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Archive through July 05, 2001
Casebook Message Boards: The Diary of Jack the Ripper: General Discussion:
Analysis of Diary Text:
Archive through July 05, 2001
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 14 June 2001 - 08:56 am |        | Hi John:
You wrote:
The first page [of the Diary], even though it is not supposed to be the first page. . .
Do you seriously think there are some missing pages written by our hoaxter (or Maybrick, for whomever thinks JM actually wrote it)? Do you mean that you don't necessarily agree with me that the beginning pages in the book were removed because they contained photos and or other memorabilia on which the penman was unable to write? That is, I believe the first page as we see it was the first page written despite the mid-sentence abrupt start.
Yes, I immediately got that "4000 H in BL" stood for "4000 holes in Blackburn, Lancashire" from the Beatles' "A Day in the Life." As many of us veterans of life will recall, when the Sergeant Pepper album came out in the Summer of Love, 1967, the line about the 4000 holes was viewed by some as a drug reference. Which brings us right back to our favorite drug-addicted cotton merchant, diarist or not. . . . 
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 14 June 2001 - 09:50 am | | Hi Chris,
No, I don't really believe there are any missing written journal pages. (That's why I was pointing out, in the very sentence you cite, the problem: "The first page, even though it is not supposed to be the first page, gives us all the details we need and establishes the setting, the impending action and the major conflict.") In fact, I think there is good evidence to suggest that this first page is supposed to be a first page even though the diary gives the dramatic appearance of beginning in media res and seems to claim there were earlier pages. It's actually a very old trick from classical drama, used throughout the past and still (too) much used nowadays in film and fiction, of course. Anyway, see the reading below for details.
Hi Mark,
OK, Let's do it. What the heck, it's summer and things are slow around here and the people that think Mike did it but can't talk about their handwriting evidence have all retreated off stage, so let's actually read the book.
I suggested this once before, but no one seemed up for it. Mark (and anyone else interested), would you like to read the diary page by page, rhetorically and critically, and see what we might see? It's sixty-three pages. So we could try and do about two or three pages a day and be done in a month or so.
Everyone's invited. Especially those who regularly read this thread but haven't posted anything here yet, possibly because things have been too acrimonious or unpleasant or just boring. We could all read along during the day and anyone could say anything that might strike them about that day's pages. We won't be proving anything at all, just offering personal thoughts and insights and reactions. So we won't have to be too insistent about our readings and what they must reveal to everyone.
Still, it might prove to be useful and to provide us with some new insights that we had not considered, if enough people are up for participating.
I'll start with the first page, first paragraph.
We are supposed to be in the middle of a sentence, but the half we have in front of us happens to do a nice job of starting the story for us by promising action -- "what they have in store for them they would stop this instant." We learn who "they" are at the end of the first paragraph when we also learn that our narrator is after revenge against "the whore and whoremaster." It's an odd thing about this first paragraph. It is an introductory announcement of intentions, even though it is supposed to be the middle of an entry, in the middle of a journal. It is the perfect first set of lines ("They will suffer just as I. I will see to that.") although it's not supposed to be a set of first lines. And the name of Michael appears, a hint early on of our writer's identity perhaps?
In any case, things start happening very quickly. "Foolish bitch." sets the tone and the jealous, raging cuckold character is established with talk of a rondaveau in Whitechapel. And then, right away, there is an announcement -- "London it shall be." And a location -- The controversial Poste House lines. And a set of lines "clearly echoing," as Paul F. likes to say, the Ripper letters:
"All who sell their dirty wares shall pay, of that I have no doubt. But shall I pay? I think not I am too clever for that."
All this in the first two paragraphs of a private journal/diary which we are supposed to have stumbled into the middle of. This all seems so convenient an opening -- almost as if someone knew we would be beginning to read here and needed to know certain things if we were going to want to keep reading. The first two paragraphs have several hooks, as journalists say, and the conflict is properly established right off the bat. In fact, we have a line right out of the opening scene of a bad horror film on the first page: "I am convinced a dark shadow lays over the house, it is evil." Anyone read or see The Shining or The Haunting of Hill House or Amityville Horror any one of a number of films and books in this genre (or even watch Dark Shadows)?
"I am convinced a dark shadow lays over the house, it is evil." Maybe it's just me, but this seems almost a filmic cliché.
We hear about Gladys on this page (another opening page identity hint -- or at least a meet-the-players intro?) But although the writer says he is "worried so" about his sick daughter -- he merely mentions her in one sentence and then gets right back to the crucial issue -- himself as serial killer to be. A father worried about a sick child writes nothing more about her or her illness -- just a quick mention for readers and then back to the story. The arsenic illness is also suggested on the first page with all the people enquiring about our hero's health and pains in his head and arms (Do all crazed serial killers always have headaches? It often seems so in fiction. They are always grabbing their head in pain at some point.)
Chris has already commented on the writer's penchant for run on sentence structures and we know about the problems with Poste House. But the first page pretty neatly establishes our conflict and our scene and our narrator and his family and where we are headed.
Page two starts with at least a brief mention of some business, but it remains very vague and only a single line or two. Remember, if this is not Maybrick, the writer/hoaxer would not want to mention any specific details on commercial ventures, because they could be checked in records and that would mean too much work for our fake diarist. But Maybrick was a full time and successful business man. And yet all we get are a few vague mentions about "the matter he describes as most urgent" and a possible meeting here and there and nothing more; nothing that can be checked because there is nothing specific. But this is Maybrick's diary.
Still we go right back to the plot, the very beginning of the very next paragraph. Remember, we've supposedly come in the middle of all of this, and yet we get sentences like "I have thought long and hard over the matter and still I cannot come to a decision to when I should begin." We are being set-up, it seems to me.
And then we have the final pieces of important information -- our hero is not just a cuckold -- he has his own lover as well. And he is a drug addict. We are set up for a real adventure by the end of the second page. There is even an echoed rhetorical hint of the double-event ( a Ripper to be overtone, despite the fact that our hero is not yet the Ripper, hasn't killed anyone, and there has been no double-event -- it's foreshadowing and irony -- as if we knew the future (we do, of course -- but he can't). All laid out quickly and explicitly, and without any difficulty for the reader, even though this is allegedly a private diary.
"Tonight I shall see mine. I may return to Battlecrease and take the unfaithfull bitch. Two in a night, indeed pleasure. My medicine is doing me good, in fact, I am sure I can take more than any other person alive. My mind is clear I will put the whore through pain tonight."
Dum dum dummm (dramatic music, first fade to black -- possible commercial break).
Thus ends the opening two pages of the diary (even though they are not supposed to be the opening pages).
I'll stop here for now and let anyone else who wants to read these two pages and offer any other thoughts jump in.
Thanks for reading. This is all just personal reactions of course and a bit of rhetorical analysis. Nothing too complicated here, and just for fun. None of this proves anything at all, so there is nothing really at stake and no one need get too vehement or defensive about their readings and what they show.
Enjoy the day and, of course, the beginning of the US Open...
--John
PS: My MS Word spellchecker offered only one suggestion for the unrecognized word "whoremaster." It’s suggestion: "choirmaster." I wonder what this means.
PPS: Wasn't the "4000 holes" line a reference to the acoustic-tile disks being made in Lancashire for eventual placement in the Royal Albert Hall? The large disks were suspended from the ceiling of the concert hall, weren't they, to control more effectively the movement of the sound? I think I remember reading this in one of Paul and/or John's interviews, but I could be wrong. |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 14 June 2001 - 10:13 am | | Hi, John:
Thanks for the clarification. I rather thought that you did not have the view that there actually are missing pages but I wanted to clear up your remark in case you by chance did think so!
I welcome your magnificent idea to have a page-by-page reading of the content of the Diary over the coming weeks. I don't have time to consider your thoughts on the opening pages at this moment but will do so later. I will also enjoy coming along for the ride in the following weeks and commenting where I think it is appropriate. Thanks for making the suggestion. Between our collective selves, we may in this manner arrive at some additional interesting observations on the d----- document. 
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 14 June 2001 - 12:18 pm | | Eeeeeek! I thought I'd have a quiet time of it, not having loads of diary posts to send to Keith this summer - and particularly with Wimbledon Tennis and Tim Henman's legs shortly taking priority in my life. Keith may have to invest in that computer soon, or there will be 4000 holes in my brain before much longer, never mind opening up in the roads of Blackburn. 
Love,
Caz |
Author: Martin Fido
Friday, 15 June 2001 - 12:08 pm | | Splendid idea, John.
For starters 'rondaveau' and 'a dark shadow lays over the house'. It is more than improbable that a merchant with with a position to maintain on the local Cotton Exchange and in the southern states would be capable of such misspelling and solecism. (True, the misuse of transitive 'lay' for intransitive 'lie' is now almost universal in America, and probably a majority usage in England. But this was not the case in 1888). There is no trace of such linguistic incompetence in the cache of genuine Maybrick letters, and no evidence that I have ever seen that taking arsenic as a tonic would induce a mental state causing bad grammar and orthography.
The hopeless attempt to use the word 'rendezvous' looks to me a clear pointer to an ambitious writer who wants to sound like an educated Victorian, and thinks this will be achieved by using long words - which, alas, are not adequately at the writer's command. So a correct sentence using slightly hifalutin words ('endeavour' for 'try' and 'his request' for 'him' - 'Never the less I shall endeavour to meet his request' - is only flawed by the erroneous idea that 'nevertheless' should be written as three words. But the previous sentence shows hopeless inability to link 'inclination' to the phrase it introducess by appropriate prepositions:
'I have no inclination as regards the matter he describes'.
Throughout the diary, from start to finish, one constantly comes across awkward sentence with phrases misplaced to give a ponderous feel to the writing. 'Is it not an ideal location? Indeed do I not frequently visit the Capital and do I not have legitimate reason for doing so.' 'Opportunity is there, of that fact I am certain'. These contrast with the normally flowing sentences which preponderate, and the abbreviated 'diaristic' sentences: 'The bitch has no inclination.' 'Two in a night, indeed pleasure'. All ths suggests a writer who has a real intention of imitating an educated Victorian, but him- or herself lacks the education and exposure to 19th century writing to bring it off convincingly. It hardly needs to be said that it is not at all like the surviving specimens of MAybrick's writing.
Martin Fido |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 15 June 2001 - 02:30 pm | | Hi Martin,
Interesting observations. I've noticed the odd and seemingly forced syntax as well, and it does seem inconsistently applied.
In fact, there are several such examples on the very next page.
Let's look, then, at pages three, four, and five today. Page three is a single paragraph that does indeed have its share of odd little sentences. I particularly like "And oh what deeds I shall comit." [All spellings and errors, by the way, appear here as they do in the text.]
The third page begins with self-conscious thoughts about writing. Clearly the reader is supposed to know that the writer does not want to be read even though he must write (providing an explanation for the written confession). Clearly our writer has become aware he is writing (or our hoaxer is aware he has readers). But it is in the second sentence that a certain necessary revelation conveniently takes place. Pages one and two only hinted at what the "plan" was and what this person was up to. By page three, the reader needs to know. And so we get: "If I am to down a whore then nothing shall lead the persuers back to me, and yet there are times when I feel an overwhelming compulsion to put my thoughts to paper." This is a psychologically self-aware cotton merchant/serial killer, apparently, examining his own compulsions to write. A mention of Brother Edwin, completing the introduction of the cast of characters, finishes off the page. And, although we are supposed to be in the middle of the journal, again we get an introductory statement of foreshadowing for the reader: "However, the pleasure of writing off all that lays ahead of me, and indeed the pleasure of thoughts of deeds that lay ahead of me, thrills me so." And we are just about on our way.
The next page has two paragraphs. Urgency now begins to be the tone (and the reader perhaps is grateful). Oddly though, the sentences have been fairly formal up until now, complete with first-person pronouns at the beginning of sentences. But the fourth page begins telegraphically: "Have decided my patience is wearing thin." And the shift in tone continues: "Will take some of my medicine..." There is not much in this paragraph that can be checked or that reveals much at all. It ends almost stereotypically with "My head aches."
The second paragraph on the page, however, reveals our first murder. There is no long detailed account that might be checked for facts, no revelling in the act (as one might expect in a private journal), not even much description. Just the one short paragraph (and I should note that nothing in this diary is sustained for very long. It's as if the writer was being careful not to say too much (even though it is allegedly a private book) or the writer had a very short attention span and could not sustain prose for very long, or both).
But wait, this whore was apparently killed in Manchester. What's this? A non-ripper murder? And "squeezing?" But why? Why bother? I have my own ideas, but I'll let others speculate as to why a possible forger would bother to throw in another murder at the beginning of the series, in an entirely other place.
We do, though, get out first "ha ha"s. We already know about these from the "letters," of course.
Finally the full paragraph on the fifth page begins (the paragraph describing the first murder, on page 4 that bleeds over onto the next page, is over already -- with no significant or clear details about this "murder" that has never been identified). A line or two about the murderer's tortured body (the regular illness reminder) and a mention of "my work" -- not business, there has been no mention of his regular job or of business, again, nothing that can be checked -- even though it is his private journal. Just a vague line or two again about someone asking about business and business "flourishing." Just like on the second page. As if the writer has to put in a mention of family and work now and again but never wants to say anything specific about them. In fact, we're on page 5 now and nothing specific has been said about anything. The short paragraphs and vague references always avoid mention anything specific that might be checked. And then, after more thoughts of "taking the bitch tonight," the writer remembers and adds -- almost as an afterthought and rather pathetically: "The children are well."
Here's a question. To whom is that last sentence addressed? He is telling himself the children are well? He already knows the children are well and there is nothing new or noteworthy marked here about the children being well. He doesn't know we're here, so he can't be telling us the children are well. In a diary, writing to himself, he would remark perhaps about the children having problems or not being well or even getting better and him being grateful. But why just a simple tacked on declamatory sentence like "The children are well." with no further comment? This seems to me to be the stroke of someone who was thinking about his readers and thought -- oh yeah, he hasn't mentioned his kids in a while. Perhaps he should. How about just saying "The children are well." That should do it.
But maybe I am just troubled by this odd and separate little afterthought. But there are patterns developing. Regular brief but vague mentions of three things: his family, his illness, and his business -- but no extended mention of any of these or development of any of them in any detail. Just casual almost routine reminders -- as if it is part of a larger plan. As if someone thought "he would mention these in his diary -- but we can't write anything too specific -- so at regular intervals we'll include a simple and vague sentence about each."
I might be getting paranoid about this, so I'll stop now, at the end of page five, and let others join in with their thoughts on these three pages.
Bye for now, everyone, and thanks for reading along,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 15 June 2001 - 05:36 pm | | Hi, all:
Excuse me for lagging a bit behind in that I wish to address the first couple of pages of the Diary discussed by John in his post of yesterday and then progress to John's post of 2:30 pm today on pages three, four, and five.
First of all, what are we to imply is missing where the existing Diary begins? The first sentence reads: ". . . . what they have in store for them they would stop this instant." Was the narrator talking about the whores of Whitechapel, London, or his unfaithful wife and her lover in Liverpool? John thinks the latter, but I think it could be either, although perhaps it doesn't matter which. I reconstruct the sentence to read:
If the whores [or the whore and the whoremaster] knew what they have in store for them they would stop this instant.
It would seem to me that the word preceding "what they have in store" has to be a word like "knew" and the storyline that "Maybrick" seeks "revenge on the whore and the whore master" is made clear at the end of the paragraph. Whether the suffering is to be by his wife Florence and her lover Alfred Brierley (or a preceding lover) or by the whores of London who first appear in paragraph 2 ("All who sell their dirty wares shall pay") is though, I think, unclear. In any case, we are given sufficient clues to the missing rest of the first sentence to believe we sense what he means, i.e., one or the other of these options.
Another point to mention is that if he really was going to revenge himself on Florie and her lover by confronting them, what would that revenge have been? It seems as if the only "revenge" in the end is the indirect one of killing whores.
I very much agree with Martin's assessment that whomever wrote the Diary is a man of a lower class trying to sound like a Victorian middle class gentleman. Possibly this observation is partly colored by our knowledge that the "suspects" in the appearance of the Diary are of working class background. But I don't think that is all of it. I believe Martin is right that such oddly phrased and ungrammatical sentences as "They will suffer just as I." betray the background of whomever wrote the Diary, and that the person was not James Maybrick. The misspelling of rendezvous as "rondaveau" seems also to show that the writer was of a different class, and, at least in the case of this misspelled word, was a person who seemingly did not study French in school!
John, I concur with you about the melodramatic quality of the line, "I am convinced a dark shadow lays over the house, it is evil." However, on the other hand, I think this is how the Maybricks may have thought. After reconsidering that line, I referred to the wording of Florence's book, Mrs. Maybrick's Own Story: My Fifteen Lost Years, Funk and Wagnall's, New York, 1905, where she describes the hours in between the death of her husband and her arrest on suspicion of having poisoned him:
Slowly consciousness returned. I opened my eyes. The room was in darkness. All was still. Suddenly the silence was broken by the bang of a closing door which startled me out of my stupor. Where was I? Why was I alone? What awful thing has happened? A flash of memory! My husband was dead! I drifted once more away from the things of sense. (p. 23)
Now, of course, I am not making a case for the line about the dark shadow over the house being a case for the Diary being genuine. I am only pointing out that possibly the thought processes of the Maybricks, or perhaps specifically at least Florence's thought processes, may have had such a melodramatic quality. I do think people of the day thought in such melodramatic terms, perhaps derived from the popular literature they read.
I do agree with you, John, that the occasional mention of the children, specifically the mention on the second page that "My dearest Gladys is unwell again, she worries me so." seems like window dressing. This also fits though with his comment that a dark shadow of evil has fallen over the house and mention of his own health--that his arms and legs pain him at times. I don't necessarily agree with Mark Goeder that the term "bumbling buffoon" for Dr. Hopper is necessarily a Victorian term, though it is not a common present-day term perhaps either. The short contemplation on the state of his [Maybrick's] health is followed by mention of business affairs and his employee Thomas's request to discuss some unnamed urgent business matter. I agree with Martin that the odd way of writing "nevertheless" as "never the less" ["Never the less I shall endeavour to meet his request."] appears to be inconsistent with the way Maybrick would likely have written the word.
John, I can also hear the implied dramatic music after the declaration, "My mind is clear I will put whore through pain tonight." Note that it does not, however, read "the whore" as you transcribed it. Does the lack of the article imply the page was written in a hurry?
Page three begins with a very interesting take off, purposely or inadvertently, of the wording of the original Dear Boss letter. The Dear Boss letter of September 25, 1888 reads in part, "I am down on whores. . ." while here the writer has put, "If I am to down a whore. . ."!!!
