There are four sections to the book by Ian Brady, who along with Myra Hindley, killed five children : A forward and afterwards by Colin Wilson, a huge screed by Peter Sotos (a 'transgressive' writer) and Ian Brady's a) imitation of Wilson's The Outsider b) his "analysis" of some infamous serial killers.
Wilson was a brilliant autodictact, his first book The Outsider moving Nietzsche's ubermenschen from a vertical superior position to one, 'sideways' to conventional society. In Wilson's world, the Outsider is not necessarily better, but he or she sees the hypocrisy of the conventional world and lives life by his or her own terms. Wilson became, not surprisingly, fascinated with outlaws, although by all accounts, he was a decent man himself. He ends up here a kind of a tourist, seeing Brady and other serial murderers as the ultimate outsider. In a kind of a mea culpa ten years later, he states the blindingly obvious: "Now I look back on our correspondence, I can see precisely where I went wrong. I knew that Brady was a sex killer and that his chosen victims were children. What I failed to grasp is that this involved an incredibly high degree of self-centeredness," a statement stupid enough to tempt one to throw the book across the room.
It is interesting to dovetail Wilson's foreword and afterward with the 1st half of Brady's own writing. Brady is a pompous pseudo-intellectual, well-read and full of quotes, which he implies, support his viewpoint. Which can be summed up in this: the world is corrupt and all people in it are empty souls - just like he. Hypocrites, be they white-collar criminals or soldiers on a battlefield, do far more damage than any serial killer (which he sets up as almost a kind of oppressed minority class - the existentialist heroes who, perceiving the hollowness of all morality and the oppression of the hypocrites, kill as an act of rebellion). (This whole section of the book could be viewed as a kind of 'grooming' of Colin Wilson--it reads like an inept regurgitation of his work. And of course is the added hope that he may seduce others to his perspective). There are passages that are inarguable, in terms of how immoral society can be. And with the frisson of vicarious terror that serial killers bring (in fiction), it can be convincing - it obviously did so for Wilson. But here's the thought experiment. If you are unfortunate to read this book, take some of these passages and substitute diet for war and murder. Gluten allergies, ketogenics, GMO's, sustainable farming, global warming, all the rest. And substitute eating excrement for all his heroic images of the serial killer. Substitute, then the transgression of scat, the ultimate rebellion against the social hypocrisy of how and what we eat, and you will see the utter hollowness of his claim. In short, his claim that he is the ultimate rebel because he kills children to 'strike back against societies evils' make no more sense that eating shit is an act of rebellion against the tyranny of the 'food pyramid' and bad dietitians. Brady is reported to have read Nietzsche, Dostoyevsky, Kierkegaard, and other existentialist writers. Rather than these writers inspiring him to rebellion as he - and at times Wilson - seem to claim, he simply used this as an excuse to rape and murder children. It fed his sense of being special. That's all.
Peter Sotos' is not a tourist like Wilson, he is a voyeur, self-hating and chaotic in his writing - who achieves some moral standing, I suppose in his own eyes, by finding hypocrisy in everything. So, for example, he takes out after the bereaved parents who cannot let go of trying to find the body of their child to give him a 'Christian burial.' A masturbator on a dung heap, Sotos spews contempt on any and all, including himself.
Finally, Brady's "profiling." He read some books on various killers, plagiarizes and paraphrases accounts of their crimes, crows how stupid the police were, cadences long lists of misunderstood psychological terms, and is simply wrong in several cases. In every case, though, his murderer is an existential hero. The 'Night Stalker' is "a Shakespeare of serial killers," for example. Brady writes to a fantasized audience whom he imagines hang on his every word, as if giving a lecture to the FBI VICAP program on 'how profiling is really done.' It is patronizing, surpassingly self-important and lacks any originality.
Is there anything of value in this book? It is for those who do not grasp what the mind of a psychopath really is like: boring, and clueless to how humans with a conscience or sense of morality and sympathy for others might think. In sum, sexual sadistic killers are so inadequate that they need something helpless to exert power and lust upon--all too often, an unconscious or dead body.
His perspective is this: "All matters turn not on reality but on perception of reality. A virtue or an evil is only as significant as one believes it to be." All those words he intones. Contrast it to this, just one phrase from the transcript of the tape Brady and Hindley made as they murdered Lesley Ann Downey, aged ten: "Don't undress me, will you?" Does one need any more to understand a man and woman who refused this plea?
People have asserted that it is important NOT to execute such killers because we could "learn from them," and may be be able to head off such crimes in the future. But anything they say is simply justification for their desire to torture, rape and murder. Why? Because it delights them. Or satisfies rage or lust. If this book teaches anything, it is that they have nothing to teach--they are empty vicious narcissists, all variants on a theme.