Modestly Tom Westcott opens by saying that this book, and the vast amount of research he’s clearly undertaken to write it, are there for better researchers than himself to make breakthroughs as to just what was happening in Whitechapel 1888. Now you may very well think that anything which can be written about Jack the Ripper has, by this point, already been written. But Westcott does actually attack it from an interesting angle. It’s always made me curious that investigators at the time thought there was as many as eleven murders, and yet that has now been whittled down to a far more manageable five. Why were these others so comprehensively dismissed? And if one of those murders was wrongly deemed ‘non-canonical’, doesn’t that alter what we think about the case? It’s some of these deleted murders which Westcott focuses upon. Making a detailed analysis of the first two killings originally accredited to Jack and actually turning up some eyebrow raising discoveries about the connections between them, and possible connections between the later (canonical) Ripper murders. There is some undoubtedly good stuff here, the problem is with how it’s presented.
Westcott is in the habit of taking the slenderest whiff of a fact and letting his imagination run away with him – so a piece of information which can be interpreted numerous ways, has one interpretation nailed hard onto it and Westcott lets fly from there. This happens more than once.
The same group of landlords owned the doss houses around Whitechapel where the victims lived, they all knew each other – which people in the same business and same district are likely to do – but their familiarity apparently makes it almost self-evident that they were up to something deeply sinister. As slum-landlords they were always likely to be fairly unsavoury people, and indeed it’s shown that there were involved in various criminal dealings, but that does not automatically mean they were all involved in the murders or the cover-up of murder.
Elsewhere we have a newspaper report about the police receiving information from a gang of women, which whilst unclear is certainly intriguing, but here it becomes overblown as a plot to frame a man for being the ‘Leather Apron’, who was then being sought. Now I’m not absolutely stating that these conclusions are wrong, but the structures that are built upon them are so expansive that they don’t seem properly supported by the underlying facts. This is all accentuated by Westcott’s particularly annoying habit of building up a theory in one chapter, acknowledging it as a theory with a lot of speculation, but in a later chapter referencing as if it’s a sold fact. It’s highly frustrating, as this constant over-selling does no service to his case. Not everything is a conspiracy – there is coincidence and there is a cock-up, and it’s always best to remember that when examining history.
The prose doesn’t help, as when extolling a particular pet theory, Westcott adopts a really haranguing and nagging tone. Even when he acknowledges that there’s no way to really tell from the evidence and this is a blind leap forward, he will still smash away at as if making the same point again and again in a more assertive tone will make it more true. It reminded me of arguing with a small child, who clearly knows he or she is wrong but has gone too far to back down.
It’s a shame as I think it does dis-service to the material he’s collected. The details about the first two victims (with possibly another victim thrown in) were new to me, as was how ridiculously close geographically they were and how interconnected their lives were. The fact that their murders were so similar is bound to make a reader a tad suspicious. It’s an interesting and intriguing read then, but I just wish Westcott had let these facts stand by themselves rather than trying to build a card tower of extrapolation and speculation on top of them.