You mention the whole sentence, John, as filling us in on the narrator's intention, "If I am to down a whore then nothing shall lead the persuers back to me. . ." The word might read "persuers" although I am hard put to it to make it out from the Diary facsimile. The word appears to be too short to be "pursuers" spelled rightly or wrongly. Could it be "powers"?
I have remarked before about the artificial quality in which on a number of the Diary pages the writing ends part way down the page and the remainder of the page is filled in with a straight or wavy stroke of the pen. Page three is a classic example of this, with a wavy Zorro-like "Z" completing the page right after the statement, "Indeed only the other day did not Edwin say of me I was the most gentlest of men he had encountered. A compliment from my dear brother which I find exceedingly flattering." Trumpet flourish. Note how "the most gentlest of men" idea fits in neatly with the line toward the end of the Diary, "I give my name that all know of me, so history do tell, what love can do to a gentle man born."
I had not thought previously about the flourishes of the pen being used to emphasize thoughts but here I think it definitely is so used. The same might apply on the next page where there is a wavy line introduced after the statement "My head aches." and before the Manchester murder, as if we are meant to take note of both of them. As you well remarked, John, murderers always have aching heads.
I think the Manchester murder is stuck in to give the Diary verisimilitude. That is, as if the forgers were thinking, "There better be some new information or else people will suspect this is a hoax." Why strangling? I think for the very reason that a Ripper-like murder would be easier to check in the press. I have previously remarked that based on the fact that "Maybrick" has already announced his campaign of killing prostitutes would be in the city, the mention of this Manchester murder was inserted after the writing of the Diary was begun and it was not the original intention of the forger to put this in.
Going by my evolving theory that the wavy or straight lines on some pages may be inserted for emphasis and to make us notice key story components, I don't know how to explain the wavy line at the end of page five after the words you noted, "The children are well." The wavy line though not immediately following it does come after the thought preceding the statement about the children, "I have it in mind that I should write to Michael. . ." and of course Michael is important to the plot as providing a place for Maybrick to stay in London. Note also the "that" stuck in here in smaller lettering, a phenomenon noticeable in various places in the Diary where an insertion has been jammed in using smaller writing. Possibly a characteristic of the forger's handwriting in their day-to-day writing?
John, you validly question why the writer, allegedly writing for himself in a private journal, would need to tell himself that his children are well. This though might betray some amateurishness in the perpetrator of the hoax. As you have noted, most times they are careful to not give too much away. This particular statement, however, sounds more like a vacation postcard, doesn't it? As if someone was writing, "Everyone is having a great time here. The weather is fine. The children are well." So it may not be as much that the narrator has not mentioned the children for a while and feels that there is a need to do so as that he/she knows there should be acknowledgement of day-to-day affairs, as if they are writing a daily letter to someone. Although this is not how a private diary should read!
Looking forward to your thoughts on the next couple of pages, John, and to reading other people's thoughts. I have been working on this post for a couple of hours so maybe one or two people have already posted.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Martin Fido
Friday, 15 June 2001 - 07:11 pm | | Splendid commentaries. Just a small point, Chris. I was pointing out the solecisms and (to my ear) un-middle-class-Victorian phraseology to Shirley long before I knew anything about Mike Barrett's background or educational level. Indeed, as I understood it, those most interested in his relation to the diary were convinced that he had come by it nefariously, and all his stonewalling and evasions were supposed to cover up how he had got it from 'the workmen in Battlecrease' or somebody at his wife's office, or something. (You will perceive that, although I wasn't working up clsoe to Fely, Feldeian thinking effectively drowned out or forced into the background more restrained investigation. Naturally Feldeian thinking dismisses the sort of textual analysis we are now entering as subjective mumbo-jumbo. Not to compare with the value of seeing some likenesses in old photographs of dead Maybricks and Grahams.
All the best
Martin F |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 15 June 2001 - 08:01 pm | | Hi, Martin:
Thanks for your clarification that you pointed out the Diary's solecisms and (to your ear) un-middle-class-Victorian phraseology to Shirley Harrison long before you knew anything about Mike Barrett's background or educational level and before Barrett became a suspect in its forgery. Good to know.
I certainly think such observations are germane to the investigation and should be part of the study of a fraudulent document. I can though understand why Paul Feldman, as a Diary believer, might resist your thoughts that the grammatical constructions in the Diary were not consistent with ones that you would anticipate that a middle class businessman such as James Maybrick would have used.
When John Omlor first joined this site a few months ago we began to look closely at some of the wording of the Diary. This mini-investigation got sidetracked with debate about whether there was any real proof that the Barretts penned the Diary, the announcement of further writing samples by a possible Diary penman, and other issues. I am glad that we have got back to looking in detail at the text of the Diary. While this close analysis may not tell us who wrote the Diary, observations such as yours could, I think, tell us the type of person they might be.
In 63 pages of written text, an extensive document compared to, say, the length of most suspected forged letters, the penman (or penwoman) could per se be potentially revealing much about themselves that we might still have the chance to discover through our detailed textual examination.
I think that our observation that the Diary is essentially a story with a conventional narrative form is also valuable to know as we continue with this process of detailed examination. In essence, then, we are not dealing with a Ripper artifact but a work of fiction. This is not a document written by the Ripper. It's entertainment.
Best wishes
Chris George |
Author: Stephen Powell
Saturday, 16 June 2001 - 04:43 am | | Dear friends,
I give you these fragmented thoughts merely as a background of myself.
My name is Stephen Powell,I was born at St.margarets hospital in Sydney Australia in October of 1951.
My parents were william powell an australian by birth and my mother Mary malone who arrived with her sister Anne and their mother Bridget from Ireland around the second world war.
I was raised as a catholic and saw enough of that realm to make me shiver with fright as to their beliefs.
At the early age of 14,I became a buddhist,as I found that the teachings of the buddha were more inline with my thoughts and ideals.
My father ran off with a barmaid in the early sixties,leaving my mother to look after myself and my elder sister.
Three years later my mother died and alcoholic,though some say she died of a broken heart.
After her death I proposed to travel around australia playing my guitar.
I had meet a young chap around my age at that time and he joined me in my travels. (let us now call him Mr.P)
He said he was born in Liverpool but subsequently it has been found that his birth place was Lancashire 1950.
For four years we roamed the length and breadth of this huge land and became very proficient at our entertaining skills.
My friend would often talk of his girl-friend back in England,her name was Anne.As he was quite young at the time,I figured that she was probably his 'first love'.
After this sojourn,I formed a band (without my friend Mr.P) and I made several records and even made the charts.
It was during this time that I met a nurse by the name of Anne Graham.
She was fresh out of England and I met her through word of another nurse.
Anne told me an incredible tale that her father had a Diary/letters of Jack the Ripper.I was and still am an avid reader and had read all or most of books relating to jtr.
I did not believe her and we had a very heated row over the whole matter in question.I believe with all my heart that history should be the truth and nothing but and her manner irked me to the bone.
(for those interested,I have written more on this in past posts to this board)
At the time I was engaged to a girl by the name of Victoria,she was a close friend also of Mr.P.
Victoria told me that she was aware of the diary.
She did say that in years to come,she would verify my story but alas,she has been quiet so far.
Most of you will know these facts already.
As a good buddhist,I do not lie and I have nothing to gain from doing so,
However,I told Anne Graham that I would speak up if a 'Diary' was ever published and she almost dared me to and said it would be her word against mine,that has irked me too!
Now to get to the important point of this letter...
What I now propose is an amnesty for all those involved in the Diary so as we can sort out the truth of the matter once and for all.
if such an amnesty was brought into effect,I'm sure that Victoria for one would speak up and tell us what she knows.
And Mr.P could get his fifteen minutes of fame and we would all be happy.
An amnesty would have to be agreed upon by all before those involved will talk.
Amnesty or not,I dont believe that AG will say one word but others may...
In all honesty,
steve powell
16-6-2001 |
Author: Christopher T George
Saturday, 16 June 2001 - 06:08 am | | Hi, Steve:
Glad to hear from you again and to know more about your background. As we have told you before, your story about meeting Anne Graham in Australia when she was a nurse working there is certainly intriguing. We would like to know more from your friend Victoria to see if she can verify what you are saying. You say that "Anne told me an incredible tale that her father had a Diary/letters of Jack the Ripper." What though about your prior implication in a post of February 12, 2001 - 09:25 am that a Birkenhead-born man living in Australia was involved in the forgery? I do note that your post at that time did include the same question about whether the Diary was already in existence or whether it was created in Australia. You stated then, "Now, I still dont know if the diary is real or not, for all I know it may be as Anne said to me that; 'My father has it....' or on the other hand it maybe a complete fabrication and she set out to write a 'Diary' based on her initial idea and enlisting as co-writers, her new found friends in australia."
I don't know what you mean by an amnesty, but I am sure that Shirley Harrison or Keith Skinner will get back to you on this matter.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Saturday, 16 June 2001 - 11:00 am | | Chris,
Excellent reading. Some great stuff there that I hadn't thought about. I did check out the "persuers" line (that's how the transcript spells it, of course) in the facsimile, and you're right, it is hard to see that word in that scribbling writing. Though it is a possibility. And you're absolutely right about the missing article before "whore" at the end of page two.
(One small apology for readers -- today's reading, like yesterday's, is being written on my father's old and evil computer that does not allow me as much ease of editing -- so I apologize in advance for any typing or grammar or punctuation errors that would normally not have appeared if I were working on my own machine and could zip back and forth from Word to the Boards.)
Regarding the line-flourishes: I think you are right that they often follow moments that seem to require emphasis. I suspect also that this is partly because they are supposed to indicate often the end of individual entries and our writer likes to end his entries with a dramatic stinger or hint about what might be to come ("I will put whore through pain tonight" etc.). I think the lines were someone's idea of delineating the entries and designating a passing of time, perhaps, and then they began to take on a life all their own (as we'll see later -- when the writing gets more out of control).
But now for pages six and seven.
And right away we have what might be the very first piece of specific information about Maybrick's day that has appeared in the diary (there are very few throughout the entire thing). The mention of Mrs. Hammersmith. This of course has set off much speculation and research already and there are several well known debates about who this might have been and who lived where, when (see posts by Shirley on this very board, and responses from Peter, as well). Has a hoaxer simply made up this name and this woman (like the earlier, barely mentioned murder in Manchester) to keep the readers and researchers busy -- as a red herring? I think it is significant that once again we are told almost nothing about the woman mentioned here except her name. She asked after the health of the family, including James. That's all. And James thinks she is a bitch. Here's my thoughts: Our writer wanted us to know that James a.) thought Florrie was gossiping about him and he would have hated that ("What has the whore said?") and b.) was quick to despise women ("Mrs. Hammersmith is a bitch."). This could be accomplished quickly and easily with this little anecdote. But why risk mentioning a specific name? Actually, I think this is a very good risk/reward situation for the writer. If there was a Mrs. Hammersmith in Liverpool society in 1888, just by chance, then the diary would have a greater claim to authenticity and significant supporting detail. If not, then the researchers would be left wondering if they had simply failed to find her -- and the inability to locate the name proves nothing by itself, since it is always possible that the records are incomplete. So why not drop the name, as long as it is only mentioned briefly and no details are given about her family or her life or her identity?
Then, strangely, the paragraph takes a rare upturn in tone. It's almost bizarre -- the talk of June and flowers and spring and pleasure. The writer seems happy and looking forward to his trip. This seems uncharacteristic. But it turns out there is a rhetorical reason for having James seem freshly optimistic.
His mood needs to be suddenly and quickly spoiled by his wife wanting to come along on the planned trip. Now she is the "bitch" again -- and then, interestingly, there is the mention of one of his "bottles" and of Florrie possibly finding it. Remember, James cannot know his fate or the trial that will take place or the later suspicion of his wife's tampering with his medicine. Only someone who knew what happened to the Maybricks later could know that. But here again seems to be a bit of foreshadowing. At least, that's the paranoid reading that hits me for a moment here. There might as well be a perfectly simple explanation -- James' worries about keeping his habit a secret from his wife.
Further down, in the next paragraph on that page, there is an interesting moment. Again, I am drawn to noticing how vague everything is kept in all of these entries. There is never anything yet that can be checked. The diarist writes: "My thoughts are becoming increasingly more daring, I have imagined doing all sorts of things." But now he does become a bit specific. "Could I eat part of one? Perhaps it would taste of fresh fried bacon ha ha. My dear God it thrills me so." Perhaps Chris can speak on the echoes of Ripper "letters" here and what he thinks about this little moment of cannibalistic fantasy.
Then there is a very small sentence which I would like to highlight. The next paragraph begins this way:
"Frequented my club."
This, like the earlier "The children are well," seems to me rhetorically odd for a private journal. It's not a mention that he went to his club that day or that he was going to his club -- a chronicle of the day's events, that is. It's a general statement about a vague period of time. "Frequented my club." It seems more intended for readers other than himself. This seems odd to me.
Finally, at the end of the page, he does mention that he intends to have sex with his victims. "I will take each and everyone before I return them to their maker, damaged of course, severely damaged." Perhaps Martin and others can speak, by the way, to the phrase "damaged, of course, severely damaged," which does not sound, to my ear, historically authentic. But again, it is a dramatic bit of foreshadowing with which to end a page -- again, as if we were reading or watching a serial.
And again the amount of actual, reviewable, verifiable pieces of information in this private journal remains very small -- almost deliberately small. If Maybrick were writing this for himself because of his alleged compulsion to write it all down for the thrill of it, as he says, then why is there no reveling in specific details and no sustained discussion of any one thing in particular at all? Why only the repeated vagaries? Perhaps there is the fear, on the writer's part, that getting too specific might get him into trouble with researchers and authenticators (later, of course, when the Ripper murders begin, it will).
Now I must rush off to errands. I look forward to any other ideas anyone might have about these pages.
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Saturday, 16 June 2001 - 12:07 pm | | Hi, John:
Yes I think the specifics of Maybrick's life are kept deliberately vague. The person who put this together is clever in that way, even though otherwise the overall text is very repetitive in its wording and phraseology.
I have several observations in regard to the mention of Mrs. Hammersmith.
At the top of the page, if you look in the facsimile, the name looks more like "Hamersmitt" or even something like "Homersitts." Only in the second appearance of the word, which occurs in line three of the page is the name more obviously "Hammersmith."
A second observation is that the capital "H" is pretty distinctive and oddly formed, too, isn't it? For a few minutes now I wondered if it might not be an "H" at all but possibly an "M" or some other character. As written here, though, the character is consist with the "H" in "Hopper" and "Have" or "Ha Ha" where the capital "H" is written in script.
A third observation about Mrs. Hammersmith is that this might not be her real name. As you know, I come from Liverpool, and certainly a trait in my family and among people I know from the 'Pool is to give neighbors and others nicknames. Thus, my grandmother would call the woman who lived next door "Mrs. Flutabush" and a lady friend of mine from Liverpool called a woman in her apartment building "Twinkle Toes." So-- Mrs. H may be called that because she came from London or from Hammersmith specifically but it may not be her real name. Do I hear a door creaking open for Shirley Harrison? Oh, yes, I know, Shirley, "All will be revealed. . ."
I have to run out for an hour or two. Will hope to write more when I return, including a few observations on the Ripper letters and the mention of Maybrick eating part of one of his victims and wondering if "it would taste of fresh fried bacon ha ha."
All the best
Chris |
Author: John Omlor
Sunday, 17 June 2001 - 11:42 am | | Hello Everyone,
After the mention of possibly eating his victims and appearance of the underlined "ha ha" of the letters, our diarist's patterns of mentioning, but just mentioning family, business and health re-emerge.
Today, pages eight, nine, and the beginning of ten.
And page eight begins, on this Father's day here in the US, with a thought about the children. "I try to repel all thoughts of the children from my mind." But once again, they are only mentioned in a single sentence and then the topic abruptly changes and the issue does not return. There is no explanation or no specifics about the children or what they might be doing or anything they might have said to him during the day or even any specific concerns this parent might have about them.
There is, though, in the first paragraph of page eight, a specific mention of a specific plan (sort of). "I believe if chance prevails I will burn St. James to the ground." Readers will remember that this is one of the lines Shirley uses in support of the diary being and echo of the "Eight Little Whores" poem (which I seem to recall has the "town" set "alight"). If she's right, and Melvin is right, this put our composition date after the publication of that poem -- and perhaps, some have suggested, after its appearance in Martin's book on a page near several of the letters as well. Martin, wouldn't that be then after 1987? [This is one of the things that prompted the well known curmudgeon Marvin Harrison to conclude that Martin had written this diary, no doubt. ] But is there even a connection between the line in the diary and the poem?
I must say that it is not at all clear to me that mentioning burning St. James to the ground has anything at all to do with the "Eight little Whores" poem (or that anything in this diary has anything at all to do with that poem, including the little attempts at numbered verse that James tries later -- which remain only fragments and which amount only to two or three lines and in which the numbers go the wrong way in any case). And burning "St. James's to the ground," to me sounds more like a comment on the unthinkably sinful and evil nature of our diarist's "plans" -- in his own mind; and his ironic awareness that they would be carried out by a "James" -- the Maybrick of the diary being fascinated with his own name and its possible appearances everywhere. A long time ago I said I thought the writer of this diary was someone with a penchant for and perhaps even a love of word puzzles and word games. There is a self-consciousness about letters and words in this diary -- an attempt (never very successful) to be clever through the manipulation of names, and words, and individual letters and initials that suggests to me the mind of a someone who likes playing simple word games and thinking that coming up with goofy stuff like the variations on a proper name or set of initials makes him clever.
Oh yes, and one other brief little biographical mention makes this page. And it's appearance is typical of the diary. It was known that Maybrick like to gamble. So here, at the end of this page, in a single line or two, without any explanation and without any specifics as to subject and without any checkable details, we have the following little tacked on item: "tomorrow I will make a substantial wager. I feel lucky."
And that's it -- nothing more than a little mention to show us that our hero placed bets. Tacked on like "The children are well." or "Frequented my club." to show us that yes Maybrick gambled. I really does begin to seem like we are being presented with something here, publicly. As if there is a voice in the background of the diary always saying, "You see? Get it?"
