Book Review: The Dead Duke, His Secret Wife and the Missing Corpse by Piu Marie Eatwell

If the title of this book sounds baffling, it's nothing compared to the true story it relates. In 1897 a widow called Anna Maria Druce applied for permission to exhume her father-in-law's body. She claimed that Druce, a furniture dealer, had really been the alter-ego of the 5th Duke of Portland, an eccentric man who was reclusive in nature and delighted in tunnelling under his country estate. Mrs Druce claimed that the Duke had faked the death of Druce in 1864 and that the coffin would be found empty. This kicked off one of the most intriguing cases of the late Victorian era which captured the public's imagination and rivals the best tales contemporary novelists had to offer.

Although this is a riveting story to start with, it needs someone of Eatwell's talents to bring the disparate strands together. It may start with Anna Maria Druce but that's far from the end of the case and Eatwell does an excellent job of juggling the various aspects of it. The book is split into three 'acts' - 'Burial', 'Resurrection' and 'Revelation', a partitioning that works well for the most part. For me, the intrigue didn't disintegrate at all throughout the book - while one mystery might be 'solved' there were still things to be explored, creating layers of intrigue that lasted until the final pages.

Eatwell's research is exemplary and she's been fortunate enough to have been granted access to some very interesting things, which she relates towards the end of the book. Equally, her knowledge of the major and minor players in the tale is excellent and she shares just enough relevant information without the narrative becoming swamped. Her ability to recreate the atmosphere of late-Victorian London is also brilliant. This isn't a dry book that simply recounts facts but an engrossing one which attempts to put you in the shoes of the major players. When a writer does this successfully they can bring history to life and Eatwell is one such writer.

Ultimately, this is a thrilling non-fiction book which will appeal to fans of The Suspicions of Mr Whicher and other high-quality works of that type. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was sad that the rollercoaster ride of the 'Druce-Portland' case had to end, though not, I'm sure, as sad as some of the protagonists.

A review copy of this book was given to me in exchange for an impartial review.

Book Review: Jill by Amy Dillwyn

First published in 1884, Jill tells the story of a well-bred heroine who hates her home life and so decides to venture out into the world and get by working for a living. After learning about her childhood and her father's second marriage, we follow her through her first position as a day-governess then she manages to land a job with a distant relative, Kitty Mervyn, who wants a travelling maid. Although generally a self-centred person, Kitty brings out an affection in Jill that surprises her. For a brief time, the supposed class barriers between them fall away but the friendly relations can't last and events are soon taken out of Jill's control by malevolent forces.

The only way I can describe this book is that it's a complete and utter romp. Suspend your disbelief and jump in. Jill is a compelling character, from the way she organises her escape from home to her escapades on Corsica with Kitty. She conveys things to the reader with a strong sense of humour and her interactions with other characters are laced with sarcasm and insight. I particularly enjoyed her dealings with her first employer, a neurotic woman who is dreadfully worried about contamination and disease. Jill skilfully handles her in a scene that is both satisfying and beautiful to read. The book is essentially made up of episodes and I'd imagine it would be a good book to read aloud with many decent break points. I especially love how Jill lambastes the conventions of romance and sensation early in the book and then Dillwyn goes on to make use of them in a very tongue-in-cheek way. The sense of a connection between the reader and Jill/the reader and the author is strong in this book.

It's not all light-hearted though. The tone shifts abruptly towards the end of the book when Jill is involved in an accident which leads to a profound change in her outlook. Because the rest of the book has been so much like a romp, it's difficult to accept the gear shift, especially considering what it leads to. However, on reflection, the scenes are made all the more potent by what has come before and they are certainly memorable.

Jill is a book with many strands. The affection Jill feels for Kitty is an important aspect, governing her behaviour at times but I didn't get a full sense of why she felt so strongly for her until the Corsica incidents. It also deals with issues of class and gender as Jill passes as a maid and is promptly pursued by a valet who doesn't want to take 'no' for an answer. In a light-hearted way, it raises some interesting questions, some of which I suppose are as valid today as they were 130 years ago. Jill concludes one chapter with this which struck a chord with me on first reading and does so again now: 'Yet I myself told lies unhesitatingly whenever I found them convenient; so what right had I to complain of other people for doing the same?' This book doesn't read much like a Victorian novel and perhaps that's why I enjoyed it so much.

