I don’t think of myself as a particularly morbid person. I love murder mysteries, but I’m more interested in the process of detection and the exploration of motive than the gory specifics of the crime or crimes they portray. I would much rather read a dense, complex mystery by, say, P.D. James than a blood-soaked thriller that seems more like a movie pitch than a novel.
I’m not crazy about true-crime books as a rule, preferring the comforting distance of fiction. It’s a fine distinction, I know, but if I’m going to read about someone who’s been shot, stabbed, or poisoned, I’d much rather they come from a writer’s imagination than a police blotter. It might just be part of a reluctance to seem like too much of a voyeur, or a superstitious instinct to avoid bringing karmic misfortune down on myself by taking too much prurient interest in the misfortunes of others.
There are always exceptions, of course, and a significant one is Rick Geary’s Treasury of Victorian Murder series from NBM. On one hand, the crimes Geary relates took place over a century ago, so they don’t give off the ghoulish vibe of a churned-out Court TV spin-off. On the other, he tells them really, really well, which spares them the same comparison.
The Beast of Chicago traces the infamous career of H.H. Holmes, widely credited as America’s first serial killer. An opportunistic madman, he used the hubbub of the Chicago World’s Fair to draw potential victims to his nearby rooming house. Estimates on the number of people who died at his hand vary, ranging from a couple of dozen up to a couple of hundred.
I’m familiar with the story, having read and enjoyed Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America. (It’s available in paperback now, for anyone who was wondering.) Larson juxtaposes the murders with Chicago’s campaign to host the Fair and the work of the architects who designed the grounds. Some of the themes overlap – ambition, opportunity, turning points both personal and cultural – but I’ve always thought it best to view it as two really interesting books that just happen to live between the same covers.
Geary focuses on Holmes – his charisma, his bottomless, sadistic inventiveness, and the contortions of logistics required to evade capture for as long as he did. At the same time, Geary gives a sense of the times in which Holmes operated and how they served his criminal predilections. It’s a crowded story, packed with places, events, and people, but Geary’s clear, sly style keeps everything understandable and engaging.
The books in the Treasury series are great guilty pleasures. Carefully researched but sensational, richly crafted but lurid, they feel like an indulgence, but one that respects your intelligence, even as it winks at you for getting a cheap thrill. They let you stop and stare without feeling too bad about doing it.