But James’s temper must also be shown to flare up now and again if we are to believe in him as raging serial killer capable of carving up Mary Kelly like a Sunday roast. So there is a sudden burst of unexplained and undetailed anger at someone named "Lowry." (I always think here of Sam Lowry, from Terry Gilliam's wonderful Brazil -- a British film with its own penchant for word games and character names like Spoor, Jack Lint, Mr. Helpmans, and Mrs. Terrain. Brazil came out, by the way, in 1985.) But of course, here we are talking about the young clerk Thomas Lowry, who worked for Maybrick. Again, a brief mention of business, without too much detail or any reviewable specifics except that there are "missing items." Even Shirley in her book has to admit that we are not told what "missing items" there might have been or what Lowry might have said. It is all just inferences and hints. But it is just our daily, unspecified reminder of business. Why would a diarist feel compelled to write of his desire to kill his young clerk in ferocious anger, but be careful not to mention why specifically or what had happened?
There is another hint in the next entry. This seems to have something to do with the diary. "No one, not even God himself will away the pleasure of writing my thoughts." Perhaps we are supposed to assume that Lowry noticed missing ink (Diamine? ) or pens or something. But why would a person in Maybrick's position have to steal such things from his own company? This whole incident really makes very little sense. There are, however, the regular small mentions of the aches and pains (the third of our must-be-routinely-mentioned -- but only in a single line and without detail ever -- items).
But I would like to return to the odd sentence I cited above:
"No one, not even God himself will away the pleasure of writing my thoughts."
Putting aside for the moment the strange use of "away" that reminds me of Martin's point about someone unskilled trying to sound Victorian, I want to note here that Maybrick has written now repeatedly about his pleasure and his compulsion to write out his thoughts. But he has barely done it. For someone who supposedly gets such pleasure from writing out his evil thoughts that he is willing to risk exposure by recording them, he has barely written anything especially detailed or anything at length or anything that appears to go on and on compulsively. In fact, all he's written are short, vague, little telegraphic entries of a most cursory sort. Where's the pleasure? Where's the compulsion to write? Hell, I've nearly written more about this in the last few posts then he has in the whole diary. I know I'm compulsive, but his prose seems to be suggestive, hinting, and deliberately terse. Almost as if he doesn't want to write too much and wants to get it over with -- or is in a hurry to finish the diary or hasn't really thought too much about the details of all of this. Perhaps this tells us something about the minds of our writer(s). Unlike what they would have us believe about their alleged subject, perhaps they were not writing as a compulsion or even getting any great pleasure from composing this little project. And perhaps they wanted to remain brief, vague, and suggestive for a good reason, in addition to any time factor they might have been facing. Perhaps this was actually a chore for them, and one they wanted and needed to be done with as quickly and vaguely as possible.
The rest of the ninth page is empty. One possible reason for this is that page ten begins with the first real, detailed thoughts of Ripper-type murder. It is now time for the "red stuff."
It is also time for the little joke about Middlesex Street (more wordplay) and the writer telling himself "I am clever, very clever." and thinking about the word joke "Whitechapel Liverpool, Whitechapel London." But our writer feels compelled to add another underscored "ha ha" here, just in case we'd missed the earlier ones. And there is talk of buying the knife. Oh yeah, and our hero uses the delightful phrase "rue the day..." as in "The bitch and her whoring master will rue the day I first saw them together." It's just so quaint.
Anyway, more about this important page 10 tomorrow and then -- The First Cut (it's the deepest, you know...). Page 11 gives us the writing of a murder.
Have a great Sunday, everyone,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Sunday, 17 June 2001 - 10:15 pm | | Hi, John:
In regard to the speaker's idea of "burning St. James's to the ground", the first few times I read this passage I thought the speaker meant St. James's Palace, not St. James's Church, Piccadilly. St. James's Palace of course is one of the Royal palaces in London, and this could fit in with Maybrick's professed (per the Diary) hostility to the Queen. However, yes, I suppose St. James's, Piccadilly, is meant, where Florence married James on July 27, 1881. Good catch, John, on the coincidence of the name "St. James" and James the supposed narrator.
I entirely agree that the writer is hung up on names and letters. As you put it, "There is a self-consciousness about letters and words in this diary -- an attempt (never very successful) to be clever through the manipulation of names, and words, and individual letters and initials that suggests to me the mind of a someone who likes playing simple word games. . ." This wordplay, as the speaker so often reminds us, is clear proof of how "clever" he is. Brother Michael has nothing on Clever Jim.
The "Eight little whores" poem, as you mentioned, makes an allusion to setting the town alight, and this allusion is picked up by Shirley Harrison in her book (Hyperion edition, p. 108) where she sees this line in the poem as a clear parallel to the threat to burn down St. James's Church in the Diary. However, the poem clearly is talking about symbolically setting the city alight with the terror of the murders not setting it alight with fire as Maybrick appears to contemplate in regard to St. James's, so the two things are different.
In regard to the remark, "Frequented my club", Melvin of course has stated that this phraseology is not Victorian. He may be right. This is also as you note the same sort of telegraphing of information as the comment "The children are well", which seems out of place in a private diary that is meant to be read by only the writer. A similar remark just before the St. James passage is "I cannot understand why William will not accept my offer to dine." Who is William? Why is he in here?
I agree that the rabid hostility shown to the clerk Lowry is a necessary precurser to the first murder in Whitechapel and is placed as a counterpoint to his supposed happiness about the coming of June.
One question about the passage of time here. Isn't it a bit sudden that he is talking about being expected by Michael Maybrick "towards the end of June" on Hyperion facsimile page 213, "June is drawing to a close" on the bottom of page 214, and he is murdering Polly Nichols on the morning of August 31 only three pages later, page 217? What happened about the kids and Lowry and Mrs. Hammersmith and Florence etc. etc. on all the days intervening? Are we being manipulated here?
I believe the forger of the Diary studied the facsimile of the September 25, 1888, Dear Boss letter. Not so much to emulate the handwriting in that letter completely but I think they most certainly did cadge some of the handwriting style. One reason I say this is that "ha ha" is underlined in the Diary in many instances (e.g. pp. 216 and 218) as it is twice in the letter which might not be the case in a transcript of the letter printed in a book. Another reason for thinking that the forger studied the letter is that the strange formation in the diary of the word "If" mimicking a capital "H" which I have previously pointed out appears that way in "Dear Boss" also.
All for now. Let's get to the cutting, by God.
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 09:13 am | | Hi Chris, John, All,
Chris, is William meant to be James’s older brother, perhaps?
I have always thought, as John does, that: ‘….the writer of this diary was someone with a penchant for and perhaps even a love of word puzzles and word games. There is…..an attempt….to be clever through the manipulation of names, and words, and individual letters and initials that suggests to me the mind of a someone who likes playing simple word games…….’
The thought struck me one day that: ‘Strolled by the drive, encountered Mrs Hamersmith…..’ could possibly have been such a play on the name of Emma Smith, who was 'encountered' in April 1888 in London by gang members, and murdered. Some time later I found, quite by chance, on page 73 of London Cries, a facsimile reprint of an 1885 edition of Old London Street Cries, the following:
‘There are twenty-seven stations on the London Inner Circle Railway-owned by two companies, the Metropolitan and District-and the name of one only-Gower Street-is usually pronounced by “thet tchung men,” the railway porter, as other people pronounce it. [“Emma Smith,” * while not a main line station, may be cited here simply as a good example of Cockney, for ‘Arry and ‘Arriet are quite incapable of any other verbal rendering.]
* Hammersmith’
If you consider the timing of James’s supposed encounter with Mrs H in Liverpool, then read the following lines in the diary (writing about Nichol’s murder):
‘I struck deep into her. I regret I never had the cane, it would have been a delight to have rammed it hard into her’,
is it too great a leap of my imagination to suggest that our diarist might have been musing and fantasising over the particularly horrible way in which Emma Smith met her death, or at least wanted to include a couple of references to that other ‘whore’, whose murder could conceivably be seen as a source of inspiration for Jack?
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 09:39 am | | Hi, Caz:
Very interesting pondering on the Emma Smith murder in regard to the appearance of Mrs. Hammersmith in the Diary. You have made an excellent observation. You will be giving Shirley some new information to expand the next edition of The Diary of Jack the Ripper to an even fatter tome than her 1998 Blake paperback.
Caz, yes you are right, William Maybrick was the brother of James who became a carpenter and gilder's apprentice. I have just come across a Maybrick page on the net which mentions William and the other key figures in the Diary and in the Maybrick case and that has some nice illustrations of Maybrick's grave, the watch, Maybrick's will, etc. See http://www.jacktheripper.purespace.de/Jack/James/maybrick.htm. The overall website which is originates in Germany but is written in good English is at http://www.jacktheripper.purespace.de/
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 03:23 pm | | Hello everyone,
"I have shown all that I mean business..."
I'm not sure that this "I mean business" is an authentic usage for 1888, but it is with these words that the diary announces its first murder. It's worth looking at just what this man, who is supposedly deriving such pleasure from writing about the murders, tells us about this one -- just what significant details he gives us.
And Chris is right to note the strange time jump and the missing month of July. But we did need to get to some action fairly soon if the readers were going to be kept interested, and so here we are, perhaps.
"The whore was only too willing to do her business." This sentence comes right after the "I mean business" sentence. And we are told twice that he loved it ("the pleasure was far better than I imagined" and "it thrills me"). We do get a detail or two about the victim not screaming and about the head not coming off (both readily available details, of course). There is, as Caz cites above, the talk of the cane. It will reappear (somewhere, at this very moment perhaps, someone is counting all the uses of "cane" in the diary, to make a certain sort of case for the identity of our word-player, no doubt). There is the "ripe peach" line and talk of the "medicine" giving strength and the whore and whoremaster as motive. So in the first account of the murder, things remain especially vague and what we actually get is repetition -- the mention of the drugs and the unfaithful wife without any specifics about either or any explanation about just how killing this first victim is really revenge against Florrie.
But perhaps the motive is not that clear here. Because our diarist now seems more interested in his reviews than in his wife. He writes of waiting impatiently to see what has been written about his crime. But interestingly, when he does allegedly read the reviews, finally, and he likes them, he tells us nothing specific about any of them. All we get is "I am not disappointed, they have written well." The laughing inside of the Dear Boss letter is echoed again, complete with another underscored ha ha, as Chris points out, but again the tenth and eleventh pages that recount the first "ripper" murder remain completely vague and we see the diarist actually getting very little pleasure from reveling in writing about his crimes (the way he is supposed to be).
Then there is this: "The whoring Master can have her with pleasure and I shall have pleasure with my thoughts and deeds." This again seems odd to me, not only because I'm not sure I understand the logic of this sort of revenge or payback or even substitution, but because the phrase "thoughts and deeds" used to describe a murder the writer just committed seems awfully vague and detached and almost from the point of view of an outsider. But perhaps that is just my ear.
As usual, there is the routine, regular, and completely vague mention of family members. We routinely get the naming of a family member or two, the mention of drugs and his illness and a word about his business on each page or two -- but never once is anything specific written about any of them. Here Edwin and George are mentioned -- but nothing checkable or reviewable is given us except that Edwin was in America. Why is a writer in his own personal diary so thoroughly and completely refusing to say anything specific? Why not a single given time or date or place or specifics about a business transaction or a conversation more than a few hinted-at words or sentences long? It seems to be getting deliberately cursory and to now be simply avoiding saying anything too detailed. And of course, still no topic is discussed at a single time for more than a sentence or two.
The use of the word "clever" keeps reappearing, too, especially in self-reference. The diarist thinks he is clever -- just like the "Ripper" letter writer -- and perhaps as he is writing this he really does think he is clever; not because he has been able to commit a murder, but because he has written this little evasive word game. Although the word play is not, in fact, all that clever. Page twelve ends with another fruit reference. But here you see the amateur nature of the writer at work, forcing the language awkwardly, not as a murderer might in reveling about his crimes, but as a composer might, trying to sound learned.
"I hope he is enjoying the fruits of America. Unlike I, for do I not have a bitter fruit."
This is not only an awkward attempt at a little wordplay here, it sounds more like a simple, pre-meditated attempt to be clever rather than a self-congratulatory reveling in murder.
Page thirteen is a full page of writing. But it is mostly two paragraphs of simple repetition. There is the little reading joke, where he discusses the reported Ripper crime with George and promises not to kill locally. But even this little anecdote remains vague and the writer still feels the need to throw in another "ha ha" in case we missed the first few.
The second paragraph, though is interesting for a few reasons. There is more talk about getting a head off, of spreading body parts around Whitechapel. As readers, we have of course by now figured out we are dealing with someone claiming to be Jack the Ripper, so we are paying more attention to talk of upcoming and occurring murders, and the writer has to be even more careful. And there is the repetition of the cannibalism reference.
"Maybe I will take some part away with me to see if it does taste of like fresh fried bacon."
The "of like" construction here is very odd. It's as if the writer wrote one ("of") and then the other ("like") and forgot to choose one and cross out the other. As if they were composing and trying to make a voice sound real, but forgot to edit. Let's see, would a Victorian have said "tastes of" or "tastes like" -- let's try them both... That sort of thing. So what we end up with is "tastes of like..." This may be evidence of not-so-careful but deliberate composition of an artificial voice that does not come naturally for the writer.
Also the sentence that follows it has a grammar problem that the writer does not make elsewhere. "The whore seen her master today it did not bother me." This just seems very rushed to me.
But now something else is mentioned. Is it possible that our writer is suggesting that Maybrick had fantasies of seeing Florrie with another man -- of watching -- and even suggested this to her and tried to get her to participate by having sex in front of him? How would this particular sexual interest reconcile with his violent jealousy? He writes: ""I imagined I was with them, the very thought thrills me. I wonder if the whore has ever had such thoughts? I believe she has, has she not cried out when I demand she takes another." But perhaps we are just meant to learn here that our "James" has already accused his wife of adultery and she has cried out in denial. In any case, revenge personally against her is again deferred. "She will suffer but not as yet." And there is the promise of more action. And now the thing is really starting to sound like a film or novel, with a reminder for the reader, whenever things get too talky, of the horror to come, just in case we are losing interest. The end of page 13, a long page of writing, is the promise of another murder. "I look forward to tomorrow nights work, it will do me good, a great deal of good." But still, nothing specific and nothing checkable about any of this.
Finally, on a page almost all by itself, the writer composes his first attempt at verse (which will become a new distraction for our diarist and perhaps a new way to fill pages for our hoaxer who not only loves wordplay, but has to write something, and can't be too specific about details and needs to fill up pages to make a credible diary). Thus we get the first two lines, about one dirty whore and another dirty whore. I think it is a mistake to see these two lines as having a clear and direct connection to the poem we mentioned earlier (there is a full discussion concerning the "Eight Little Whores" poem and whether or not it is referenced in the diary earlier on this very board -- readers can see the details there). But the lines do, it turns out, mark a trip back to London, allegedly and take us deeper into the Ripper section of this document. There are murders and graffiti soon to come. And lots of failed verse that is crossed out but only enough so that we as readers can still see what it said (and this is supposed to be a private journal, remember?). And maybe even some actual cannibalism on the very next page or two, as well.
Stay tuned,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 04:28 pm | | Hi, John:
Your commentary is interesting and thought-provoking as usual.
I agree that it is "a stretch" for Maybrick to exact revenge on his unfaithful wife and her lover by committing murders two hundred miles away. It seems an odd way to satiate one's anger with one's spouse by doing away with another human being so many miles away. Of course, the connection is that by now Florie has been labeled "a whore" and our cotton merchant is killing "whores" down in London. But is the mere linking of the same derogatory designation of "whore" enough to make the killing in London sufficient to give satisfaction to the cuckolded Maybrick? How will Florie be shamed by the shedding of blood down in London? The answer is, she won't be.
I agree about the awkwardness of the phrase "taste of like fresh fried bacon"; possibly our penman was going to put "taste of fresh fried bacon" or similar and in changing to "taste like fresh fried bacon" forgot to delete the "of". While this appears to be a clear error the clearly ungrammatical "The whore seen her master today. . ." appears to betray the fact that the penman is not the middle class cotton merchant he purports to be.
Good point that the enjoyment received from the murders seems limited and repetitive. The much-repeated term "thrill" in such phrases as "the thought thrills me so" or the murder "thrilled me" seems to be the peak of satisfaction to the speaker. This imagery is indeed wearing and quickly gets tired and overdone, as does the ripe peach image. Although, as you note, the writer avoids pitfalls in being too specific particularly in terms of Maybrick's business affairs and his day-to-day activities (note that nary a precise date is mentioned until the last page is signed "the 3rd of May 1889"!!!), the penman's capability as a persuasive writer comes into question when there is such repetition.
I also concur that the attempts at verse help to fill out the pages as well as serving to somewhat emulate rhymes already known from the Ripper letters. I agree with you that it is uncertain whether the Eight Little Whores poem is the source of the rhymes telling of certain numbers of whores. It may or may not be. It just isn't clear. And I have already in the past alluded to the fact that the struck-out lines are given cleanly with one stroke of the pen running through them as if they are meant to be read, as you also well note.
I look forward to continuing with our discussion of the killing spree on the succeeding pages. . .
Best regards
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 05:46 pm | | Hi Chris,
I wasn't quite sure if you really meant what you wrote about my Emma Smith pondering, or if you were being a trifle sarcastic, since you mentioned my giving Shirley new info for her next edition.
You must know by now that excellent observations are not generally part of my repertoire. (But I do know my station in life. )
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 18 June 2001 - 08:34 pm | | Hi Caz:
I wasn't being facetious, Caz. I think your observations that the name "Hammersmith" may be derived from victim Emma Smith and that Maybrick's fantasy of shoving his cane up a whore's vagina may be an allusion to Emma's mode of death are novel and brilliant. You deserve a pat on the back and another Harvey Wallbanger at Bournemouth at the very least!
Now, to be fair (just when I have got your hopes up!), the name "Hammersmith" may not be derived from the name "Emma Smith" and the idea about using the cane in that manner may not be based on Emma's mode of death. But who knows? If you read enough about the murders you do pick up certain things. The writer might subconsciously have written these elements into the Diary deriving them from the Emma Smith murder without realizing it. On the other hand, a clever forger who knows about the murders may have planted Emma Smith = Hammersmith in there just so we would find it. Are there any other clues for us all? Say, a play on the name Martha Tabram or Fairy Fay, for example?