My Summer Conferences

I've given papers at three conferences this summer in rather different locations and to different groups of people. The actual conferences themselves have been enjoyable and informative, though my personal difficulties have made them a little more traumatic than I would've preferred.

The first one, at the beginning of June, was the Oxford English Graduate Conference 2014 on the theme of 'Margins'. Of course, this gave me the brilliant excuse to see Oxford - and to see Oxford in the sunshine - which was a very pleasant experience. My paper, entitled 'Reclaiming a Sensation Novelist: Re-evaluating Edmund Yates', was on a 9:00 am panel, probably a good thing because once it was over I started to enjoy the day a little more. The programme was packed full with four sets of four simultaneous panels. The variety was excellent, though I tended to stick to the more Victorian ones. Perhaps my favourite panel was 'Nineteenth-Century Women' that included three outstanding papers from Ruth Ashton (University of Leicester), Teja Pusapati (University of Oxford) and Rebecca Shuttleworth (University of Leicester) who looked at 'fallen'/'new' women, the English Woman's Journal and provincial women in abolitionist discourse respectively. The day was a success overall and I managed to overcome my inherent shyness and hold a few conversations with some interesting people.

Secondly, at the end of June, was 'Recoveries 2014: Reconnections, 1714-1914' held at the University of Nottingham. The paper I gave there was a variation on my Oxford paper, slightly shorter and with more of an emphasis on Yates's novel Black Sheep in relation to Dickens. I was pleased with how it went and got some interesting questions. Once again, there was a nice mix of paper within the time period, my favourites perhaps being Amy Watson (Nottingham Trent University) discussing Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, Adam Abraham (University of Oxford) talking about imitations of The Pickwick Papers and Elizabeth Adams (independent) on the collaborative authorship questions surrounding Mary Elizabeth Braddon. The university campus at Nottingham is stunning, a perfect place to discuss literature and culture.

Finally, I attended the 6th annual Victorian Popular Fiction Association conference which was on the theme of 'Victorian Treasures and Trash'. I attended this conference last year and it was brilliant. I'm pleased to say that this one was exactly the same. Spread over three days, there were plenty of papers to hold my attention, dealing with some Victorians I know a fair bit about and some of whom I know absolutely nothing. There's something equally fascinating and terrifying about being in a room with a heap of Victorian experts but they're all lovely people. I didn't get the chance to talk to some people I wanted to but that was partly due to time and partly due to my shyness going into overdrive. I did spend a lot of time hiding but I was there. That's the important thing.

My paper was on the Thursday morning and was a completely different creature to the Oxford and Nottingham papers. While they focused on the collaboration rumours surrounding Edmund Yates, this one delved into textual analysis and comparison to Dickens in a paper called 'Bleak House to Black Sheep: Literacy and the Street Boy'. I was fortunate to be on a panel with Sarah Lill (Northumbria University), whose paper on Edward Lloyd was both fascinating and slotted most neatly in alongside mine. There were too many excellent papers to name and I wouldn't want to leave anybody out so let me just say that it was a brilliant conference with some thought-provoking panels.

All of these conferences have thrown up things I want to now read, whether related to my research interests or not. Thanks to Oxford, I need to get more acquainted with Dickens's Christmas journals, read some Marilynne Robinson and delve - quite carefully - into George Moore. Nottingham taught me that I need to finally read The Pickwick Papers and dramatically improve my knowledge of Mary Elizabeth Braddon's 'lesser' novels. The VPFA gave me a lot of potential reading material including stories by Louisa Baldwin, Dr Paull's Theory by A.M. Diehl, Behind the Mask by Louisa May Alcott and a few texts on stammering from the nineteenth century. I may also give The Mill on the Floss another shot.

It's been a busy five weeks but rewarding nonetheless. I only hope my papers proved as interesting to others as theirs did to me.

Book Review: The Peculiar Case of the Electric Constable by Carol Baxter

The Peculiar Case of the Electric Constable recounts the real-life arrest of Quaker John Tawell, arrested on New Year's Day 1845 with assistance from the electric telegraph system that ran from Slough to London. However, the title is really only something for the writer to hang their hat on. This may have been the first case assisted by the telegraph wires, yes, but it is a fascinating one even disregarding that.

