Changes

From TheBookbag
Jump to navigationJump to search
no edit summary
{{infobox
|title=The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper
|sort=Autobiography of Jack the Ripper
|author=James Carnac
|reviewer=Robin Stevens
|genre=Crime (Historical)
|rating=3.5
|buy=Maybe
|borrow=Yes
|website=
|video=
|summary=In 1888, a man known as Jack the Ripper murdered six prostitutes in the East End of London and got away with it. Who was he? Why did he do it? Almost everybody has their pet theory. The list of suspects is, likewise, alarmingly diverse. Anyone who was anyone in Victorian London seems to have been accused of the murders at one time or another. Walter Sickert, Prince Albert and Lewis Carroll have all had their moment in the sun, but 124 years later we’re still no closer to discovering the real culprit. Enter James Carnac and his ‘memoir’ ''The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper''.}}
Enter James Carnac and his ‘memoir’ ''The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper''.
}}
The ''Autobiography'' presents itself as the Ripper’s story told from his own perspective. The son of an impoverished doctor, young Carnac has a childhood obsession with blood which a series of unfortunate events morphs into a full-blown desire to slit human throats. It’s the typical Victorian coming-of-age story (from birth, to school, then first love and finally adulthood) with a twist, in that the path Carnac’s on leads him to become not a responsible adult but the most famous murderer of the nineteenth century.
Well, yes, it would be totally awesome. Unfortunately, I think Begg has let his imagination run away with him. Even he has to admit that ‘Carnac’ gets a lot of basic information about the murders wrong – he forgets where they were committed, mixes up evidence and describes his victims incorrectly. There’s nothing in ''The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper'' that couldn’t have been found in the available source material or just plain invented, and by contrast there’s so much in it that reads like melodramatic fiction. Carnac keeps having visions of his loved ones bleeding from wounds on their necks, and later he repeatedly hallucinates a dark stranger who incites him to each of his murders. Of course, fact can often read like fiction. But I don’t think that’s the case here. Faking your autobiography was a major literary pastime in the early twentieth century, and it doesn’t seem at all unlikely to me that Mr Beaman got bored and decided to write some adult fiction in secret.
Do I believe that Carnac was the Ripper? No. In fact, I don’t even believe he was a real person. He looks and behaves so much like a pantomime villain (sallow cheeks, straggly black hair, tendency to lurk creepily) that I can’t imagine him as an actual human being. What ''The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper'' is, in my opinion, is a fascinating and enjoyable (if very dark) piece of fiction. This is a novel, not a confession, and that’s how it should be read. In fact, if I’d thought for a moment that it was real I’d have had a lot more trouble with its contents. Fans of crime, Victoriana or Jack the Ripper will have a lot of fun with this. People searching for the truth about the Whitechapel murders may be disappointed.  
If you're interested in the Ripper myth or London's crime history, try [[Capital Crimes: Seven Centuries centuries of London Life life and Murder murder by Max Decharne]].
{{amazontext|amazon=0552165395}} {{waterstonestext|waterstones=8943535}}

Navigation menu