All the best
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 05:20 am | | Thanks Chris. I'm always up for looking for more clues in the diary. It should be riddled with 'em by rights, if word play was on the mind of its creator. Of course, I wouldn't dream of suggesting that Mrs. 'Amersmith 'as to mean Mrs. Emma Smith, but perhaps it's as good a suggestion as some of the others we've had, including Melvin's pondering, that the poor woman was some dreadful Druitt-in-drag figure, mincing up to Maybrick and being a bitch. And all because Mike Barrett hinted "Hammersmith and Chiswick - gerrit? ha ha." "Intercourse and death - gerrit? ha ha"
BTW, I'm now heavily into Freddie Fudpuckers - keep the galliano and orange juice, but hold the vodka and add tequila instead - marvellous! But too damned expensive to expect anyone to pay for.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Rachel Henderson
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 06:46 am | | John
"The "of like" construction here is very odd. It's as if the writer wrote one ("of") and then the other ("like") and forgot to choose one and cross out the other. As if they were composing and trying to make a voice sound real, but forgot to edit. Let's see, would a Victorian have said "tastes of" or "tastes like" -- let's try them both... That sort of thing. So what we end up with is "tastes of like..." This may be evidence of not-so-careful but deliberate composition of an artificial voice that does not come naturally for the writer. "
I'm from the North West (like Chris) and you may be unaware of a colloquialism in the speech of the area which inserts 'like' pretty much anywhere in speech. I don't know if this is common in the rest of the country, but a typical conversation with a not particularly well educated person could go as follows:
- did you see like Liverpool win like last night?
- yeah they like did really well like you know.
And so on.
Whether this has any bearing on the diarist's turn of phrase in this instance is, of course, speculation, but I found it interesting to think that such a natural and oft-used speech pattern could have found its way into the diary without the diarist even being aware of it.
Rachel |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 08:26 am | | Good morning, Rach:
Are you saying, love, that the writer of the Diary was a Scouser like?
Chris
John: There is nothing so blatant in the Diary of course but the foregoing is another example of the type of sentence spoken in working class areas of Liverpool, understand what I mean like, John? |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 09:10 am | | Hi everyone,
I see what you mean about the local use of the word "like."
We have the same thing here in the States, of course, but it is mostly confined to people under 21 years old. It has spread across the country like wildfire now, but I believe in our case it originated in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. I have walked the halls of my campus and overheard many, many students who apparently cannot go even a single sentence without using the word "like." ["It was like awesome. And I told her like that haircut, y'know, was like completely butch. And she went like 'it is not!' And I was like 'oh it so is.' But like she is a total bitch anyway. All right. Like, I've got to go to Math now, it's like such a hard course."
Perhaps most disturbingly, when my father was recently in the hospital, a young lady (she couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen) walked into his room one day wearing a uniform with a patch on it from the local two-year community college and announced that she was a student nurse and was "here to, like, set up your IV, you know?" After a couple of minutes of painful and clearly amateur prodding, she said "Uh oh. Like, I totally blew that vein." She was going to try a second time when my father, who had turned understandably grumpy, glared and growled that he would prefer someone else do this. She got her boss.
Of course, this sort of usage of the word "like" is a relatively new phenomenon in the US -- going back no more than a few decades, and does not seem to have been available here in the nineteenth century. But perhaps our diarist was a transplanted US teenager.
Anyway, I was not aware of the British local-use of the word in this way. Perhaps the phrase "tastes of like..." is a hint at the origins of the writer. Would the phrase also have been used in this way back in Jack's day?
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 09:27 am | | Hi All,
Just found the earlier and much better example of a potential Emma Smith reference:
‘I will take the first whore I encounter [see how our diarist uses this word to describe bumping into bitches like Mrs. Hamersmith, and the whores he wants to down] and show her what hell is really like. I think I will ram a cane into the whoring bitches mound and leave it there for them to see how much she could take.’
A couple of other points concerning John and Chris’s earlier posts. Could some of the oddities of style and grammar be cleared up if our diarist was just writing rather carelessly in some places, and failed to look back and check (after all, he is supposed to be writing for his eyes only, and as thoughts occur to him - at least until the final page, when he says he wants history to tell). For example, where he writes: ‘No one, not even God himself will away the pleasure….’, could he have simply omitted the word ‘take’ between ‘will’ and ‘away’, by mistake, leaving us with an erroneous notion that he was attempting an unfamiliar literary style here? We have the missing article from ‘I will put whore through pain tonight’ to show he has done this before. And this leaves the possibility that ‘The whore seen her master today…’ fell victim to the same carelessness, and would have read ‘The whore has seen her master today…’ had the diarist not been thinking too fast for his pen (particularly since, as John has pointed out, it’s a grammar problem that the writer does not make elsewhere). Slang that comes naturally when spoken is sometimes hard to write down unless the writer is aware that it is slang - like “it ain’t ‘alf ‘ot”, for example. But would this apply to ‘the whore seen her master today…’? I guess we’d have to look at someone who habitually omits the ‘has’ in speech, to see if they do the same when putting pen to paper. The apparent rush to put words on the paper, and failure to go back and correct (understandable as a forger’s ploy or if it was real), can also explain the ‘…to see if it does taste of like fresh fried bacon.’ I’ve seen many examples of this on the casebook message boards, where posters have typed out both possibilities and failed to delete one of them. I wish I could find one now to illustrate the point. It doesn’t mean that the posters who have done this were (as John suggests regarding the diary), ‘trying to make a voice sound real’, or that this is ‘evidence of not-so-careful but deliberate composition of an artificial voice that does not come naturally for the writer' (I think the casebookers involved might have something to say about that, John  ), but just that they forgot to edit.
Going back to the points John made about Maybrick’s supposed sexual fantasies, it may be more a product of my own mind than anything else, but I would paraphrase the relevant passage like this: ‘The whore has seen her lover today. It didn’t bother me so much when I imagined being with them (watching or participating) because the very thought excites me. I wonder if the whore has ever had such thoughts, and been excited by them? I think she must have, because she has cried out (in excitement during sex play?) when I order her (as part of that sex play) to take another man. The bitch.’
Now, whoever wrote this diary seems to me to be suggesting quite a complex problem for poor old James’s love life – a man who gets off on the very idea of watching and/or participating while his wife has sex with another man (makes a change from another woman I guess ), but then tortures himself when she actually shares the fantasy, but goes off with another man (or men) in real life and totally excludes him. But it might be quite effective in helping to explain why he doesn’t want to get rid of Florie, the ultimate object of his fantasy, but projects his hatred of self and situation instead onto the nameless and faceless whores of a distant place in a different world.
One other point. Naturally, until we know why the diary was written, we don’t know if our diarist was hoping to impress with his own imagined literary skills, or if the object was simply to write in the style of a cross between middle-class James, the ripper and Yours Truly. If the composer of the diary, for example, wanted to show Maybrick in the worst possible light, is it not possible that he/she intended to draw him as less literate and ‘clever’ than he may have been in real life? Are there ways to tell if the author was writing to the best of his/her own ability, in an effort to sound like the real James Maybrick? Or, at the other extreme, dumbing down to make a greater fool out of the main character, than the authorities who were the butt of Jack’s fooling?
Love,
Caz (or, like, to use my mum's nickname for me, like, when I was very small - Fairy Fay - true. ) |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 11:05 am | | Hi Caz,
Absolutely, the slips in grammar might be the result of writing hurriedly. Although they often seem also to be accompanied by shifts in diction and tone as well -- that is that sometimes the language sounds careful and stiff and formal and sometimes it sounds sloppy and, as you say, rushed. What really strikes me, though, is the cursory nature of all the entries and all the deliberate vagaries, on the part of someone who himself says that he is writing this for the thrill and pleasure of putting his thoughts and deeds down on paper. You see neither the compulsion to write nor the details of one who is getting a thrill from writing in these brief and vague entries. But yes, the possibility that the writer simply wrote quickly and forgot to edit remains with us. My speculation that of and like both appeared because the writer was trying both to see which one worked -- and that this indicated deliberate composition and the attempt to create a character's voice, is only one possible way of accounting for the appearance of both options without one being chosen. Of course, why would someone in his own journal in his own voice have to choose options for phrases like that? And if the suggestion is that Maybrick was creating a voice to echo the letters, why would he have to do so in an allegedly private journal?
Caz, I don't know what this means about us, but I had the very same thought when I read the passage you cite where Maybrick seems to describe watching his wife with another man. That's what made me wonder if he was both a ragingly jealous cuckold and one who got sexual excitement from being cuckolded, in person, as well. (Chris, in fact the two often go together in sexual fantasy, even though they seem to be in direct contradiction with each other. Check out the various cuckold web sites and newsgroups here on line for more about this fascinating fetish and its apparent internal contradictions.) Of course, another possible reading is simply that he was saying that she cried out in denial when he accused her of taking a lover. But because of the word "demand" and him being thrilled by thinking of being with them, my first inclination was exactly like yours, Caz, -- either this was part of his fantasy life and he told her once during sex or he had already tried to get her to take another lover in front of him or talked to her about it at least. Now, if this book was not written by Maybrick, and this was our hoaxer adding a little sex stuff on his own, then perhaps it tells us something about our writer and his or her own imagination and tastes (like ours). Or, it could just be a badly worded set of sentences and we are confused because the intended meaning (something more about James's perverse jealousy) has gotten lost in the imprecise word choice and grammar.
Let's see what happens next...
Pages fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen wait for us. And they begin with more self-congratulations. But this time the cleverness referred to is literary cleverness. The author is pleased with his little rhyme. Do we have any evidence at all that Maybrick tried his hand at verse or liked composing rhymes? We know about his brother (who actually never wrote verse, only music) -- and we know the diary is going to make our hero jealous of his brother's cleverness and accomplishments. But James tries writing poetry. If the real Maybrick was not a man likely to kick out a few verses now and again, then this might be a small insight into an interest of our writer. It is a good way to fill pages (with drafts of verses), and it might also suggest that our writer had a literary interest or at least, again, a delight in the manipulation of words.
But it's time for another murder. Another stylistic point that has caught my attention: the murders are often buried in entries or announced only indirectly. We see the line about the forgotten chalk (a set-up for the graffiti later), and then "I returned to the bitch and cut out more. I took some of it away with me. It is in front of me." Remember, this is a guy who is supposed to be thrilled with his deeds and so thrilled with writing about them that he is now in the midst of great pleasure. And yet we get "I took some of it away with me. It is in front of me." and then, in case we forgot, "I intend to fry it and eat it later ha ha." And I do think Chris is right here that the insistence on underlining the ha ha's comes from the Ripper letter-reading.
But now a word about sentence structure. When our writer begins to tell us of his latest murder the sentences are simple and reveal no enthusiasm or particular emotion at all (see the three sentences cited above). But then it is as if our composer realized that the voice was too matter-of-fact and calm about all this and so needed to get excited. "The very thought works up my appetite. I cannot stop the thrill of writing." But we have not seen the thrill of writing. In fact, this whole entry has been almost staid and telegraphic so far. So suddenly our author bursts into a short explosion of stream-of-consciousness (not a style really likely in 1888, by the way, but that's another question). Suddenly we get this: "I ripped open my God I will have to stop thinking of the children they distract me so I ripped open" and the page ends.
It's strange. We have nicely controlled and straightforward sentences for the first three quarters of the paragraph, and then, as if the writer realized the tone was all wrong, we burst into almost Joycean interior ramblings. And we get our routine mere mention of "the children" without explanation or detail.
Still, we're two murders into this thing (really three) and well into the journal and we have not read nor been given a single piece of specific detail or checkable evidence about anything. Nothing simply mentioned specifically about any dates, times, business deals, children's activities, not even any significant details about the murders which allegedly thrill him to write about. I'd wager that if I peeked into most of your journals out there, I'd see a bunch of references to people and activities and events that I wouldn't understand and one or two things or exchanges or events described in angry or passionate detail. But here we get only a hint or two about anything and a seemingly deliberate sketchiness. If we were to think this was not written by Maybrick, of course, there would be good reason for this.
Three days later.
"It has taken me three days to recover." The writer was kind enough to begin the next page with that sentence in case we didn’t know that it was three days later. Again, this to me sounds like it was written with an audience in mind.
And yes, he has tried his hand (or mouth) at cannibalism. "I ate all of it, it did not taste like fresh fried bacon but I enjoyed it never the less."
Notice, the "taste like" here -- more evidence that the earlier "tastes of like" was in fact an editing problem and an attempt at trying out two alternatives perhaps. Notice also, that he allegedly ate a part of his victims and does not tell us what it did taste like. This is the guy who supposedly gets pleasure from writing out his deeds, and yet he does not describe cooking it or the sound and smell of it in the pan or the taste of it in any detail (or where he cooked it or, if he used his own kitchen, how he managed to cook it and not be seen or heard or have the strange smell detected by anyone in the house or any of those pesky details). And how often did James Maybrick do his own cooking, do you think? Might this have been noticed?
But back to our hero's cleverness. He has, he claims, left a clue at the scene of the last murder. His cleverness is once again tied to his versifying an attempt at wordplay. And so we have our first scratched out lines. We get to see the process of composition at work. But it's a funny thing... Not only are the words only scratched out such that we can still read them, but there are no alternative attempts at revision or substitution of words or rewriting of the lines differently and then striking through them again or even individual scratched out words. It is not a very active process of composition and revision. It's just three and a half lines, playing with number sequences again, scratched out once, and then four smaller lines not scratched out. The link between them is that both sets of lines mention farthings, pills, the letter M, and the last set includes "rings."
Ah yes, the farthings and the letter M. We have seen both of these discussed at length elsewhere. But clearly our diarist or our hoaxer decided to go with the farthings and the letter M for one reason or another. I'll let others here discuss the consequences and implications of that editorial decision.
Then there is a oft-cited slip (perhaps) in the diary. "if Michael can succeed in rhyming verse then I can do better..." Of course, as far as we can tell, Michael Maybrick never wrote any rhyming verse. He was a composer of music for which other people wrote the words. Of course, Michael may have written verse privately and showed some of it to his family, I suppose. But James's jealousy at Michael's success here seems tied to Michael's verse. This seems odd, since Michael's success was as a musical composer.
But our writer is determined to write a poem. SO we get another alleged insight into the composition process. By the way, I know of very few poets who when they composed their lines wrote down their actual thoughts about what should go where while they were doing it. I know, James is not a poet. But look,, here he is trying to compose a verse of poetry and he actually writes down on the paper "Begin with the rings" and "end with the pills." He doesn't just think this and then try a verse this way -- he writes down for some reason his thoughts about composition while engaged in the act of composition. Try this for yourself. It's a very difficult and odd thing to do for real. Because if you're busy composing you don't want to stop and write down your thinking about the composing that you are doing. But it allows our diarist to give the reader a joke: "end with the pills. Indeed do I always not oh what a joke." The last four words apparently written out for us, so that we can see that it is a (private) joke. But we're not supposed to be here.
Back to the murder. Still we have had very little explicitly recounted detail. Now we get at least two things: the rings were hard to get off and, once again, "I wish to God I could have taken the head." Oh, and the rings reminded him too much of his wife. But then he is pushed back to his versifying, trying, as he says, to prove he is no fool.
These little moments of memory about the murders -- "it took me a while before I could get them off" and "I wish to God I could have taken the head." strike me as odd both in their simple, matter-of-fact tone and their isolation. If you were a crazed serial killer who had just gutted a woman on the street three days ago and carved her up, including carving your initial in her face, and you got a pleasure and a thrill from writing about it, wouldn't your memories be more detailed and sense-based. Wouldn't there be thoughts of what it felt like when the knife pierced this skin or organs or what the opening of a whore's body smelled like or at least looked like, or what was rushing through your head as you felt her struggle and die at your hand, or what her dead eyes looked like as the life passed out of them, or what the liquids inside of her felt like in your hands, or something, anything like that? There is actually very little here about the murder and very little evidence of any thrill in writing about it. Perhaps a forger did not want to go into too much sensory detail for fear of tripping himself up on something. Or perhaps he simply lacked real, creative imagination or the talent for visceral prose (pardon the pun). But this guy comes across as more fascinated and genuinely obsessed with writing bad poetry than with ripping up whores; and with having very little pleasure at all ripping them or remembering the details (which remain absent).
But perhaps others have more thoughts on these pages and our hero as written into this text.
Tomorrow it's more poetry and another plan to burn down St. James -- James, get it? I always feel like I'm being secretly prodded to look for goofy clues by the prose in this diary.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 11:48 am | | Hi, Caz and John:
I think that is the third time exactly the same phrase "fresh fried bacon" has so far been used --isn't that so?
I agree, John, that there is little of an up-to- the-armpits-with-blood sense of actually ripping up a victim here. Instead, as you say, our Diarist seems more intent on his funny little rhymes, as if Jack were a jingle writer rather than a ripper. Jack the Jingler. I rather like that name.
I don't know whether this means anything but the four lines scratched out and the mention of the farthings in the vicinity of these deleted lines reminds me that a farthing is a quarter of a penny. . . you need four of them to make a penny. Are the four lines struck out possibly another maybe subconscious little joke by our penman? Another observation: we haven't got to Kate Eddowes and the matchbox yet but "striking out" the lines could be seen as akin to "striking" a match. Maybe I am trying to "see" too much in this, ha ha
May have more observations later tonight on these pages. Good discussion as ever, guys!
Chris |
Author: Mark List
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 12:29 pm | | John,
Good point about the sensory details being left out. Probably because the forger didn't have any exprience in murder, so he could't add such detail.
Sorry about not keeping my part of the agreement with reading the Diary. I've been busy and haven't had time to read it again.
I get around to it soon, I promise. But until then keep reading for me!
Mark |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 02:41 pm | | Hi John,
I agree that the diarist seems more concerned at times with funny little rhymes and jokes than exploring his innermost feelings and memories of the slaughter itself. Does this indicate that, because he believes the Dear Boss correspondence is genuine (or at least he thinks his readers, at the time of writing, will believe it is), he feels that he needs to concentrate on 'being' this letter writer, to make the reader sit up and take immediate notice because they recognise the style? Perhaps he then has trouble splicing this comic Saucy Jacky style with that of the ghoul, up to his eyeballs in very recent memories of gory sights and smells and general squishiness. Or, is there a suggestion that he experiences difficulty in recalling such details, due to sleepwalking or blackouts, or even that his subconscious could be blocking out the more gruesome elements of his deeds? (Convenient, if a forger wants to avoid describing anything in great detail, and he can then also blame any factual errors on the newspaper reports he reads the next day).
You wrote:
'Then there is a oft-cited slip (perhaps) in the diary. "if Michael can succeed in rhyming verse then I can do better..." Of course, as far as we can tell, Michael Maybrick never wrote any rhyming verse. He was a composer of music for which other people wrote the words. Of course, Michael may have written verse privately and showed some of it to his family, I suppose. But James's jealousy at Michael's success here seems tied to Michael's verse. This seems odd, since Michael's success was as a musical composer.'