Tawell converted to Quakerism and spent a lot of time trying to fit in but marriage to an outsider didn't help his case. There's a lot in this book on Quaker rules and regulations - as they were at the beginning of the nineteenth century - and it makes for fascinating reading for those of us who hadn't really looked into it before. While some of Tawell's frustrations can be linked to these rules, his conviction for fraud (while trying to hide behind his uniform) demonstrates Tawell's tenuous grip on morality. The pages about his transportation to Australia are excellent and don't feel at all superfluous.

The murder Tawell is accused of is the poisoning of single mother Sarah Hart. Baxter's research is fantastic and her lucid narrative style almost puts you in the house at the time of the murder. She also knows when to flick back and forth between aspects of the story, ensuring that the reader is both interested in what's being told and intrigued about what she will return to. The atmosphere she recreates later in the prison is stifling and ridiculously realistic.

I don't want to spoil any more of the details of this fascinating case so I'll leave it there. However, I will say that I thoroughly enjoyed this book, particularly the meticulous research and the complete immersion in Tawell's life that it results in. I'll definitely read more by Baxter in the future.

Book Review: Valentine Grey by Sandi Toksvig

Valentine Grey tells the story of a girl who has been raised in India but returns to England for a visit and is forced to stay when her father dies. She moves in with her father's brother, Charles, and his wife, Caroline, but struggles to adapt. When Reggie, her cousin, comes home she finally has someone on her wavelength but Uncle Charles wants his son to volunteer for the Boer War. Reggie is gay and knows full well he wouldn't survive the battlefield and, besides, he wants to stay with his actor lover, Frank so Valentine secretly goes in his place.

I was surprised how much Toksvig crammed into this book. Not only do we get a proper picture of Valentine's attempts to acclimatise to London life but the war itself is vividly evoked, from the journey over there to the actual battles themselves. Nevertheless, the reader isn't overwhelmed with detail. Toksvig is economical and it seems to be the best approach.

Valentine is an excellent protagonist and certainly one who develops over time. Her reasons for going to war are much more complex than I thought they would be and the relationships with her fellow soldiers are intriguing for the layers to them as they obviously believe she's a man. There are several scenes of pure horror, not just related to battle, and one loathsome character who lingers long after you put the book down. The plot goes to places I didn't anticipate, showing various facets to war and dealing far more in reality than idealism.

Something that also surprised me was that Toksvig kept one foot in London with Reggie and Frank. This created an entirely different strand of the novel that I wasn't expecting and worked as a good contrast at times, though at others being in battle seemed preferable. Reggie's characterisation - and his fears - were both real and imagined and I think I actually preferred him to Valentine most of the time, possibly because Valentine was having to pretend to be someone else throughout.

While I won't spoil it, the novel builds to a good yet melancholy conclusion. The lessons I took from the final pages could easily have been lessons from the last fifteen years in the modern world.

Book Review: Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens

First serialised from 1838-39, The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, to give it its full title, is exactly what it purports to be: the story of Nicholas Nickleby, a young man who loses his father and his home and travels to London with his mother and sister to throw themselves on the mercy of his father's brother, Ralph. However, Ralph hates Nicholas and his 'help' consists of finding him a job in the worst place he can think of at the time. Nicholas duly travels to a terrible school in Yorkshire while his sister, Kate, is left at the mercy of Ralph.

For the most part, I enjoyed Nicholas Nickleby, although I do think it drifted off on occasion. There are some deliberate filler-scenes, such as the travelling stories in the inn, which draw you from the main story, and I was rather impatient for the Portsmouth sojourn to end. That's not to say that some of characters and situations there weren't entertaining, just that it seemed to be a contrivance for keeping Nicholas out of London.

Nicholas himself is a very morally good character, though one humanised by his touches of temper. However, some of the smaller characters are much more memorable; for example, the rates-collector Mr Lillyvick, who is ensnared by an actress, and Miss La Creevy, the first friend the Nicklebys make in London. A few characters just irritated me personally, including Mr and Mrs Mantalini (although I liked Miss Knag) and Mrs Nickleby. Her comic silliness became very annoying and, to be perfectly honest, I didn't want her to survive the novel - or the chapter, come to that.

