasteland: The Pennsylvania Torso Murders—that I hope to read someday.

Peter Dreier Reviews Jennifer Taub's "Other People's Houses"

Peter Dreier reviews Jennifer's Taub's Other People's Houses: How Decades of Bailouts, Captive Regulators, and Toxic Bankers Made Home Mortgages a Thrilling Business.

Here's a sentence from the review that speaks for itself: "No bank CEO has faced prosecution or gone to jail for the widespread mortgage fraud that fueled the bubble and the collapse that followed."

Robert Hare on the Key Symptoms of Psychopathy

I'm reading a lot about crime these days, partly because the general topic interests me, but also partly because I've read a bunch of Colin Wilson's books during the past few years. I mentioned my interest in Wilson's work in an earlier post, and I hope to post about his ideas about crime in the near future. My own work has been taking up a lot of my attention, and so recently I haven't had much free time for blogging about my reading.

But I just finished Robert D. Hare's Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us, and I thought that I should say something about it. It's a fascinating book, and certainly one that is relevant to criminology. After all, many criminals have psychopathic personalities. Consequently, some rudimentary knowledge of Hare's work might come in handy to anyone interested in crime, be it fictional or non-fictional.

Below you'll find two images: one of the book's cover, another of Hare's list of the ten key symptoms of psychopathy.

I have to admit that I was struck by how restrictively Hare formulates his concept of psychopathy. His checklist seems, at least to me, to epitomize confidence tricksters and unscrupulous glad-handing businessmen. Prior to reading his book, I assumed that lack of remorse and lack of empathy were the two salient features of psychopathy. Many people I would have characterized—in my casual way as someone who has not been trained in psychology—as psychopaths don't really meet Hare's more stringent criteria.

On page 175 Hare writes of psychopaths as leading "lives of callous self-gratification." I'm not sure that I've ever known someone who could be described in this manner, although I've known self-absorbed people who often acted in a callous fashion. Maybe that's the same thing under a different description. But there are self-absorbed people who can be brought to think and care about the consequences of their actions. It's just that they have to be pushed by outside influences to do so. Psychopaths, as Hare diagnoses them, just don't care, although they're often good at pretending that they do.

When I taught at the University of Pennsylvania, I met a few business students who almost certainly were the unscrupulous glad-handing type, but I never got to see them in their full glory in the business world. But they have to come from somewhere, and I'm sure that Wharton graduates its share of them. How else can you explain the financial crisis of 2008?

When I was in academia, I met many people who obviously possessed several of the traits on Hare's list. I guess, though, that their lack of imagination, their dogmatic certainty that they and they alone were in possession of the truth, and their indifference to the welfare of other people—all of which taken together often produced behavior that seemed psychopathic to me—were what you should expect from highly introverted people whose scholarly training has convinced them that they belong to a special elite. But according to Hare's criteria, they shouldn't be classified as psychopaths. These people, whatever their faults, I would never have characterized as glib or impulsive. Some were certainly egocentric and grandiose, and obviously had shallow emotional lives, but they typically had tight control over themselves.

You might say that their personal rigidity was intellectual and emotional. They easily excluded other people from their moral purview, and probably did so because they did not regard others outside of their elite groupings as worthy of respect and decent treatment. Hence their abominable behavior. That seems psychopathic to me, but Hare's research indicates otherwise. I guess that for Hare it's just a rather involved form of learned callousness (perhaps grounded on a natural shortage of sympathy and empathy) that doesn't go all the way down to the roots of their personalities as psychopathy does with psychopaths.

Well, of course, I'm not in a position to settle this debate. I'm glad that I read Hare's book, and I recommend it to your attention. I'll take it as my starting point for future reading on the topic of psychopathy.

Book Notes: Philip Sugden's "The Complete History of Jack the Ripper"

In two earlier posts I discussed two books about Jack the Ripper, Donald Rumbelow's The Jack the Ripper and Paul Begg's Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History. In this post I want to say something about Philip Sugden's The Complete History of Jack the Ripper. I suggest, though, that you read the earlier posts before reading this one.