The problem here is that, if the diarist has decided to use sibling rivalry as a theme in his work (and, of course, if it genuinely exists), his natural choice is Michael, the talented and famous one, no matter what his speciality. But dear 'James' is trying his hand at poetry in his diary of Jack, along the lines of Dear Boss, or perhaps 'I'm not a butcher...' - he most definitely isn't trying to compose music, for which his brother is noted (sorry for the pun!). If, for the purpose of the exercise, he had to try his hand at landscape painting, but wanted to keep the sibling rivalry angle, mightn't he still choose Michael to compare himself unfavourably with, as the brother who is simply better than he at just about everything? Had Michael been such a wiz with the words that he had been more famous as a poet than as a composer, the 'storyline' would have had a better ring to it (sorry!). But we can't have everything I guess. My own brother is not famous at all, but his forte is being a patents lawyer. But he can also play the piano extremely well, get by in a dozen or more languages, and is generally such a clever shi*, that, whatever talent I needed to write about, I could say he was better than me and be telling the absolute truth (bastard! Not really - I love him to bits ).
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 03:17 pm | | Hi, Caz:
Then would you say your brother has a piano forte?
I really think that the plot development that James believes he is a better versifier than Michael is a goof on the part of the forger. This may be another indication, as I mentioned before, that a cursory account of the Maybrick case was used as source material, rather than say the Bernard Ryan book or the Trevor Christie book on the Maybrick case, one that did not make it clear that Michael was only a music man not a lyricist. As I recall RWE's pamphlet mentions Michael's fame as a composer but fails to make clear he always worked with a lyricist and did not himself write the words.
However as "clever" as the speaker says he is in his versifying, let's face it, James's attempts at verse are pretty poor stuff and do not approach the level of either a professional lyricist or a top poet. "It could be verse," I hear you say. The best lines in the whole document are the ones cadged from Richard Crashaw!
Caz, as for whether the writer is supposedly blocking out the details of the crimes by concentrating on being a bard, I should think not since the bits of verse and the intervening text are pretty repetitive in their imagery and phraseology, aren't they? Rather, I think the penman is catering to the popularly held views that "Jack wrote letters" and was a rhymer and prankster. He is playing to the hilt the whole schmiel of clichés integral to the belief that Jack wrote those missives. He ends up throwing everything into the "Hedda Hopper" from Dear Boss to Lusk to the Eight Little Whores (maybe). Everyone knows Jack killed and wrote about it afterward to the press and the police, as well as, the world also now knows [flourish of trumpets, images of St. James's burning to the ground], in his private diary!
By the way, I have just thought of another parallel that I am not sure whether Shirley Harrison covers or if it has been mentioned by anyone else: the idea of Maybrick burning down St. James mirrors the true-life big fire down at the docks on the night of Polly Nichols' murder. Both Maybrick's fantasy of putting St. James to the torch and the historically true London fire take place in reality and in Diary time before the occurrence of the Nichols murder.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Scott Nelson
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 04:45 pm | | Forgive me if this has been suggested before, but could our diarist (be he someone other than Maybrick) have had some sort of sibling rivalry?
(Hi Caz) |
Author: Mark List
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 05:27 pm | | What do you think might be suggested if that were the case? Do you think that the sections concerning Micheal are rich enough in emotional detail to not be faked?
Sounds intriguing...
Mark |
Author: Miff Guildford
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 06:44 pm | | Hello all
I am relatively new to the Casebook site and a virgin when it comes to posting messages like this so please do bare with me.
(also bare with my spelling being a wollyback welshman English is actually only my second language)
I have been a student (if that's the correct term) of the Whitechapple killings for many years (probably something in the order of 15 years) and as such have always considered myself fairly knowledgeable on the subject, but I have to say I am stunned by the depth and understanding shown by many of the contributors on these pages, I had expected to find all the same gullible people with only a passing interest in the case all convinced that the Maybric diary was the first and last word on the subject, (I was a little disheartened to see that Maybrick tops the most popular suspect section)
Obviously everyone and his wife has a pet theory on who the Ripper was and we are all entitled to our opinions, but in my humble view the diary is such a shallow and transparent hoax that I honestly find it insulting that the hoaxer believed that any serious author or student of the case would fall for it.
I know I am probably going over old ground here that has been posted to this list many times but hay I'm new and wanted to stick my oar in.
Now dont get me wrong "technically" the diary is a brilliant job, the ink etc has foiled many of the standard tests that have tripped many forgers in the past but the content falls down in so many places that its hard to see why anyone was ever fooled.
And the ever tangled story of how the diary came to light , sutch an obvious lie that has grown and grown.
Weeeellll thats it for now that is my proverbial cat which I am setting among the equally proverbial pigeons. |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 06:45 pm | | Hi Scott,
Sure, it is certainly possible that our author used some of his or her own personality quirks and problems and life difficulties and obsessions in their characterization of James Maybrick. Of course, we should also remember that once Maybrick was chosen as a subject, the diarist would have had to deal with at least three well-known aspects of Maybrick's life somewhere in the diary; his drug addiction, his relationship with his wife, and his semi-famous brother. And the last of these would have been a particular concern for a would-be diarist, since Michael already had some published and researched history about him elsewhere and a collection of popular songs on the record. And if it seemed a natural thing to have Maybrick commit his Ripper crimes out of jealousy over his wife's affairs, then to keep his personality consistent, it might also have seemed like a good idea to have Maybrick get jealous over his well-known and successful brother as well.
But that's the thing about reading an anonymous document (and despite what anyone around here tells you, no one here knows who wrote this diary). Since you do not know the author, any conclusions you might have about what the text reveals about its author can only be speculation. We are, in effect, working backwards, from text to author, and consequently we can only see what patterns are available to us in the text before us and what the rhetoric and language use and repetition and character development might show and then guess from there. This of course can lead to endless debates even when we know a few sketchy things about the author's identity -- see the tedious debates about who wrote the plays signed "Shakespeare," where they read various details of the plays to suggest all sorts of things about who wrote them, since they know relatively little about the man alleged to have been the author. Here we know absolutely nothing at all about our writer(s). So speculations such as yours about the author possibly writing some of his or her own life into the characterization of our hero are right on the point and definitely worth consideration when we start looking for possible authorial characteristics, but, like everything we all write here, they can only remain possibilities worth further thought.
And we must also keep in mind the already recorded history the writer of any Maybrick/Ripper diary would have had to deal with. Perhaps this is why we see Michael and Florie and the drugs all mentioned repeatedly and regularly but without specific or significant details in any one case (and why the accounts of the murders remain so sketchy despite the alleged pleasure the "writer" is getting from remembering and composing them).
This gets me to one other point I would like to visit once again, because the more I thought about it today, the more it disturbed me. There really is no way that someone actively engaged in the act of composing lines of verse stops and writes down what he is thinking as part of the process of composing while he is doing it. If you're writing a poem and you think, as you're trying to compose the lines, "I should start with the line about the rings and then end with the one about the pills," you don't write that down on the paper -- you try it -- you start with the line about the rings and see how it works, unless you are writing down the process for someone else, as a separate reader, to see it in action. The diary has Maybrick trying to write poetry, but he actually stops and writes down "Begin with the rings" and "end with the pills." But there is no one there to read this. And he is supposedly already in the act of composing the lines. He would have just thought "Begin with the rings" and "end with the pills" and then tried that on paper maybe to see how it looks. But he wouldn't have stopped composing and actually taken the time to write down (why? for himself?) "Begin with the rings." or "end with the pills." The only way that I can see this making sense is if he knows he has a reader and wants the reader to be aware of what is going through his mind as he tries to put the poem together. In a private journal, he would have tried writing the lines, but he would have had no reason to stop trying to compose them and to take the time to write out "Begin with the pills." This isn't how the mind works, it seems to me, unless you are self-consciously trying to show someone your mind in action and therefore writing it out to make it explicit to the reader. But there are no readers.
These two little lines trouble me tonight.
Incidentally, I wrote this post once before, but in the middle of it, lightning crashed outside the door of my apartment and the screen went black and the words were lost (a violent afternoon thunderstorm is an almost daily summertime occurrence here on the Gulf Coast of Florida). So I went and watched the History Channel's show about David Berkowitz, the only serial killer, as far as I know, that I shared the same streets with. Now I've returned and tried writing this again and of course, it's not as clear as it was originally.
Oh, well. Have a good evening, everyone.
--John
PS: Welcome, Miff. Please feel free to join us in our little reading experiment here, as we read through the diary a few pages a day and see what sparks our thoughts or our suspicious minds. You can find the reading-so-far up above. We pick up with the eighteenth page tomorrow. |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 07:25 pm | | Hi, all:
First of all, Miff, a hearty welcome to the boards! Being Liverpool born, although now a U.S. citizen, I have spent many happy hours in Wales and have pleasant memories of my time there.
In regard to our Diary writer, I think there is a good possibility that he or she was working out their frustrations while writing the Diary. Of course, a writer just like any good actor will use their personal experiences to advantage in their art. These could have included frustration over a festering rivalry with a sibling or anger with a spouse. However, we can't know this for certain. As John wisely cautions us, whatever the person wrote, it would have had to fit in with the Maybrick and Ripper stories. Moreover, it would be natural to develop the themes found in both cases--mutilation murder, anger, drug addiction, infidelity, etc.--no matter what the penman's personal situation happened to be.
I do think that, in my view, the writer shows a marked inferiority complex. I say this because of the constant emphasis on saying how "clever" they are throughout the Diary. I think the writer has a perceived need to seem superior and clever in word skills, actions, and so on. I may be off base on this, but I don't think so. It will be indeed interesting to know the family background and personal history of whomever concocted the Diary if we ever learn who they were or are!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Ivor Edwards
Tuesday, 19 June 2001 - 11:22 pm | | | Hi Miff, I was just off to bed when I saw your post. I can see you and I will get along like a house on fire.I have said myself that I cant believe that the diary hoaxer ever thought anyone would fall for such a stunt but they did. I suppose he used the old con mans dictum of 'Tell people the truth and they wont believe you but tell them a lie and they will, and the bigger the lie the better.I cant make any sense of Maybrick even being in the suspects list!! I could not help but notice your surname. I was living in Guildford until just over a year ago.My mother came from Wales and about 80% of my family.That explains my name. Dont worry about Maybrick being most popular at the top of the suspects list. That is just due to a couple of people who keep voting for him and they use many names. All is not what it appears to be.Best Wishes. |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 12:05 am | | Hello Ladies & Gentlemen.
A couple of weeks ago I swore off this debate, but I decided to just drop in to see where the discussion has been heading. I'd like to belatedly thank Chris, Simon, and Martin for their friendly words, and to give assurance that I didn't leave mad...only exhausted. To me, studying the text of the diary is a little like doing a phrenological study of the Piltdown skull...I'm not sure it will do much good. But oh well.
A couple of thougts, and then I'll leave you all alone.
First off, the Hammersmith/Emma Smith word play was also used by Richard Wallace in his infamous study of Lewis Carroll. Wallace claimed Druitt was killed in Hammersmith as a 'clue' that he (and Carroll) killed Emma Smith. To me, the use of Hammersmith is just another indication that the diarists relied on Ripperlore. But, it might be remembered, 'Hammersmith' was not part of Ripperlore until Dan Farson discovered the Macnaghten memoranda copy in 1959, which led David Anderson in finding the reference to Druitt's inquest in the Acton, Chiswick & Turnham Green newspaper. So if in using 'Hammersmith' the Diary tips its hat in that direction (which is what Mike claimed, and seems plausible to me) it WOULD date it to post-Farson---one more indication that the Anne/Billy story hasn't much of a leg to stand on.
Something more doubtful. I was driving with my daughter in the country a couple of weeks ago and heard, after many years, the old Beatles song 'Help!' on the radio. John Lennon has the dreadful line--
'Now I need you like I never done before'
I've never heard anyone using that construction. It sounds awful. I can't believe someone with such a good ear as John Lennon would find this as grating as I do--so I figure it must have sounded natural to him. I would ask Chris and Rachel if that odd bit of grammar might be another example of a working-class Liverpool idiom? As I say, it sounds very grating to my American ear, but the same construction is used 2 or 3 times in the Maybrick diary, such as the line,
'Strange my hands feel colder than they have ever done so'
Do we know any working-class Liverpudlians connected with the diary?
Finally, I'd recommend a read of Nigel Morland or Bernard Ryans books on Maybrick. Some of the references mentioned above (such as brother William's aloofness in not coming to dinner) seem to come straight from those texts. At least it seems so to me.
Well that's all. I'd like to take Mike Barrett out to dinner sometime and find out where this thing came from. In my final analysis, I think Alan Grey's letter to Mike is the best clue out there. IMHO. As for me, as Shakespeare would say, the rest is silence....
Best wishes, RJP |
Author: John Omlor
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 07:38 am | | Morning everyone,
It's poetry time again. As page eighteen rolls around, we have our first full work of verse. Two versions of the same piece, actually. But in neither version are individual words changed or scratched out -- there is just one version with three lines scratched (but still readable for us) and the second "final version" with those three lines omitted. So there is not actually any revision to speak of here. The poem is written and then three lines are removed and it's written again. (Although two commas and one period are added in the second version and the upper case letters at the beginning of lines 2 and 5 of the final version are lowered.) But the idea that this is actually the private composition of a poem on the page, with all the struggles that might accompany it, does not seem very convincing to me. I'll leave it to others to say something about the words in the poem, noting here only that this is the first time, I believe, that our alleged "author" refers to himself as "Jim."
[By the way, if one looks very closely at the facsimile page of the two drafts of this poem (224 in the Hyperion Hardcover), one can see a large number of small differences in the letters as they appear in the first version and in the second. It's not an entirely separate hand, but look at the upstroke of the first "two," or the upper case "A" of "Along" or the upper case "N" in "No" or the upper case "J" in James, especially. The lack of consistency here between versions at least suggests to me a hand not quite used to writing with an old-fashioned pen and ink. Just a thought.]
There is more self-praise for the writer's cleverness and the mention of planning to take chalk and write the rhyme somewhere publicly. And then there is actually a specific statement (one of very few) about the intention of a murderer. "The eyes will come out of the next. I will stuff them in the whores mouth. That will certainly give me pleasure, it does so as I write." But again, we see no signs, rhetorically or otherwise, that he is actually having this pleasure.
True to form, we have another cursory mention of his wife and children and Michael, all in the next paragraph -- the pattern is getting so repetitious as to become boring. There is another mention of burning St. James's to the ground to give the fools "something more to think on." The idea that using his name or initials as a clue seems very clever to our writer. This might lead some of the more suspicious among you to suspect that our writer left his or her name as a clue in the diary as well (those "cane" appearances are still being counted somewhere, I bet). We see more of this on the next page with the large "MAY" in the Punch cartoon citation.
But the pride in composition is really out of all proportion. "Michael would be proud of my funny little rhyme"
Oh yes, the phrase "funny little rhyme" is repeated several times.
"Michael would be proud of my funny little rhyme for he knows only too well the art of verse." But does he? Once again, this seems to be a reference to his occupation, but it can't be. Then our diarist goes on, "Have I not proven I can write better than he?" Well, considering that he's only written the one little six line poem, this seems somewhat premature at this point.
More plans for sex end the paragraph. This too is quickly becoming a repetitious pattern -- end entries with the intention to "take the whore," or have sex. It must have seemed a good way to conclude entries -- perhaps the thought was that it would be believable, since we all know that's the subject most men think about last thing in their evening.
Our next paragraph -- a new and separate page and entry after he has talked to his wife, tells us he has learned of her debts. Now things get a little interesting as "James" starts to read the reviews of his own work as the Ripper.
Once again we see this strange little equation of punishing Florie by killing whores. "Very well I shall honour the bitches notes but the whores are going to pay more than ever." The logic of this revenge is not exactly clear and it should also be noted that there has been quite a bit of time in this journal now that has passed without anything specific about daily finances or business at all. Again, the diary remains vague whenever possible.
But now James reads.
"...they have me down as left handed, a Doctor, a slaughterman and a Jew." It seems James has been reading the Casebook Message Boards apparently. Or at least reports from the papers of the time (or reports from our time, in any one of a number of books, of course, on the reports of the time). This gives our diarist a chance to set up the graffiti (apparently they have already assumed the Ripper wrote it). But first we need to establish our hero's anti-Semitism, if the graffiti is to make any sense. Thankfully for us, he writes down just the right thoughts to make it quickly clear. (Who would have thought a private journal would be this convenient, here?)
"Very well, if they are to insist that I am a Jew, then a Jew I shall be. Why not let the Jews suffer? I have never taken to them, far too many of them on the Exchange for my liking."
Oddly, this little outburst might be one of the riskiest thing our hypothetical would-be hoaxer has written. It can be checked. One can find out if the Exchange had a number of Jews on it and if Maybrick had befriended any of them. Of course, one can always claim that Maybrick was being duplicitous in public and his hatred for Jews remained private and secret and he would have thought even one Jew on the Exchange was "too many." So the risk by a hoaxer even here is not that great for eventual discovery. But we do get the first specific mention of a specific text as well. Punch.
Our "James" is pleased at seeing the beginning of his name in the Punch cartoon. Again, our writer's eye for word games reappears. But then there is, once again in an allegedly private journal, one of those public moments. After writing MAY in very big letters (as if the writer was really pleased with this one) the writer tells us that he "cannot stop laughing." But before that he actually shows us his laughing by writing "ha ha ha ha ha ha." Now, if you are writing in a private journal to yourself, and you start laughing, why would you actually write the ha ha ha ha's? yes, I know about the Ripper letters and Jack's use of ha ha. But that was for an intended audience, so you want them to see you laughing in print. This is a private document, written to himself and for his own record and use. Why would he bother to write his own ha ha ha's to himself? It makes no sense. There just seems to me to be clear textual evidence that this book was written for publication or at least for others to read. It's a constructed drama.
But now its poetry time again. The end of page twenty starts our longest stretch of verse. "May comes and goes." begins our verses. Earlier we were told "June is such a pleasant month..." A long time ago we were having fun speculating on whether the diarist had read Eliot (I don't remember why). Too bad he doesn't mention the cruelty of April.
"May comes and goes." This poem is going to shift awkwardly from first to third person as it goes along. But our page ends in the midst of the first attempted verse of it. The point seems to be that he wants to use "May" as a clue.