This is Dickens so there are some excellent societal commentaries peppered throughout. The most potent of these probably comes from one of the novel's most famous characters, the Yorkshire headmaster Wackford Squeers who mistreats the boys under his care quite viciously. However, Ralph Nickleby is a font of wisdom, betraying the dark thoughts of the fortunate in relation to the less so. I found Ralph to be a far more interesting character than the hero, particularly when humanised by the affection he develops for his niece. For me, he was the central character and I cared less about Nicholas in the final pages than I did the supporting cast. Perhaps this was because Nicholas's love for Madeline felt ridiculous in places. I cared less about them marrying than I did about, say, poor Smike's unrequited love.

The characters from this novel who'll live with me are Smike, Squeers and Ralph Nickleby - not much of a commentary on Nicholas himself!

*This book was read as part of the 'Chunkster Challenge 2014' - details here.

Book Review: The Secret Life of Wilkie Collins by William Clarke

This biography, written by someone married to a descendant of Collins, attempts to decode the author's tangled personal life and get as close to the truth as possible. It's a book of remarkable accuracy, piecing together what we definitely do know about Collins's life with what can be assumed about his two 'families'. In a very readable book, Clarke examines the evidence, makes assumptions where necessary and comes up with a plausible trajectory for Collins's life.

Clarke chooses to start the book with Collins's will and then back-pedal to his parents to 'start' the story as it were. This allows for a certain amount of intrigue over the familial situation and the problems with the bequests to creep in before he turns to examine Collins's father. The chapters covering William Collins and Wilkie's childhood are more interesting than I expected them to be and I very much enjoyed the chapter covering the family's visit to Italy. I suppose one of my criticisms, though, is that it took a while to get to the 'good bits' - the relationships with Caroline Graves and Martha Rudd that shaped his life. However, Collins's early life shaped his reactions to events later on. The book is crafted to give a whole view of the man and it fulfils its objectives.

For Dickens fans, there's a chapter devoted to his relationship with Collins, covering the reason for them drifting apart as well. Then the investigative work begins as Collins's relationships with Caroline Graves and Martha Rudd are pieced together from what evidence there is. It hardly builds up a complete picture of his life - he was far too secretive for that - but it's a compelling picture nonetheless.

Perhaps my favourite chapters are the ones which cover his trip to America in 1873 and, just before that, the details of his stage successes, which I knew very little about. While this book only briefly mentions the plots of the novels, it takes an interest in the stage shows which, of course, involved Collins the man and not just Collins the author.

This book is a must for anybody wanting to unravel the mysteries of Collins's personal life. I also appreciated the look at the lives of both 'families' after he had died, including the inheritance problems. Would recommend for anyone interested in one of the most secretive and yet open authors of the nineteenth century.

Book Review: Mrs Robinson's Disgrace by Kate Summerscale

The subtitle of this book is 'The Private Diary of a Victorian Lady', which is the tool Summerscale uses to analyse one of the most interesting divorce cases heard in mid-Victorian period. Isabella Robinson met Edward Lane in 1850 and quickly began writing about him in her secret diary. She alternates between believing he feels the same way and thinking him cold-hearted until something irreversible seems to happen between. Then Isabella falls ill and her diary is read by her husband, Henry...

If it sounds like the plot of a sensation novel that's because it most likely inspired some. The details of the case were devoured by the press and, although they are less shocking to a modern reader, the type of information Isabella trusted to her diary is still surprising. Aside from her love for Edward, they also document her feelings for two other men and her distaste for her husband. Part of her defence rested upon the fact that to commit these thoughts - they contended they were fantasy - to paper was the sign of a deranged woman.

Summerscale approaches her subject with subtlety, utilising the diary entries to build up a picture of what happened before the trial. This is made especially difficult by the fact that the original diary and copies were destroyed. All she has to work with are the sections reported in the press and in the law digest which summarised the case in greater detail than the newspaper reports. With this in mind, the depth of Summerscale's analysis into Isabella and Edward's relationship is incredible. Equally, her writing style suits the subject, as it did The Suspicions of Mr Whicher (review here).

This is an enjoyable work of non-fiction and I won't give away the details for anyone unfamiliar with the trial. I will say that the Robinson and Lane families are interesting beyond the divorce trial and alleged affair. What Summerscale has created here, with the help of Isabella's diary, is a snapshot of a set of Victorian lives. The asides may seem irrelevant on occasion but they serve to build up an engrossing picture. When I'd finished reading I felt I was losing touch with a collection of friends.

