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Gates of Janus, The : An Analysis of Serial Murder by England's Most Hated Criminal by Ian Brady
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February 3, 2026
You may be thinking, as much as I did, that as apparently distasteful as it seems to have such a notorious pervert criminal given licence to publish a book, there could be, at the very least, a chance for such a person to do us a favour. That favour would be to give some personal, relevant insight into the minds of serial killers. Perhaps such an insight may just prevent another Brady, or Hindley, from ever happening again.
The publishers, perhaps inadvertently, have not allowed Brady the chance to dictate the narrative of the book. It is difficult to determine just how much editorial interference may have led to this (assuming it is the case), but the other contributors embarrass themselves by allowing Brady's sole contribution to negate their own through sheer coherence and consistency.
There is a short foreword by Dr. Alan Keightley and a long introduction by Colin Wilson. Colin Wilson's introduction is apologetic (to Brady), inconsistent and shaky. It's not a good premise towards what Brady is about to divulge. Most pertinently, Wilson's claims that Brady, unlike Hindley, has apparently shown remorse are quickly put to bed by Brady.
Brady launches straight into a selfish, odious, hypocritical avowal. He hides behind claims of 'moral relativism' as an excuse for his 'might is right' attitude to others. He makes it perfectly clear, to the embarrassment of Wilson, that he has no remorse for his crimes whatsoever. He covers seven whole chapters of self-promoting aggrandisement before he even gets started on what the book may have purpose for: the evaluation of other serial killers, two of whom he knew (Peter Sutcliffe and Graham Young), but nothing about his own crimes he shared with Hindley. It is interesting to note that Brady is obviously intelligent and appreciates literature, yet his foray into intellectual discourse is unwittingly exposed by his immediate, taxing and tedious, highfalutin language; a tell-tale sign of a man trying to convince you that he is more intelligent than he really is. By the time you get to the actual commentaries on the other serial killers his thumbs and fingers must have tired with the thesaurus, and you end up reading a more sensible and natural narrative.
His analyses of the other serial killers is probably the most enjoyable part of the book (probably because he has ceased with trying to exhaust every antonym available), but they are no more interesting or informative than any brief synopses published elsewhere. Again, his transparency and lack of self awareness are shockingly exposed as he fails to contribute any useful information on the other killers and instead uses their modi operandi, backgrounds and psychology to transplant his own miserable excuses for what he did to children. You begin to realise that Brady, as a serial killer, has nothing to contribute. He was incarcerated at 27 years old, and has been in prison since then. Before that, all he contributed to the public consciousness was the foul truth that he raped and murdered children for his own sexual gratification.
The book gets worse. There is an epilogue, then an afterword by a 'writer' called Peter Sotos. Sotos, it would seem, has trouble communicating anything. You'll be hard-pressed trying to determine if Sotos is having a go at Brady, you, the victims' families or himself. His writing style is so disjointed, pretentious and jumbled that he conveys little to nothing. In way of flavouring his words, or adding emphasis where adjectives would have sufficed, he instead liberally uses vulgar expletives. It's a mystery why the publishers chose this individual to write anything at all, as it would have been far cheaper to pull some illiterate adolescent off the street and pay them far less; the effect would have been the same.
Following the pointless afterword is more material from Colin Wilson; repeating himself all too often (in terms of what he wrote in the introduction), but he did at least, this time, managed to convey a more realistic evaluation of Brady as a hopless case. Sotos then closes the book with a section called 'Bait', which, like his previous effort, explains nothing, other than the fact that the man cannot write a legible sentence. Sotos imagines that one-word sentences of conjunctions can make any sense at all; a horrible habit he repeats any number of times.
The only purpose this book serves is as a plain statement of Brady's own position on the crimes he inflicted, not just on innocent children, but on their families and probably the public as well. He's not bothered they suffered, but you could have probably guessed that without having to read through this horrendous mess of a book.
The publishers, perhaps inadvertently, have not allowed Brady the chance to dictate the narrative of the book. It is difficult to determine just how much editorial interference may have led to this (assuming it is the case), but the other contributors embarrass themselves by allowing Brady's sole contribution to negate their own through sheer coherence and consistency.
There is a short foreword by Dr. Alan Keightley and a long introduction by Colin Wilson. Colin Wilson's introduction is apologetic (to Brady), inconsistent and shaky. It's not a good premise towards what Brady is about to divulge. Most pertinently, Wilson's claims that Brady, unlike Hindley, has apparently shown remorse are quickly put to bed by Brady.
Brady launches straight into a selfish, odious, hypocritical avowal. He hides behind claims of 'moral relativism' as an excuse for his 'might is right' attitude to others. He makes it perfectly clear, to the embarrassment of Wilson, that he has no remorse for his crimes whatsoever. He covers seven whole chapters of self-promoting aggrandisement before he even gets started on what the book may have purpose for: the evaluation of other serial killers, two of whom he knew (Peter Sutcliffe and Graham Young), but nothing about his own crimes he shared with Hindley. It is interesting to note that Brady is obviously intelligent and appreciates literature, yet his foray into intellectual discourse is unwittingly exposed by his immediate, taxing and tedious, highfalutin language; a tell-tale sign of a man trying to convince you that he is more intelligent than he really is. By the time you get to the actual commentaries on the other serial killers his thumbs and fingers must have tired with the thesaurus, and you end up reading a more sensible and natural narrative.
His analyses of the other serial killers is probably the most enjoyable part of the book (probably because he has ceased with trying to exhaust every antonym available), but they are no more interesting or informative than any brief synopses published elsewhere. Again, his transparency and lack of self awareness are shockingly exposed as he fails to contribute any useful information on the other killers and instead uses their modi operandi, backgrounds and psychology to transplant his own miserable excuses for what he did to children. You begin to realise that Brady, as a serial killer, has nothing to contribute. He was incarcerated at 27 years old, and has been in prison since then. Before that, all he contributed to the public consciousness was the foul truth that he raped and murdered children for his own sexual gratification.
The book gets worse. There is an epilogue, then an afterword by a 'writer' called Peter Sotos. Sotos, it would seem, has trouble communicating anything. You'll be hard-pressed trying to determine if Sotos is having a go at Brady, you, the victims' families or himself. His writing style is so disjointed, pretentious and jumbled that he conveys little to nothing. In way of flavouring his words, or adding emphasis where adjectives would have sufficed, he instead liberally uses vulgar expletives. It's a mystery why the publishers chose this individual to write anything at all, as it would have been far cheaper to pull some illiterate adolescent off the street and pay them far less; the effect would have been the same.
Following the pointless afterword is more material from Colin Wilson; repeating himself all too often (in terms of what he wrote in the introduction), but he did at least, this time, managed to convey a more realistic evaluation of Brady as a hopless case. Sotos then closes the book with a section called 'Bait', which, like his previous effort, explains nothing, other than the fact that the man cannot write a legible sentence. Sotos imagines that one-word sentences of conjunctions can make any sense at all; a horrible habit he repeats any number of times.
The only purpose this book serves is as a plain statement of Brady's own position on the crimes he inflicted, not just on innocent children, but on their families and probably the public as well. He's not bothered they suffered, but you could have probably guessed that without having to read through this horrendous mess of a book.
Displaying 1 of 1 review