Notice where we are. Once again, our alleged ripper is writing very little, almost nothing about actually ripping, or about his family and daily life or anything that might someday be checked for historical accuracy at all (it would have taken deliberate work to avoid this). The diary is becoming, as Chris has noted, the work of Jack the Jingler. And other than the regular (like clockwork -- another one will chime in immediately after this poetry, watch and see) vague mention of his family, there is almost nothing at all in this private journal of the daily life of the man who allegedly wrote it -- nor the evidence of any particular pleasure from his crimes or from his thoughts about them. Indeed, this thng seems almost to have been written as a chore. Very well, I am feeling bold, so I will venture this guess. I think, finally, that whoever wrote this thing did not actually like writing very much. They did not find the routine task of writing easy or fun (although they might have thought or hoped it would be, before they started). It's becoming work now and they are not very good at it, they are learning, and they are not enjoying themselves and they are falling into simple space-filling and repetition. Believe me, when you read and grade a hundred student essays in a week, you see this sort of thing all the time. This is someone stretching and continually repeating themselves and being cursory and contentually thin and vague because they are out of things to say and do not want to offer too many details and are no longer having fun writing. It has, I think, started to become a chore. "God, I have to write more of this!? Let's do some more poetry drafts and mention the wife and kids again and talk about whores some more. I don't know. I'm tired and out of ideas. How many pages have we got anyway? We have to at least do the rest of the murders, right?" This may be the sort of things our composers have now started thinking to themselves.
At least that's my little speculative reading and my little guess as to the struggles of our would-be diarist(s) for the morning.
It's a golf day, if the weather is kind.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 09:30 am | | Hi John,
Now, who on earth would find writing this thing such a chore, but still feel they had to stick with it to the bitter end, for some reason or other, yet not apparently to make themselves filthy rich or famous? (Or do people really still believe that Mike and Anne composed and penned it together for financial gain?)
Hi All,
Hi Scotty. Glad to see you are still reading.
Good to see you back, RJ, if only temporarily – though I hope you’ll decide to stick around.
RJ, thanks for the Wallace info re Hammersmith/Emma Smith. I hadn’t heard that before. As I said, the link I found between the station and the name dates from 1885, but we don’t know who wrote the diary, so it’s impossible to know if there is anything in either the Druitt link or the coincidence of a certain 1888 East End murder victim having the same name the old railway porters used for the station I emerged from daily as a schoolgirl.
‘Now I need you like I never done before’ is British slang, RJ – pure and simple – and not exclusively used by scousers, I’m afraid.
And unless our diarist repeats stuff pretty much verbatim from Morland or Ryan, or repeats definite errors or misconceptions about the Maybricks (apart from Michael’s forte, which we have already been considering), which have crept in and are new and exclusive to these publications, I’m not sure this tells us much, apart from the fact that the diarist somehow had access to the same Maybrick info that Morland and Ryan did, when they wrote their own books on the subject.
I wish you luck if you ever get to taking Mike out to dinner and can get him to tell you something new, which is in any way convincing. What do you feel now about the fact that Mike says he put in the Crashaw lines because they mention intercourse and death, in the light of our recent discussions regarding the diary composer’s portrayal of James Maybrick’s sexual fantasies and resulting frustrations? Do we have a case of the multiplying composers here? Does this shallow and transparent hoax have any aspects that suggest subtlety and careful composition to you?
Chris, I still feel that the diarist can be under no illusion that his poetry is anything other than bloody awful. He is, after all, portraying James as the untalented clown, who strives pretty pathetically to upstage the brother of all talents. If the diarist thought he was actually writing brilliant verse in the first place, it would make a nonsense of all the times he compares his own efforts unfavourably with Michael’s supposed poetic abilities, wouldn’t it? The whole point is that he is deliberately writing from bard to verse so he can curse his clever sibling, and practise rather a lot. So we can ask ourselves again – if our diarist is writing poor poetry on purpose, to emphasise one of the reasons for his subject's jealousy, how can we judge that he/she is writing the rest of the diary to the best of his/her literary ability?
Love,
Caz
PS Our diarist appears to know that some serial killers have a penchant for arson. Wonder if he shares this love - and if he could have foreseen the spectacular fireworks display his little excursion into madness and mayhem would spark off. |
Author: Rachel Henderson
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 09:35 am | | Hi R.J
"done" is a common usage, but not just in Liverpool. I've heard it in London-based cop shows as "It wasn't me wot done it", and back home as "I done that right well" or "I/you/the lad done good".
Agreed, it's pretty awful but common.
Rachel |
Author: Christopher T George
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 09:52 am | | Hi, R.J.:
Thanks for your thoughts. Yes the line from the Beatles song "Help" which reads, "Now I need you like I never done before" is, I would say, an example of Liverpool slang. As you know, pop songs use a lot of slang in their titles or lyrics (or both). The Gerry and the Pacemakers song, "It's Gonna Be Alright" springs to mind and the Beatles' "You're Gonna Lose That Girl." In writing "Help," John Lennon may not necessarily have realized that "Now I need you like I never done before" was Liverpool dialect slang--he might have thought it was slang used worldwide. As you point out, the Diary line "Strange my hands feel colder than they have ever done so" displays a similar misuse of the word "done." I agree that this is an indication that working-class Liverpudlians had a hand in the concoction of the diary as you imply in your pointed question to that effect.
Since I wrote the above paragraph several hours ago I note that several posters have noted that misuse of "done" is worldwide.
Hi, John:
Your thought that the writer of the Diary tells us he is thrilled without making us see that he is thrilled is the classic writer's mistake of telling us rather than showing us, isn't it?
As for the numerous ha ha's in this supposedly private Diary, indeed this does seem odd. But then we know that the writer is emulating the Dear Boss letter, don't we? Never mind that Dear Boss was addressed to a specific audience of Central News Agency staff, the police, and the public (presuming the authorities would make the text of the letter public, which they obligingly did by printing it on a broadside) and the Diary is supposed to be for Maybrick's eyes alone.
I agree that by now the writing of the Diary is becoming a chore for penman and that possibly this person did not like writing very much. Do I hear a vote for the supposedly less than bookish Tony Devereaux? The writer's ennui might explain why the text is becoming so repetitive in its motifs.
John, thanks for reminding me about my speculation that the forger might have read T. S. Eliot. Indeed, Maybrick's stated obsession with the month of June, which Maybrick would not live to see although he cannot know it yet, although the penman does know it (cue the irony, the pathos, the sweeping violins), could as you say be an echo of the opening line of Eliot's "The Waste Land" which reads, "April is the cruellest month." However, as you point out, we are not entitled to reach this conclusion since there is no blatant clue that would confirm it. By the way, getting back to Caz's point about Emma Smith, April was certainly the cruellest month for Smith--she was attacked on the morning of April 4, 1888, with a blunt object shoved up her vagina, and died four days later. Do I hear mention of Maybrick's cane, and possibly a vote for Kane?
In terms of the possibility that the writer is correct and that there were Jews on the Exchange in Liverpool, I do not have any evidence that this was so, although I would be surprised if there were not Jewish merchants on the Exchange. I recently bought a book called The Jewish Victorian: Genealogical Information from the Jewish Newspapers, 1871-1880, transcribed and edited by Doreen Berger. The book contains information about Jews in London, especially the East End, and in Liverpool, where there was a substantial Jewish community with a synagogue in Prince's Park. Some of the Liverpool Jews lived in Whitechapel, Liverpool, ironically enough. One of the top retail establishments in the city was the Jewish-run firm of David Lewis & Co. of Ranelagh Street, clothiers and outfitters, and to this day Lewis's remains one of the top department stores in Liverpool. I should think that in 1888 Lewis's had some form of representation on the Exchange. In an article of July 30, 1880, the Liverpool Daily Post alluded to the "high character" that the firm of Lewis & Co. enjoyed in Liverpool and Manchester.
The Liverpoool Mercury of September 18, 1871 is quoted as saying, "In Liverpool members [of the community] of the Hebrew persuasion are a numerous and respectable body. Care should be taken they are not insulted in a court of justice for any peculiarity in connection with their faith." This followed an incident the day before in police court in which a Jewish man named Samuel Lipscombe, a witness in the Tithebarn Street murder case (Tithebarn St. was not far from the Exchange), was sworn in per the Hebrew custom wearing a hat and Police Constable No. 858 snatched his hat off his head. The Mercury criticized this "display of either gross stupidity or lamentable intolerance".
Best regards
Chris George
P.S. I thought you might all enjoy this other little snippet from The Jewish Victorian, quoting the The Jewish Chronicle of November 29, 1878, about the activities of a Jewish composer: "Mr. J. Gompertz Montefiore contributes to Beaton's Christmas Annual a smartly written sketch, entitled 'A Midsummer Night's Scream.'"  |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 10:17 am | | Hi Chris,
That's almost as bad as George Grossmith's spoof on Jekyll and Hyde, entitled 'Hide and See Kill', performed during the Autumn of Terror, I believe.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Miff G
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 04:39 pm | | Hi again
First of all thanks for all the messages of welcome , its nice to meet you all, Its a bit of a shame that all these discusion boards are so specific its a little hard to find a general type of chat area,
Further to my previous points about the Maybrick diary I wanted to add that when i first read about the discouvery I truly wanted it to be genuine and on seeing the video that accompanied the Diary I was initially fairly convinced it could be genuine ant that sincere wish for the mystery to be solved in fact blinded me, and i think that is exactly the problem many of the suporters of the diary have, it would be fantastic to find a written confession to the murders, because lets be honest nothing else will truly prove the Rippers identity. But on finaly reading the text of the diary it was hoplesly obvious it was fake. I cant address every one here and one of you , John , is already doing a fantastic job of pickig apart he text page by page, but to my mind the most daming factual error is the diarists claim about the placement of Mary Jane Kellys severed brests, "placed them on the table..." that is sutch a glairing error of research, untill the full autopsy was published it was comonly beleived that was the case, the first book about the Ripper i read was Donald Rumbelows which under the famous pic of Mary repeated the same error, its too much of a coincidence isnt it that the killer would be confused as to wat was a very deliberate placement and that the same error would find its way in to the literature ?
That one error, more than any other, stoped me cold and to my mind proved the whole thing to be a hoax then after this mini epithany I began to find errors and obvious attempts at authenticity
("...damn it the tin box was empty." coupled with "One tin match box empty" obviously in a hurry the Ripper mutilated a victim then had a bloody good rummage around her pockets and even had the time to note the emptyness of the tin box.) A case of trying far too hard.
Well that the end of my second rant (two in as many nights!!!!)
love to all
M |
Author: Miff G
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 05:15 pm | | | Oh yes and Thanks to John and Ivor (fellow Celt) especially give me a couple of nights to catch up with you and Ill join you on page 19 or so!!! |
Author: Ivor Edwards
Wednesday, 20 June 2001 - 07:33 pm | | | Miff,Did you know that Guild means Golden and Ford means a crossing over a river.Hence your name in Saxon means Golden Ford.Do you know if it means the same in Celtic ? |
Author: Stephen Powell
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 12:03 am | | I am changing my internet server and will not be online for a few days.
I shall when reconnected advise you all of my new address.
Stay well.
Regards
steve powell. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 06:47 am | | Hi Miff,
Don’t worry about ranting – yours is quite a civilised rant compared with some.
Re the placing of Kelly’s breasts (with apologies to John and everyone else, for leapfrogging over a few diary pages in this response to Miff), the very first words our diarist uses when describing the murder, are:
'I have read about my latest, my God the thoughts, the very best.’
Does it strike you as a little bit strange that our diarist chooses to have Maybrick reading the newspaper reports instead of relying on his memory, given that he is meant to have been the only person in the world in a position to remember and describe precisely what happened in that hovel? Yet it almost appears like the writer is saying that Maybrick needed the papers to see what he was supposed to have done. In the preceding passages he gives us a few clues which may explain his reasoning here, when he writes about sleepwalking, and taking ‘the largest dose I have ever done’, and ‘I vaguly recall putting a handkerchief in my mouth to stop my cries.’
So, after having James read the report of Kelly’s murder, the diarist goes on to write up a few details, including:
'I thought it was a joke when I cut her breasts off, kissed them for a while……Left them on the table with some of the other stuff. Thought they belonged there.'
Did the writer intend this passage to suggest that Maybrick’s own memories matched exactly the reports he had been reading? (And therefore dropped a clanger about where the breasts were found?) Or was it meant to be a mixture of actual memories (like the kissing perhaps) and what he assumed he must have done because, after all, that’s what the papers were telling him, wasn’t it? It’s not entirely clear, but later on (when the writer gets Maybrick to have flashbacks to the horror) we do get the lines:
‘I kissed them,
I kissed them
They tasted so sweet
I thought of leaving them by the whores feet
but the table it was bear
so I went and left them there
[my emphasis]
Could it possibly be that the writer is suggesting that Maybrick was having trouble with the details of such a horrific crime, and was having to reconcile the reports with what he actually recalled doing? Could a paraphrase be: ‘I could have sworn I left them by the whore’s feet, but the table was bare, so I guess I left them there’? (Or am I totally over-reaching myself? )
In any event, what did our modern faker know about where Maybrick should have recalled placing the breasts? If he/she thought they really were found on the table, the reference to the whore’s feet must have been put in by sheer chance. But, if the diarist was in any way unsure about the correct placing, or abreast (sorry!) of all the latest info on the subject, it’s a pity they didn’t write something along the lines of:
‘The fools say I left the whores breasts on the table but what do they know did I not put them elsewhere ha ha’
As for the tin match box, I believe there has been some speculation that the diarist had this item down as belonging to Maybrick, not Eddowes, and used as a container for his stimulants, and that he was cursing the fact it was empty. I think there has also been a suggestion that the police kept this item from the press (perhaps because they suspected it belonged to the killer?) and that the diarist may have been aware of this.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 07:49 am | | Hi John,
May I take you back to something you wrote in your post of Saturday, June 16th at 11.00am:
‘Perhaps Martin and others can speak, by the way, to the phrase “damaged, of course, severely damaged,” which does not sound, to my ear, historically authentic.’
Could you tell me more precisely what it is about this phrase that doesn’t sound quite right to you? Is it the choice of individual words, or the construction (our diarist doesn’t generally go in for many commas, for example), or more the idea of writing about damaged goods in general, or severely damaged whores in particular?
I found a couple of pages, in a book written a few years after the 1880s, but relating to events which took place much earlier, probably during the 1860s, in which there are no fewer than five references to ‘damaged tarts’! (What a pity the author is only referring to an episode from his childhood in which he, and a friend named Rutter (!), deliberately damaged penny tarts in a tuck shop to make them cheaper – but wonderful for a suspicious mind like mine, looking for writers who might be fond of word-play and clue-dropping. ):
‘“Oh!” said Rutter, “I always eat the damaged tarts…”’
‘But said I, “There never are any damaged tarts when I get there… (the “damaged” pastry was set aside on a special dish labelled “Damaged Tarts, half price”). Rutter said, “Oh! I can always find some – watch me tomorrow.”’
‘After this I frequently, in company with Rutter, visited the Tuck Shop and partook of “damaged tarts” at half price…’
‘…he positively forced on us all the nice new undamaged tarts we could eat…’
(This Jack of tarts certainly made a meal of it, didn’t he? )
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 09:17 am | | Hi Caz,
I'm not really sure what it is about the phrase "damaged, of course, severely damaged" that bothers my ear. It's not the use of the word "damaged" at all, I think, but the construction. Perhaps I am hearing "Bond, James Bond" in my mind. Or perhaps the words echo with a phrase much in the news these days in the US -- "severe tire damage." This is the associative way reading works sometimes, I guess, a phrase calls up other phrases in the mind and then I start to wonder about it. You might be right though, this one could be perfectly appropriate to the time.
I must say I really did enjoy your reading of the passage concerning the placement of MJK's breasts. (Honestly, sometimes around these boards we just write sentences that could not be written anywhere else in any other sort of discussion, I think -- like that one.) I was especially interested in the idea that "James" seems to be relying on his reading about the case rather than his own supposedly first-hand memories. And it should be noted that there is no evidence in the text that James ever suffers from any blocked memory or blackouts or sleepwalking or anything that would indicate his own memory fails him. And he is supposed to be writing these things down right after they happened. Interesting. The breasts problem might just be a case of our would-be-diarist not reading something closely enough or reading the wrong thing. I wonder if the writer saw the MJK photos and saw the second photo and thought those must have been Mary's breasts on the table and went with that, figuring the photo never lies (of course, people's interpretations of photos do, all the time).
One thought occurred to me though: it would, I think, now be much easier to fake a diary such as this and get the details right, thanks to Stephen Ryder and this little set of web pages.
Today, I'd like to say at least a word or two about the actual lines in the poetry on pages twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three. Yup, the next three pages are all verse (leading up to the "chickens with their heads cut off..." lines and of course another requisite mention of Bobo and Gladys and the drugs when the poetry stops -- in case we've forgotten, in three pages, what we are reading, perhaps).
Let's start with the phrase "the dark of night" which James rhymes with the phrase "gives them a fright." I realize that both of these are perfectly ordinary phrases -- but to me they also at least ring a little with the clichés of the horror genre. But that's just a simple thought about my own ears.
One thing, though, that might be more telling is James's apparent lack of knowledge or understanding of poetic meter. Check out the lines below, count the syllables and listen for the meter (you remember from school, the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables):
May comes and goes
in the dark of the night
he kisses the whores
then gives them a fright
With a ring on my finger
and a knife in my hand
This May spreads Mayhem
all through the land {line struck out}
throughout this fair land.
Now see, the author seems to want a regular meter, he has the beginnings of an ear for meter -- that's what leads him to change the four syllable line at the end that he tries first to a five syllable line, since it fits in with what he thinks is his pattern of choice. But there is a serious lack of specific control here and the syllables get the better of him several times. In fact the count in the lines above ends up to be :4,6,5,5,7,6,5,5. The patter he is working towards, we learn later, is 6,5,6,5,/6,5,6,5 But he is not even able to sustain this over three quatrains, even in the final, finished version of his work here, at the end of page twenty-three -- where he is still stuck with lines like "The Jews and the Doctors" (that damn extra syllable) and "with a ring on my fing... er." (Damn! There it is again.)
This is not, I believe, a deliberate attempt to make James a bad poet (although he is that and there does seem to be a deliberate attempt to make his poetry bad -- the word choice is goofy and his phrases are clichéd and there is nothing interesting about his verse, it's childlike and even childish). But the actual meter of the "finished" versions of these verses, meter which is close to correct and which wants to sound right, suggests to me, that even though our writer wanted to make James a clumsy poet, it might also very well be the case that our writer was one too. That, not only did they try and make James's poetry amateurish, poetry was probably not one of their particular talents either -- even in its simplest form.
The pattern of progression we see on these three pages is clearly meant to indicate the evolution of a poem. Incidentally, James had the right version of the "The Jews and the Doctors" line earlier in his draft, but never used it -- "The Doctors and jews." Finally, the last verse of the finished version ends with a line that is almost quaint.