I got the 2002 revised edition of Sugden's book through my local library, so, once again, my copy is a little beaten up. But these photos of the cover and the table of contents will give you an idea of what to expect.

First of all, hallelujah, Sugden's book contains maps! This addresses one of the main complaints that I have about Rumbelow's and Begg's books. At the very beginning of the book you'll find a general map of the Whitechapel Murders. Here's a photo of it.

As you work through Sugden's account, you'll find smaller maps relating to each individual murder.

Sugden's book is crammed with noticeably more detail than either Rumbelow's and Begg's books. So the maps are a great aid to understanding his reconstructions of the events. For this reason alone, I prefer his book to Rumbelow's and Begg's.

Sugden's book contains extensive notes to document his claims. He clearly did an enormous amount of digging. Unfortunately, however, there is no bibliography, although there is a long list of archival sources. It's not that I can't live without a bibliography, but it would be useful to have one.

One thing that differentiates Sugden's book from Rumbelow's or Begg's is that Sugden writes very little about the social history of the East End. Instead, he concentrates on the murders, and since his book runs to 500 pages, he provides a mountain of factual research and documentation. Sometimes it's a challenge to work through all of it, but ultimately it proves to be worthwhile. I admit, though, that some readers might find the level of detail overwhelming. In that case, Rumbelow's book might be a better choice, since even Begg's book is fairly heavy reading at times.

As to the identity of Jack the Ripper, Sugden regards Montague John Druitt, Aaron Kosminksi, Michael Ostrog, and George Chapman as the most likely suspects. He exonerates, as far as he is concerned, Druitt, Kosminksi, and Ostrog. He considers Chapman the best candidate, that is to say, the least unlikely suspect, and judiciously concludes that the case against him has not been proven (which, Sugden is careful to point out, is not the same as saying that Chapman should be considered innocent).

Of the three books, I like Sugden's the best, although it is certainly the most demanding because of its length and attention to detail. Readers should keep that in mind when trying to decide which of the three to read.

Book Notes: Paul Begg's "Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History"

In an earlier post I wrote up a few of my thoughts on Donald Rumbelow's The Complete Jack the Ripper. In this post I'd like to say something about Paul Begg's Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History.

My photos of the 2004 revised paperback edition are of a somewhat battered copy from my local library. Thus they aren't of the best quality, but they'll give you some idea of the book's cover and table of contents.

First, a few words about the apparatus. Each chapter of Begg's book contains numerous endnotes that cite many different sources. In my post on Rumbelow's book I complained about the lack of notes. So in this single respect Begg's book is superior to Rumbelow's. Unfortunately, Begg's book, unlike Rumbelow's, doesn't have a bibliography, so you'll have to work through the notes if you want to find suggestions for further reading. This is annoying, since putting together a bibliography is not all that difficult to do. Begg's book, like Rumbelow's, does not contain a single map. Once again, as I mentioned in my earlier post, I don't have a map of the East End in my head. I assume that many readers are in the same situation. Consequently, a map would have been helpful. Overall, therefore, simply because of the endnotes, I prefer Begg's book from the scholarly point of view.

Begg's book contains much more social history than Rumbelow's. If you prefer to read a Ripper book that mostly concentrates on the murders, then Rumbelow is probably your man. Of course, the social history is interesting. The extent of poverty and violence in the East End matters for understanding the Ripper's crimes, but knowing about it doesn't really help in trying to determine his identity. So you can take your pick based on the degree of your interest in historical context of the murders.