Book Review: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte

Like most people, I seem to have neglected Anne Bronte. I'm in the middle of reading Juliet Barker's mammoth The Brontes and so decided to take a break and read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I'll admit that I wasn't expecting much. What actually happened was me realizing that I perhaps preferred this to both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.

The novel is essentially a letter from Gilbert Markham to his brother-in-law. The first section focuses on Gilbert's attendance on a new addition to the area, the mysterious tenant of the title, a Mrs Graham. She has a small son, Arthur, and is little reluctant to ingratiate herself in local affairs. Gilbert falls in love with her, though there are rumours that she's conducting a relationship with his friend, Frederick Lawrence. Helen eventually gives him a manuscript which explains her unhappy marriage to a drunkard and adulterer. Since I don't want to spoil the finale, I'll stop there.

What's striking about this novel is the portrayal of Helen Graham (Helen Huntingdon). To a modern reader, perhaps, her firmness in abandoning her husband (and, of course, taking her son with her) is unremarkable and expected but taken in the context of the period it's nothing short of astounding. What's more, Bronte never really suggests that Helen's in the wrong. Her portrayal of the degenerate husband is unflinchingly honest. There is one section in particular where Huntingdon and his friends really push the boundaries of respectability while staying at the Huntingdon home, Grassdale. The sustained scene of debauchery sticks in my memory as probably the most powerful in the book.

There are a couple of niggles, as with any novel. Essentially, we have to get to know two circles of friends and this proved especially tricky for me when we came back from Helen's diaries to Gilbert's own narrative. Remembering the intricacies of those relationships took me a little while. Equally, the final few chapters felt a little fragmented because of the events taking place over a period of time and involving several quick changes in the circumstances of the protagonists. That said, I'm nit-picking, trying to find fault with a novel I really enjoyed. It gave me food for thought but also managed to surprise me with its honesty. Not a lesser novel at all but a thoroughly excellent one. I'm not surprised Charlotte refused to have it reprinted after Anne's death!

Book Review: Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

Although it doesn't have the depth of Bleak House (reviewed earlier in the year here), Little Dorrit has an array of characters and subplots that are enough to make your head whirl if you let them. The title character is a young woman who was born in the Marshalsea prison and has lived her life there - with certain excursions outside of the walls to make money for her family. When, eventually, her life changes beyond belief she finds herself whisked away from not only the home she knew but the man she's come to love - Arthur Clennam.

Little Dorrit contains an impressive collection of truly Dickensian characters. For instance, there's Flora, Arthur's childhood sweetheart, who has been married and widowed and now comes complete with 'Mr F's Aunt', a batty woman who announces random things and has taken quite a dislike to Arthur for no tangible reason. Flora reminds me irresistibly of Miss Bates from Jane Austen's Emma (reviewed here) - you feel like you need a sit down after all of her appearances as she rabbits on and confuses even the most attentive reader. Other stand-out characters include the grotesque Mr Flintwinch, Arthur's mother's business partner, and the excellent Mr Pancks, a man who has been content to do 'difficult' work all his life because that's just what life is but the worm eventually turns. I have to admit, I was actually cheering when it happened. Such a Victorian 'comeuppance' but satisfying to the reader nonetheless.

On occasion, the subplots of this novel become a little blurred and take up too much time. That's a pitfall of serial publication but Dickens's prose style kept me interested throughout. Of particular amusement were the descriptions of the Circumlocution Office - a timely reminder that bureaucracy is a needless waste of resources and we'd be well advised to take the same lesson from that satirical depiction as the Victorians were encouraged to. As with most Dickens novels, the parallels between his era and ours are startling but they do focus on enduring human characteristics: people will cheat, manipulate, have a change of fortune, become jealous, fall in love and hide it for all eternity and perhaps it is those qualities which make Little Dorrit as readable today as it was in the 1850s. Add to the characterisation and plot the amusing depictions of London and, most poignantly, the depictions of the Marshalsea and you have an excellent book on your hands. This wouldn't make a good introduction to Dickens for those who haven't read any of his work before but it's certainly a good addition to the canon.

Book Review: The Somnambulist by Essie Fox

It's a mark of how long this one has been sitting on my bookshelf that I have the hardback edition. I actually wish it was still sitting on there so I could delay the pleasure of reading it a little longer. This is the kind of book where I wanted to drink in every word and description and I heartily recommend it.