"With a ring on my finger" {and bells on my toes, I want to hear, sorry.}
Again:
"With a ring on my finger
and a knife in my hand
This May spreads Mayhem
throughout this fair land."
"Throughout this fair land?!" How charming. The reader also notes, no doubt, that the first line has the extra syllable, and the third line has a problem, unless you read "Mayhem" stressing the second syllable, which we don't in this language. I suspect the use of "May" in "mayhem" was just too cool to pass up for our writer, whether it fit in the line or not.
One other thought, and Martin can chime in here if he is still reading these little notes, there is very little, almost nothing about this verse that in any way reads as Victorian in nature. Poetry is one of those things, even the poetry of children, that often shows its age -- often it leaves traces of the voices and the peculiar poetic assumptions and styles of the day. In these three whole pages of poetic composition, I can find no real evidence that this is poetry of the 1880s or that our writer had absorbed anything of the poetry of the time or of the culture of the time.
Thankfully, though, this ends the verse for now.
But readers should also start to notice a bit of sleight-of-hand here. By stretching out the composition-on-the-page process over three pages, we have now read three more pages of James Maybrick's diary and been told nothing more about any of the details of his life either as James Maybrick or as Jack the Ripper. Three more pages have been filled and we still -- now twenty-three pages into this diary -- have nothing we can check for clear historical accuracy and no significant details about the man or his life and no real, convincing sensory details about his murders or his drug addiction and nothing about his business dealings or notable events in his family's life (don't these people ever have holidays or birthdays to celebrate, for instance?) and nothing even mentioned that we might check the records about. Think of how difficult it would have been to write a personal journal of your private thoughts (especially as Jack the Ripper and James Maybrick) and, in twenty-three pages, not mention a single specific thing that might later be reviewable by historians. To me this is beginning to reveal a clear intention to avoid such things. In fact, there are two things, it seems to me, that our little readings are starting to firmly establish: 1.) an author carefully avoiding specifics and 2.) an author writing intentionally for an audience (thus the "begin with the pills" and the 'ha ha ha ha has" written out on the page and the other signs that show the writer knows someone is going to read these pages "It has taken me three days..." right when we need to know that three days have passed or the lines about the Jews right when we need them to establish the motive for the graffiti, etc.). If the diary continues this way for the next forty pages, I think we can make a clear and convincing textual case for a writer who has carefully avoided specifics over an extended period of time (evidence of the desire to not be historically reviewable as much as possible) and a writer who knows he or she is writing for an audience. Of course, neither of these characteristics describes James Maybrick writing in his private journal.
Let's see how long such trends continue. Meanwhile, we get back to prose tomorrow, and the first mention of Abberline and the knighting of "Sir Jim."
Enjoy the day, everyone, and I look forward to reading any further thoughts anyone might have.
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 10:43 am | | Hi John,
"With a ring on my finger
and a knife in my hand
This May spreads Mayhem
throughout this fair land."
Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross,
To see a fine lady upon a white horse.
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
She shall have music wherever she goes.
'...there is very little, almost nothing about this verse that in any way reads as Victorian in nature.'
But it's not such a dismal attempt to echo the words of that old nursery rhyme, is it?
Love,
Caz
PS Would you believe I had to omit the hyphen from cockhorse to get it accepted? It's a bit ironic to find myself being accused of profanity by the automatic censor, when you consider some of the stuff we've been discussing lately. |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 11:29 am | | Hi, Caz:
I am appalled that you would use a word like "cockhorse" in what is supposed to be a decent and p.c. forum! But then you do have a thing for Mother Goose and those Elmer Fudd drinks don't you???
I think John's point is that the verses overall are clunky and that the line "This May spreads Mayhem" does not scan even if the other lines in this quatrain are okay. The old rhyme about Banbury Cross that you cited is better than M's attempts. The clunkiness of M's poetry is heightened because of the attempts to use the May pun or, as we will see a bit later, insert Abberline into the poem, etc. However, penman lacks the talent to get these references in smoothly. I agree with John that the penman seems to show no great ability at writing poetry and could even have been uncomfortable at having to engage in versifying. I would think that the level of "quality" achieved is not done with the desire to make Maybrick look like a lousy poet. Rather the level is as good as penman's ability would allow. Again, I think these rhymes were inserted because Jack, according to legend and the popular view, was a versifyier and a prankster. No matter (as we have discussed) that the letters with the rhymes that were attributed to Jack were done for an audience, here nevertheless Maybrick is supposedly doing the same in his airless closeted room because that is what a Ripper do.
John, anticipating your next installment, could the "knighting" of James Maybrick be a reference to Stephen Knight? Just something that occurs to me on a warm summer morning in Washington, D.C. It isn't a theory that I am not particularly pushing but a vague possibility that we might bear in mind when we go to consider that passage--particularly if there is any possibility that Caz may be right that the Emma Smith/Mrs Hammersmith parallel exists and that there may possibly be embedded in the text other so far undetected word games. Penman is, after all, clever, so very clever. Or would even the hint of a reference to anything modern be something to be avoided just as penman appears to have a policy to steer clear of giving us any possibly incriminating specifics?
All the best
Chris |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 03:23 pm | | Hi Caz,
Sad but true story: I had gone my entire childhood without hearing that nursery rhyme you cite above. Then, when I was in my late teens and took my first trip to London, I stumbled on (secretly bought, actually) some especially cheesy British pornography. One of the stories in one of the magazines I bought was called "Ride a Cockhorse." I could tell it was supposed to be an allusion to something other than the obvious photographs on the opposite page, but I didn't know what. So I didn't really get the joke. Later, I finally did stumble on the nursery rhyme and it all made sense. Except of course, because I had gone about it backwards, the nursery rhyme instantly seemed pornographic to me, because I already had the other reference in my head.
When I was making the comment about James's poetry, I was thinking more that you don't see any sign that the writer was aware of or reading the mature poetry of 1888 or any of the major figures that someone would have been taught in school in the 1850's or 60's, when James was presumably a student. There's no sign of the big Victorian poets or even their precursors -- not even an attempt to sound like what many people probably thought poetry was supposed to sound like at that time. In fact, there aren't really any lines in the poetry that do not sound like they could have been written yesterday.
Chris,
Although ""Maybrick" does use the words "an honour" and "I can now rise Sir Jim," I don't think he ever says "knighted" or "knight" in his own text. He does use the word "knighthood," though, wondering if the Queen will "honour me with a knighthood." As we'll see tomorrow, he also claims credit for giving himself the Jack the Ripper name and thinks "Perhaps her gracious Majesty will become acquainted with it." But he soon stops this poetic speculation, after a quick try at something like a limerick. Why? Get this: because he can't think of another word to rhyme with Jim! And he actually writes down that he can't think of a word "to accompany Jim." If you couldn't think of a word to rhyme with Jim, while you were composing, would you actually write down on the paper that you couldn't think of another word to rhyme with Jim or would you just quit and go on to something else? More evidence I think that this is written with an audience in mind. And those wonderful lines, "I cannot think of another word to accompany Jim. I like my words to rhyme damn it." might very well be the honest expression of a frustrated penman. That would be delightful. (By the way, was this sort of "damn it" at the end of sentence a popular curse at the time? I really don't know.) Yes, perhaps our would-be diarist found himself stuck for a rhyme and just wrote that fact down.
Oh, and can we all think of a few words that rhyme with Jim? I'll bet we can.
--John |
Author: Mark List
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 03:51 pm | | Interesting story, John...
I finally got around to reading some of the diary and I find it interesting (and quite Poe-ish) that early in the diary he thinks of eating the organs of the women.
A lot of foreshadowing.
It reminds me of the pyschotic build up of "The Tell-Tale Heart."
I'm starting to see what you mean, John, by "Too Complete."
Cheers,
MArk |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 04:02 pm | | Hi Jim:
I am sorry you could not find a word to rhyme with "Jim." Not to be able to find that rhyme was pretty grim. Why didn't you call brother Michael? You could always have asked him! Pity you weren't writing a few years later. You would have found the internet rhyming dictionary at http://www.rhymezone.com/ would have just suited your needs.
Hope to get to meet you some day. You have given us a fine puzzle but some appalling poetry. Should have used that rhyming dictionary.
All the best
Chris |
Author: Mark List
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 07:38 pm | | Here's a repost of R.J. Palmer's post concerning the Diary and forgery from November 14, 2000.
I think that it's a wonderful insight into the creation of the Diary.
-M
"Hello.
Something perhaps to think about: the torn corner of a photograph was found wedged in the binding of the
diary. Kenneth Rendell when examining the first page of the diary with ultraviolet light, found a square
pattern consistent with the impression that would have been left by a photograph mounted on the previous
(missing) page. According to Rendell (see his book Forging History) this square was the indentical size of a
standard photograph that was popularly used during the time between the First and Second World Wars.
Thus, if the diary were an old forgery, it would be unlikely for it to pre-date 1920.
Since Florie had been out of prison for many years in the 20s, and was well into her transformation into the
reclusive 'cat lady', I think it can be safely ruled out that the diary had anything to do with freeing Florie,
framing James Maybrick, etc. All in my humble opinion, of course.
I used to wonder if the diary started out as a piece of fiction, and not a forgery, and someone (Mike
Barrett, for instance) decided to write it out in long-hand in an old scrapbook and try to pawn it off as
genuine. It's a little Jane Eyre-ish if you ask me. The diarist's preoccupation with the Maybrick children is a
feminine touch, I think; most men wouldn't have thought along those lines. Women dating diary enteries is
an interesting thought; but in 1990 (a couple years before the diary became public) Valerie Martin
published a bestselling novel called Mary Reilly which has a Victorian maid in the service of Dr. Jekyll (and
Mr. Hyde, of course) writing a diary without dating the enteries. A fictional epilogue to the novel discusses
how this diary was discovered in Bray, having made its way from London, and debates as to whether or not
it is genuine. I wonder if something like this could have inspired the creation of the Maybrick diary. The
timing is right.
(By the way, Mary Reilly was made into a simply awful film starring Julia Roberts and John Malkovich a few
years later. Don't rent it)
Cheers,
RJP" |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 08:19 pm | | Hi Mark,
You repost an interesting entry from RJ. In it, he writes one thing that gives me pause:
"It's a little Jane Eyre-ish if you ask me. The diarist's preoccupation with the Maybrick children is a feminine touch, I think; most men wouldn't have thought along those lines."
I think this is a little presumptuous. First of all, I wouldn't presume to know about "most men," but I know several who, if they kept a journal, their journal would be chock full of things about their kids and concerns about their kids and pride in their kids, etc. My brother, for instance, who is as rough and tumble as they come and installs cables for a living, running them through floors and walls, and also runs his own business and works constantly, still lives mostly for his kids and dotes on them utterly and writes letters about them and draws and paints pictures of them and, if he has a journal (he probably does), I am almost sure it is full of thoughts about them. And I don't think my brother is all that unusual in this respect. Many, many fathers would write such things and be preoccupied with their kids and the kids' well-being and I believe that many fathers would think that other fathers would also be likely to write such things. If anything, the kids aren't mentioned as much in this journal as one might suspect -- no talk about their daily events or their troubles, etc. But preoccupation with one's children is certainly not necessarily a "feminine touch." Not at all. And, by the way, I don't think that the thoughts he does have about the kids are particularly "feminine" at all either, whatever that means. It is a poor choice of words I think. Also, the diary seems to me not all like Jane Eyre or any of Charlotte Bronte's work -- which is much more subtle and personal and much more about the intricacies of human interaction and the fine points of linguistic and economic power and the complexities of relationships and society and the conflict between a fading Romanticism and the rise of a new rationalism and a Victorian social order that stifles. In fact, the diary is almost the opposite of something like Jane Eyre -- the diary is all heavy handed and simplistic and childish and over the top and completely without sophistication or subtlety - and without a single meaningful glance or telling whispered word, etc. And no longing at all. And Jane Eyre, by the way, is also not strictly a "women's book," whatever that might mean. It and its fellow novels can be and are read and enjoyed for their provocations about society and relationships by plenty of literate men.
Also, I think there is a problem with the idea that this diary "started out as a piece of fiction." It is sorely lacking in dramatic details and crime-scene explicitness and sorely lacking in plot and real character development and has no real fictional payoff at any point. Unless of course we just assume that it started simply as bad and unwritten fiction.
But working against this is the deliberate way the diary scrupulously avoids any checkable or reviewable historical details at all --- any specifics about any business dealings or about the murders or about locations or times or places or anything. A work of fiction wouldn't need to do this to this extent, since it would be announced as fiction. It could make up details and not have to worry about the historians in quite this way. This book, I believe, was written clearly to withstand a certain kind of examination. That's why so much is missing and so much is vague and why I think it was written with its current purpose already in mind.
At least that's what the text shows me so far.
We'll see what happens as we keep reading.
Meanwhile, that tap tap tapping at my door means the pizza delivery guy has just arrived. I must open the door and a beer and settle into dinner.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Thursday, 21 June 2001 - 10:49 pm | | Hi, I'm new to posting here but wanted to make two statements.
If it has been proven that the page opposite that first page of the diary had photograph(s) on them, wouldn't that pretty much tell you the diary is a fake, since the diary starts off as if it continues from the missing pages? If the diary starts mid-sentence we are led to believe the missing pages were lost by carelessness over the course of 100+ years. If Maybrick removed the pages to use the remainder as his diary then it would begin right on that page.
Also, as for where the diary came from- didn't Anne say it had always been in her family? Does anyone think her father could be connected to it's forgery, for whatever reason- and Anne may have been led to believe, with some or no doubt, that she actually had this diary on her hands? Then she passed it along to her husband, who investigated it, and believed it to be the real thing until he learned where it really came from, was able to piece it all together and decided it was a fake, and told the world what he could (that it was fake, but he was never able to say how it was done). Make any sense at all? |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 05:16 am | | Hi, Christopher:
Unfortunately in the realm of the Maybrick Diary, proof is a rare commodity. The scientific evidence in regard to dating the ink seems to be contradictory. There are very strong indications that the Diary is a forgery but no conclusive proof that it is, or of who forged it. The evidence that photographs were mounted on the pages that are missing is one indication that the Diary is probably not real. The pages though were definitely cut out and did not fall out. I have not heard that there is evidence that there was a photograph on the cut-out page opposite the first page of text. Kenneth W. Rendell in his report in Harrison's Hyperion edition, p. 310, talks about evidence of a photograph on the first missing page. Sorry that this is not too helpful!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 05:55 am | | Hi Christopher,
Welcome. It has not been "proven" exactly what the first pages of the diary actually held -- although the impressions left suggest some sort of postcards or some type of photos or mementoes or other such things. To say that the impressions are "consistent with photographs" means only, of course, that photographs are one thing that might have been there, one possibility. Of course, many people who are not sure exactly what the pages once held, still believe the diary is probably a fake (myself included). We just want to be careful about claiming what we know and what we can know so far. Our current reading exercise is also a small attempt to see what we might read from the text about the possible authors of such a fake, and more generally, just what we might read in the text in general, what it shows to us as a group of different readers. Unfortunately, there is little or no reliable, material evidence to build a case against anyone in particular as the writer of this thing just yet, including Billy Graham. And Anne has not offered any reliable or compelling evidence to allow us to claim or even, I think, to comfortably believe that this book has, as you say, "always been in her family." She has merely said this, and it's not even clear, given the way he was interviewed, that her father was actually backing up her story here with a detailed or convincing account of this book's history. And unfortunately, her husband did not tell the world "that it was a fake, but that he was never able to say how it was done." He told the world he did it. And he told the world how he did it. And within all of his attempts to tell the world these things there are numerous lies, numerous places where his story changes or seems unbelievable or does not coincide with the statements of experts and a host of other problems. And then, at one point, he retracted many of those statements and made other ones. So almost everything about whether Mike or Anne knew or did not know at any given point where this diary came from originally or who wrote it remains uncertain. And we'd need at least some evidence, I guess, that Anne's father was "connected to its forgery" before we can confidently trace its existence back to him. But it is an idea that has been suggested once or twice and I suppose it remains as one of the possibilities (there are so many at this point...).
Hi Chris, our posts crossed, as you can see.
Hello everyone,
Since I'm up at an ungodly hour and am not likely to get back to sleep, I thought I'd check out the next few pages of the diary. The verse has ended for the moment, and pages twenty-four, twenty-five and twenty-six return us to familiar prose patterns and add a new element to our hero's writing.
Now he has other people to make fun of -- those trying to capture him. As Chris will no doubt want to remind us, the sneering attitude directed at his pursuers comes to us right from the letters. And our diarist seems to be relying heavily on the letters to build the characterization of James as Jack in prose. "It is nice to laugh at the bastards and fools and indeed they are fools." ("Nice"? What a weak word here.)
Then there is a momentary try at psychology. But here, as I mentioned in a post above, the diary remains completely unsubtle and unable to pull off any real psychological conflicts within the character. We are told "I am fighting a battle within me." But we never actually get to see very much of that battle in "James's" writing. Again, the motive for the killings is offered as "revenge" (desire here is misspelled "disire" complete with a dot over the first "i" and this seems to me a too-simple misspelling, indicating either that a serious casualness and even rushed sloppiness has developed on our writer's part or someone somehow thought that as people go crazy they forget how to spell...). As predicted, and predictably, the kids are mentioned as a "worry" but as always nothing specific is ever said about them and the mention lasts only that one line and is again immediately dropped.
But James takes credit for his new criminal name and now seems, suddenly, to also desire fame in addition to revenge. "It shall be, before long, on every persons lips within the land." This sentence, along with the verse ending line "throughout this fair land." seem to me to echo the language of fairy tales.
Then there is the talk of a knighthood and a brief verse which names Abberline, awkwardly, as Chris has mentioned, in the first line of a limerick type attempt. But he's stumped looking for a rhyme for Jim (if our wordgame playing author was smiling and wanting us to think of "dim," here, he succeeded in my case).
A line is drawn to indicate a new entry and then another mention of Edwin (in case it has been too long), this one allowing us to see that "the bitch" comes originally from America -- in case we did not know this about Florie. It is beginning to be clear, also, that the details the diarist does venture to give us -- children’s names, wife's country of origin, names of his brothers, etc., are the most commonplace and easily verifiable ones. Only on rare occasions -- the farthings for instance -- does he attempt to offer any specific knowledge that might not be instantly available. And even then, it is a detail that is much discussed elsewhere.