As for the identity of Jack the Ripper, Begg looks at the traditional suspects at some length and, fortunately, doesn't pay much attention to the wilder candidates. Begg ultimately plumps for Kosminski. Here's what he says on page 351:

So who was Jack the Ripper? The sad fact is that nobody knows and nobody is likely to know. Having said that, somewhere there may be a document - perhaps misfiled at the Public Record Office, in the archives of a library or maybe sitting in a dusty box in someone's loft - that will reveal all. As things stand, I think Aaron Kosminski is the leading contender, not because I think he was Jack the Ripper, but because of all the policemen who expressed an opinion, Anderson is the only one to have expressed certainty. We need to find out why.

Begg is referring to Robert Anderson, who was appointed to the CID during the Ripper investigation. He fingered Kosminksi in his memoirs, but not by name. Only Donald Swanson, in his marginalia to his copy of Anderson's book, identified the killer as Kosminski. Subsequent research by Ripperologists has found only one Kosminski who fits the bill, namely, Aaron Kosminski. Begg's case against Kosminski isn't conclusive, but it's certainly food for thought.

In conclusion, I should say that I greatly enjoyed Begg's book. I recommend it to anyone interested in Jack the Ripper.

Book Notes: Donald Rumbelow's "The Complete Jack the Ripper"

During the past couple of years I've gotten interested in the work of Colin Wilson. In the future I'll explain why that is so. I'm most interested in his fiction, and recently I've been going through his crime novels. Wilson often wrote about serial killers, both in his fiction as well as his non-fiction; therefore, I've been brushing up on my knowledge of serial killers. So, of course, that requires reading about Jack the Ripper at some point.

One of the best known books about the Ripper murders is Donald Rumbelow's The Complete Jack the Ripper. It has seen several editions since its initial publication in 1975, and I've photographed the cover of the 2013 edition. Rumbelow's book is an enjoyable work of popular history, although I have to admit that I would have preferred it to be more scholarly. I'm not a big fan of history books without citations. There are no notes of any sort, not even for the quotations, and the bibliography is less than a page. I'm not sure why publishers find this acceptable. I guess, perhaps, that scholarly apparatus puts off some readers, but the lack of proper citations undermines to some degree the intellectual seriousness of any historical book. Sadly, though, we just have to live with this sort of thing in true crime writing.

Some books on the Ripper murders contain a fair amount of social history. Rumbelow includes a bit of this, but it's mostly confined to the first chapter. He then constructs vivid accounts of the murder victims and the police investigation. Along the way he argues, somewhat plausibly, that Elizabeth Stride, who is traditionally considered one of the five canonical Ripper victims, was not killed by Jack the Ripper. Instead, Rumbelow claims, on the basis of the eyewitness testimony, that she was murdered by someone who was "clearly passionate" about her, and thus not someone who had merely picked her up on the street.

The heart of the book, containing almost half of its pages, is Rumbelow's discussion of Ripper suspects. One thing that I've noticed about Ripper books is the way in which the detailed accounts of the murders provide no real clue as to the identity of the killer. When it comes to naming names, readers inevitably encounter discussions of Melville Macnaghten's papers, Robert Anderson's autobiography The Lighter Side of My Official Life (and Donald Swanson's marginalia in his copy of Anderson's book), asylum records, arrest records, and the like. That is, really nothing in the earlier chapters of a typical Ripper book gives us much help in determining the identity of the Ripper. Rumbelow's book is no different in this regard. He looks at many suspects, even the farfetched ones put forth over the years, but doesn't settle on one as the most likely. The book ends with chapters on the Ripper in popular culture and other Ripper-like killers.

Overall, I liked Rumbelow's book and am happy to recommend it. As I indicated above, I would have preferred more scholarly apparatus. Another defect, as far as I'm concerned, is the lack of maps. Maybe other readers have a map of the East End in their heads, but I don't. Even a simple street map would have been a great help. Many publishers pay little attention to this sort of thing. (Military history books routinely have atrociously inadequate maps. Why authors tolerate this sort of thing is beyond me.) But Rumbelow's book is soberly written and free of wild speculation. If you're interested in Jack the Ripper, Rumbelow's The Complete Jack the Ripper is well worth your time.