The Somnambulist focuses on Phoebe Turner, a seventeen year-old who lives with her religious mother, Maud, and her ex-actress aunt, Cissy. When tragedy strikes she finds herself taking up a job as companion to the wife of businessman Nathaniel Samuels but the relocation to his country estate stirs up secrets and creates further problems.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of this novel is the submersion in Victorian society. The descriptions of Wilton's Music Hall are particularly entrancing, as are the vivid descriptions of the docks. In fact, every setting comes alive on the page. That's not to say the characters don't, although I would say that some of the most vivid characters are supporting ones. I particularly like Isaac, the senile old Jew, who we hear of several times. There is something about the description of both him and his shop which is reminiscent of Dickens at his best in Bleak House.

There are many twists and turns in this novel, some of which I anticipated and some of which were complete surprises. Fox utilises both types well, offering the reader involvement in the discovery of the secrets but still managing to surprise them more than once. She also manages to demonstrate her immersion in Victorian society without hitting the reader over the head with the research. What this creates is an atmospheric and surprising novel which stayed with me days after I'd finished it.

An Eccentric Burial Request

I'm on a nineteenth-century journal splurge at the moment as part of my PhD. I came across this and thought it warranted a little post. The article is entitled "Burial Vagaries" and covers a multitude of odd burial requests. This was both my favourite and the most absurd. I can't guarantee the truth of it but I've found several references to it dating back to the 1820s.

"The Rev. Langton Freeman, rector of Bilton, Northamptonshire, was eccentric in so many ways, that none who knew the man were surprised at his leaving peculiar directions for his burial. He ordained that his corpse should be left undisturbed until it grew offensive; when that came about, it was to be carried, bed and all, decently and privately, to the summer-house in his garden at Whilton; laid therein upon the bed, wrapped in a strong double winding-sheet, and in all respects, the description given in the Holy Scriptures of our Saviour's burial to be followed as nearly as might be. The doors and windows of the summer-house were then to be secured, and the building planted round with evergreens, and fenced with dark-blue palings of oak or iron. These instructions were carried out to the letter; and there the reverent eccentric lies still, although fence and trees have disappeared, and the summer-house itself is in ruins. A few years back, an entrance was effected through a hole in the roof, and the curious intruders beheld a dried-up figure, a veritable mummy without any wrappers, lying with one arm across the chest, and the other hanging down the body."

"Burial Vagaries", Chambers Journal, 26th October 1872

"So confident was he of animation returning, after an apparent death, that he directed himself to be laid in a bed [in the summer-house], as though merely reposing in ordinary sleep. His wearing apparel he requested might be hung up in the room, and his hat and even walking-stick placed ready for use. He anticipated rising so refreshed from his slumber, that he should be able, on the instant, to quit the place, and walk out, as it had been his custom to do."

"Tales, Romances, &c", Kaleidoscope, 23rd June 1829

I fear the reverend's hopes of resurrection never came to pass...

Musings on Sensation

A few weeks ago there was an article on the Jeremy Vine Radio 2 programme asking whether relatives of the gunman Raoul Moat should be allowed to place flowers at the place he died. For those who don't recall, Moat is the man who sparked a manhunt in Northumbria last year after seriously wounding his ex-girlfriend, killing her new partner and blinding a police officer. He committed suicide after a stand-off with police in the village of Rothbury. A terrible case indeed. However, what was striking about the item Jeremy Vine covered was the fact that it came out that people go to the scene of Moat's suicide to recreate his death. Some visitors even use children as young as five to rest on the ground as Moat reportedly did.

I'd imagine most of us feel a sense of disbelief at that. After all, Moat committed some vile acts. It's one thing to allow his family to grieve for him if they so wish; it's quite another to glorify him in death. It strikes me as very nineteenth-century in nature. As much as we criticise the spectacle the Victorians made of crime and murder, we follow the exact same path as they did. Sensation means newspaper sales, webpage hits. More importantly, sensation means attention. For the media outlet, for the reporter, for the little old blogger having their say. I do, by the way, realise the idiocy of me writing a blog post to protest about blog posts.

I'm currently working my way through The Invention of Murder by Judith Flanders. So far it's a book I'd heartily recommend; I only wish I could devote more time to reading it at the moment. One particular case she mentions is the 1823 murder of William Weare. Flanders draws attention to the 'murder tourists' who plucked the hedges where the murdered man may have been dragged almost clean of their leaves. Everybody wanted a sovenir: even Walter Scott recorded going on such a sightseeing excursion.

Nothing's really changed, has it? The murdered dead still hold a fascination for us, as do the names of their killers. I can name many people, criminal and victim, who will be forever linked in the public consciousness. I won't go into them here; I think the sickening cases of the last decade speak for themselves. We will remember them though and perhaps some of us will indulge in these macabre activities to pay homage to them. The moral outrage that's erupted in recent weeks over the phone-hacking scandal is one significant burst of humanity against a tide of ugliness. But, as has been mentioned, if there wasn't an appetite for this ugliness then the News of the World wouldn't have been selling 2.8 million copies a week, would it?

Personally, I feel revulsion towards the Murdoch empire and everyone potentially involved in the hacking. I also cannot understand the motivations of those adults using their children as Raoul Moat substitutes in Rothbury. It seems like we're teaching the next generation to glorify death. I don't want to imagine where that one might lead.

Last year I blogged about the shootings in Cumbria and the ruthlessness of the journalists hounding the public - on the behest of the rest of the public. Somehow we need a balance. What is it within the 'public interest' to know? And what simply provides titilation for the masses? Can we make stuff up to fill that latter criteria so that innocent people aren't caught in the crossfire? Or did I miss a trick - do we just do that already?

Charlotte Winsor and Joanne Fraill

In 1865 Charlotte Winsor killed the baby of a local woman, allegedly on her request, and both women were put to trial for it. However, the second woman (Mary Harris) was later acquitted on the proviso that she testify against Winsor. The really interesting aspect of this case comes in the manner Winsor's conviction was delayed due to the way juries were treated at the time. It occurred to me earlier this week, while reading the articles about Joanna Fraill's eight month imprisonment, that the prospect of locking juries up in a room until they made a decision and not allowing them to go home was ingenious then - and could still work now. Fraill, for anyone unfamiliar with the story, was sentenced to eight months imprisonment for contempt of court after contacting a defendant via Facebook and conducting her own Internet research in the case she was supposed to be viewing impartiality. The age of the Internet poses its own problems to the jury system - as do the so-called human rights of those sat on a jury - but surely we could withdraw jurors from society for a period of time? Perhaps I'm joking, perhaps I'm not.

Winsor's trial was curiously interrupted by the occurrence of a Sunday and the commencement of the Cornwall assizes on the Monday (Winsor's trial was being held in Devon). It was the custom at the time to deprive juries of "meat, drink, fire, and even candlelight" during the length of their deliberations. This undoubtably led to some rushed decisions for men eager to be rid of such a situation. However, in Winsor's case the struggle to fit to the prescribed schedule caused the judge to discharge the jury. Winsor would receive a second trial. The London Review noted later: 'There were three other courses open to him. He might have locked up the jury until the Monday morning, which would have been inhuman; he might have carried them with him to Cornwall in carts, which would have been grotesque; or he might have received their verdict on Sunday, which, to say the least of it, would have been a proceeding of very doubtful legality. Here therefore wisely adopted the expedient of discharging them after ascertaining there was no chance whatever of their agreeing, an in so doing acted in pursuance of modern practice, although in contravention of ancient precedent." Winsor's death sentence was later commuted in consideration of the period of time her trial had been extended for.

Trials today are much more complex than those of 1865. There is usually much more information for a jury to process and more complex information at that. With the advent of sophisticated post-mortem examinations and other improved technologies there is usually much more for the jury to absorb. That said, I would maintain that our current trial system is unnecessarily convoluted. I do believe in the trial by jury system to an extent, but that is primarily because I do not believe in the honesty of the judiciary in our fine country. But juries are made up of human beings and, in an age where information is itching at our fingertips, some of those human beings must be controlled.

Oh, we won't go back to locking juries up without food or water until they make their decision. The European Court of Human Rights would have a field day with that (and that's a rant for another post). But the idea of monitoring jurors, especially their Internet habits, has to be considered. My primary fear is that the cost of this spying would be seen to vastly outweigh the benefits given by it (and would 'Human Rights' even allow such a process?). The outcome of the Joanne Fraill case could be further-reaching than anyone understands if it adds fuel to those arguments searching for juries to be dispensed with altogether.

*All quotations relating to the Charlotte Winsor case are taken from The London Review of Politics, Society, Literature, Art and Science; 27 Jan 1866.