Our writer tries his or her hand at psychology in our next entry. But again it remains only a cursory mention (nothing is ever discussed in this alleged private journal in any depth or with any patience or at any length at all). After thinking about his parents (and allegedly visiting their graves), James offers us this moment of doubt (such as it is): "I enjoy the thrill of thinking of all I have done. But there has been, but once, regret for my deeds. I dispelled my remorse instantly." Well, that was easy. Nothing about why the regret came upon him, nothing about what he thought or felt, nothing about how he dispelled it -- these questions are all too complicated for our author apparently. Just a mention of a flicker of doubt (perhaps to keep him human as a character and to keep us reading) and then, no worries, it's gone. Again, one wonders a). where is the "thrill" mentioned above evidenced in these diary entries and b.) why would someone who was the Ripper and was keeping a journal take the time to casually mention his self-doubt about ripping whores, but then not even bother to discuss it in any way? Instead he goes on to tell us why he doesn't just kill his wife's lover (the "whoremaster" -- and the use of this term repeatedly seems a bit odd to me -- almost like a cartoon or comic book character or something medieval -- never once mentioning the name but insisting, only in this case, on the epithet exclusively). He can't kill this man, because he would be caught. And "I have no desire for that." But "their time will come." Why? Is this a God's judgment sort of remark?
But now it's double-event time.
The last paragraph on this page, which ends with another "ha ha" flourish -- these really are constructed for readers, I think -- announces the memory of our next murders. We learn of his interruption in the act of the first one and his anger at... the horse. A bit of foreshadowing here (impossible in a day to day journal, of course): the previous entry mentions his fear of getting caught if he kills the whoremaster. The next entry begins, after the murders and his return, thinking "To my astonishment I cannot believe I have not been caught." It was a close call. And right after he was thinking about getting caught. Imagine. How literary and convenient. Anyway, here we actually have a detail or two from the first murder scene -- all taken, as we know, from the reports of a witness.
"I believe the thrill of being caught thrilled me more than cutting the whore herself. As I write I find it impossible to believe he did not see me, in my estimation I was less than a few feet from him. The fool panicked, it is what saved me."
The phrase "in my estimation" seems rather calculated in the midst of this memory, but in any case, we all know the story being referenced here. And we know that our here has to find "another dirty bitch" within a quarter of an hour, as he tells us. "The whore like all the rest was only to willing." And then this, as if we needed to see a marked difference in this murder, since we know the difference in the wounds: "The thrill she gave me was unlike the others, I cut deep deep deep." (I think the three "deeps" repeated psuedo-psychotically here are a nice touch. )
Next comes the mention of cutting off the nose, attacking her eyes, leaving his "mark" and failing again to get the head off. And, for our chatters next week: "I took all I could away with me. I am saving it for a rainy day ha ha." See, there's the reason Jack was taking organs -- he was saving them for a rainy day! Obviously, our would-be diarist didn't put a lot of thought into this question about a motive to take organs.
But still, even here, in the midst of remembering the most gruesome and allegedly thrilling ripping of all so far, there is very little real detail or vivid sense memory -- just a list of inflictions. It's almost as if the writer was reviewing the coroner's report as they wrote, and then added the ingenious idea that the face wounds form an "M." (Anyone who wants to, can speak to the "initials at the crime scene" question and whether they think it adds or detracts from the diary's attempt to be convincing and authentic. I'll leave that for others here.) But it should be noted that our Jack the Ripper's first hand memory of the double-event, in his own private journal, amounts to one paragraph on one page.
What does this suggest?
Next time: graffiti and some echoes of Hannibal Lechter -- "it goes down well with an after dinner port." (Fffft, ffft, ffft, ffft,)
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 06:22 am | | Hi All,
Let's assume, as we have been, that our diary author was putting on a huge act (for reasons not yet at all clear) by writing someone else's diary for them. Let's also assume, as we have been, that this person was struggling with, at best, mediocre literary ability, and little talent for scanning and rhyming poetry.
I am reminded here of that limerick that goes something like:
There was a young man called Stan
Whose poetry never would scan
"I really do try"
He said with a sigh
"But then I have this terrible compulsion to get as many words in the last line as I possibly can."
The basic task he has set himself is unusual, to say the least, if not unprecedented. He has to take up to four distinct and very real people: one identified as James Maybrick; another a serial killer known as Jack the Ripper; and very possibly a third and fourth too - the authors of the Dear Boss and Lusk correspondence. Then he (or she, if you think this is a woman's work) has to re-invent them all as one man, with a unique personality and writing style, and pathological probs with a wayward wife and superstar sibling.
Now, in the absence of at least a couple of other Victorian manuscripts of a remotely similar nature (and that would certainly also be the case if the thing were real), do we really have any right to expect that this effort, by our literarily-challenged faker, to make a hybrid out of up to four lives and four stories, Dr. Frankenstein or Jekyll and Hyde-like, would - could ever sound 'right', or 'historically authentic' to our ears, even had the forensic tests told us it was truly decades old? I seriously don't know the answer to that question. Could our writer have made his work flow, and read like anything else we have ever read from a particular period, whenever he put his pen to paper? (barring all obvious accidents, of course, such as ‘Strolled by the drive, seen Bono out of U2’ )
But we have not even established to what extent our faker was 'acting' when he wrote. Chris thinks he was writing to the very best of his ability at all times, and thought of himself as the 'clever fellow' he was purporting to be, despite the act he was apparently putting on at the same time to acknowledge Michael's superior talent and curse him for it. (You do realise, Chris, that this reasoning allows for the possibility that the writer was the 'clever fellow' with the inferiority complex and the jealousy and the resulting dodgy psychological profile. ) John concedes that his intention must have been to make James a lousy poet, but that he was probably pretty lousy in that department anyway, so the dumbing down was minimal (and like he was trying to make a fool out of James, not appreciating that the joke would be on him when the readers scrutinised his work).
And I still don’t really know what I think about the writer’s real abilities and character, and wonder if he wasn't acting his little heart out (sorry!) with every line, every strike-through, every rotten rhyme, every silly scan and every jolly joke.
Have a great weekend all. (I'll be away from the computer tomorrow and Sunday, so you can all have some well-earned peace.)
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 06:38 am | | Hi Caz,
I certainly agree that it is impossible to determine from reading the text just how much our author was "acting" and what he was otherwise capable of. I understand Chris' position and I think you also might very well be correct and this all may be just an act. My own sense that the author is limited in his own literary skills and is less than comfortable writing, even as he tries to make James a bit of a literary hack as well, is of course only a sense I get from the use of language here and the lack of any sustained thought or prose and of course this too could all be an act -- but then I would wonder about the wisdom of some of the choices if the final goal is the appearance of authenticity and ultimate believability. I guess I think, had the writer truly been more skilled and more talented than he was letting on, and more comfortable with writing and with language, he could have created a more carefully detailed, richer, and finally more believable document (since we are assuming that would have been his purpose in any case).
But I agree that the extent of our writer's talent, as demonstrated here, remains somewhat uncertain.
Have a good weekend,
--John
PS: For instance, Caz: Jack was taking the organs of his victims because he was saving them "for a rainy day?!" It just seems to me that there is a lack of creative imagination in the writing here, too, and it affects the degree to which the text remains believable. |
Author: Rachel Henderson
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 06:45 am | | Interesting as ever John and Caz.
I can't help but wonder tho' if the author (whoever he or she may be) had written in a suitably Grand Guignol style we would be here discussing the obvious fakery of (for example) "I plunged my hands, dripping with gore, into the steaming, filthy stench of her guts, there to feel them slithering and wet . . ." and so on, perhaps saying it was obviously someone trying to create an impression of madness?
As you can see, I'm not much of a gory fiction writer, but I hope I made the point! What do you think?
Rachel |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 07:45 am | | Interesting points, John and Rachel.
How does our author cope with making a monster out of this ordinary bloke (and vice versa), while ensuring that none of the written thoughts display the kind of creative imagination, or writing talent, that the Liverpudlian cotton merchant was most unlikely to have possessed in real life, however addled his mind was supposed to be with darkness and melodrama?
I have this vision of a writer perhaps using the bad spelling and grammar and poetry and 'rainy day' cliches, all to keep himself focussed on the task of portraying Maybrick as a doer, who wants desperately to record his deeds and express his thoughts, while not being much of a writer. (Perhaps he thought that shades of the Lusk letter writer's supposed semi-literacy would give him some mileage too.)
That doesn't mean that our diarist had to be particularly talented himself, just that he may have known precisely the effect he wanted to achieve, but went over the top in getting there.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 09:47 am | | Hi, Caz:
Enjoy your weekend respite from the boards!
Caz, I appreciate your point that our penman had the task of melding the story of the Maybricks with that of the Ripper. Even if the forger was not a literary genius--and I believe we all agree he was not--I do think they nevertheless have succeeded in melding the two stories without obviously giving the game away by providing too many clues that would tell us the document is a fake.
By the way, I decided to look up the word "whoremaster" on the off-chance that it was not a legitimate word. It is in the dictionaries as meaning either a person who consorts with prostitutes or is a pimp. I won't be telling Mr. Omlor, our resident English professor, anything here, but it does appear in a number of Shakespeare's plays including King Lear, Henry IV, Part 1, Timon of Athens, and Measure for Measure. Perhaps our forger, in addition to being an expert in the arcane poetry of Richard Crashaw, is (or was) an afficianado of Shakespeare!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 10:00 am | | Hi Caz and Rachel,
Indeed, I guess there would have had to be something of a balance. But what we have, I think, falls a bit short and really does sound created for an audience, page after page. One thing I think a more talented writer might have been able to pull off is to make this diary sound more like a diary, more like it was written as the private thoughts of someone and not to be read by others, less obviously intended for an audience (see the now numerous citations above where, just in the first 26 pages, the writer writes things out that in a private journal, where someone was recording his own thoughts for his own thrill and amusement and actually composing his own verse, would probably have remained unwritten, for instance). It isn't just the lack of sense-memories or any real reveling in the first hand immediacy of actually ripping women open, but the lack of a genuinely private and interior voice that I have been noticing in these cursory and vague little entries.
By the way, Caz mentioned the misspellings. I've been thinking about this. We know about the misspellings in some of the Ripper letters -- whether they were designed for effect by a good speller or simply evidence of a bad speller writing the letter. But here we have a private journal, not written, allegedly, to have an effect on an audience. Why would we or the writer assume that Maybrick would have been such a bad speller? This specifically doesn't make him more of a doer -- it just makes him a bad speller. And he is a successful businessman and reasonably educated -- and yet we get "disire?" And they certainly aren't typos . Isn't this just the writer creating a character from the letters and forgetting, for a moment or two, that he is supposed to be James Maybrick as well? We assume that the bad spelling makes a certain sense, because we're Ripper people and have read the letters and everything. But I'm not sure it really does make that much sense in a private journal of someone like Maybrick. And the bad spelling comes and goes, it seems.
Anyway, these are just some further thoughts this morning, although I need more sleep.
Bye for now,
-- John
PS: Chris, "whoremasters" in Shakespeare, huh? Sounds like a scholarly article, to me. Interesting. I knew it was a very old word from back when lots of people were something-masters... And of course it sounds less Starsky and Hutch than "pimp." As I mentioned once before, my MS Word spell check only suggests "choirmaster" whenever I type it. But I still hear "Beastmaster" or maybe "stairmaster" -- too much pop culture in my brain. |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 10:27 am | | Hi, John:
Yes the bad spelling comes and goes in the night, like Maybrick
Yes indeed the word "whoremaster" occurs a lot of sixteenth and seventeenth century literature it seems. It occurs a number of times in a law case of 1613/14, e.g., "the said defendant in very vehement and malicious manner amongst divers other contumaelious wordes call the plaintiff often tymes whoremaster. . ." See http://www.xea95.dial.pipex.com/worccd1.htm.
Its appearance in Shakespeare's Timon of Athens is rather interesting considering our contemplation of Maybrick's "desire" for a knighthood:
APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.
VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?
FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in.
VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.
FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man. As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st.
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 10:43 am | | Excellent, Chris.
Spirits, Lords, Lawyers, Philosophers and Knights. I love that.
And does anyone want to talk about those two stones? Or Jack's stones? Or the two stones of whoever (male or female) planned out and wrote this diary?
Regarding my earlier review of today's pages -- I still feel cheated that we only get a single page on the double-event. And his anger at that horse (wanting to cut its head off and stuff it down the whore's throat, I seem to recall) really does seem a bit misplaced. Unless, of course, he was trying to convince her or someone close to her to let Johnny Fontane star in a movie.
All right, I'm getting silly. Must sleep. Perchance to dream, not of a headless horseman, but of a headless horse (of course).
Bye,
--John
PS: I forgot to mention that today's last page also gives us the following rather comical, even cartoonish image:
"Within my fright I imagined my heart bounding along the street with I in desperation following it."
Maybe I'm just seeing this as goofy because of my current brain-state, but I think Poe would have probably edited this one out. |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 11:00 am | | Hi, John:
The image of Maybrick's heart "bounding along the street with I in desperation following it" is indeed priceless. I must have skipped over that line in my previous reading of the Diary. The construction "with I in desperation" is another example of an odd, ungrammatical construction, as if penman thought that's the way he would have to sound to be regarded as a Victorian writer. Wrong.
I agree that the treatment of the Double Event in the Diary is cursory. I recall that when I first read the Diary I had to go back and recheck what was said because the speaker rattles through the murders without much thought or detail so that we almost miss that he has done yet another murder.
All the best
Chris |
Author: David Hayes
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 11:02 am | | This may be going out on a limb, but...
What if the diary was begun as fiction? It certainly seems that, through the diligent analysis of Jon, the diary is a competent if not good short story. If the original "penman" had found the story of the Maybricks and decided to place Sir Jim as Jack the Ripper it would have made for an interesting short story (or novel if expounded upon). The diarist's literary skills aside, the story is effective.
Cue the gothic music and the story is found by any number of people (Mike, Anne, Tony, etc.). They take the story, write it in a more-or-less Victorian photo book, buy ink, add vague references to the murders and voila... one forged diary. Mike then stumbles upon the diary, "...from Tony," and manages to convince a publisher of it's literary worth.
Of course there is no proof (like everything else with this damned diary) but I think it's an interesting take. |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 11:21 am | | Hi David,
But what form would this original fictional work have taken? Would it have been notes written out somewhere by someone or a handwritten manuscript or an unpublished typescript or a computer file on a disk somewhere? How would Mike or Anne have just stumbled on such a thing (since we know nothing of that sort had been published or was publicly available)? Given the lives that they were leading at the time and the people that were their friends, how and where would Mike and Anne and/or Tony been likely to have come across such a document, in whatever form?
Still, the one thing that seems to me to indicate that this was probably never intended as a work of fiction is the complete lack of significant psychological character development and any detailed description of events. The text just seems to have been composed in a cursory and fragmentary and sketchy way designed to avoid possible historical conflicts. It could have started as notes towards a fiction -- but there's no way we could tell that, of course. My own hunch (and that's all it is) is that this thing was originally composed with the desire to fool and to resist examination by historical experts in mind. Of course, whoever wrote it might very well have first thought of the idea of a novel or short story where the Ripper turns out to be Maybrick -- began to see the possibilities -- and then realized at some point that it could be easier to write and would probably be a quicker sell if they wrote a fake diary instead. But then what happened to it?
I wish I knew.
--John |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 12:17 pm | | David, you and I are thinking along the same lines. My idea was that it was written as a joke, maybe to scare or trick someone, or so that someone could brag that they had it... and so on, something along those lines. But the thing found a life of it's own and spun out of control. It was only a matter of time before James Maybrick became a ripper suspect anyway, since he was nearby and well known- that's all you seem to need to be a suspect in this case.
Some of you replied to my earlier post saying the diary ink tests are what keeps the diary's authenticity debate alive. This is unrelated, but I was watching a special on crop circles and there were all these experts saying how it would be impossible for someone to make them from the ground, because of all the detail that they cannot see unless they were high above. Space aliens are hinted at. Then, not two weeks later I happen across a show exposing mysteries, and the crop circles are on there. Seems all you need to do is map out your idea with measurements and bring a tape measure with you. So it just makes me think the "experts" are probably hacks half the time, and it must be a lot easier to fool people with a JTR diary then with crop circles. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 12:23 pm | | Hi All,
Just a few quick questions before I leave you all to it for the weekend. (Hubby is cooking fajitas tonight, so I'll be on smoke alarm duty - tee hee.)
So, John and Chris (and anyone else, of course), are you now saying that the diarist could have been misspelling words on purpose?
Keith has a couple of questions for you too, which he says I can put in my own words (because I too wondered about this one). Are you reading the diary, page by page, from the perspective of it being a modern hoax, and, if so, what are your parameters - that it was written between, say, ten and fifteen years ago? Or maybe longer ago than that - say twenty, or even thirty?
Second one for you from Keith - if our modern diarist was using his trusty cane to give us some Emma Smith imagery, is there anything that Melvin, or anyone else, has written to suggest a likely source for his details of her gruesome injuries and death?
Oh, and finally, how much detail do you think a modern forger would need about Maybrick's clerk, Lowry, for the entries which mention him? (And also do we know where this info was likely to have come from?) Is there anything to suggest the faker knew how old Lowry was, for example? Would it have mattered if he didn't? Was he again making everything just vague enough, so he wouldn't be caught out if any new info surfaced? And if so, doesn't this suggest a fair bit of care and thought went in to the composition, at least in this one respect, even if not apparently in others?
All for now.
Toodloo.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 12:29 pm | | Hi, Christopher:
Let me extend my welcome to the boards along with John's, which I failed to extend to you earlier.
I do not agree with your statement that "It was only a matter of time before James Maybrick became a ripper suspect anyway, since he was nearby and well known. . ." Maybrick, if he was thought of at all, would have been regarded as a Liverpool businessman who became an alleged murder victim. It is only the Diary that has thrust him into the spotlight and if the hoax diary had not done so, I very much doubt if he would now be regarded as a suspect. Remember, Liverpool is located 200 miles from London and there would have been little reason to place him in the capital on the nights of the murders. The focus on his alleged but unproven autumn 1888 visits to London and on his common-law wife Sarah Robertson, who lived some years earlier in the East End (thus giving him, supposedly, knowledge of the area where the murders occurred), has only come about because of the emergence of the Diary.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 12:39 pm | | Hi, Caz:
Enjoy your fajitas. Good for hubby donning Chef Emeril's hat. Do fajitas go down well with Freddie Fudpuckers?
Thanks for transmitting Keith's messages to John and myself. I will let John speak for himself, but I am operating from the notion that the Diary was created sometime in the timespan 1987-1992, and most probably in 1991-1992.
As for your other questions, about Lowry, etc., let me give them some thought and write a considered reply tonight.
In regard to Keith's message to Peter Birchwood, does this mean that Keith and Shirley are hoping to get together with Peter and Karoline Leach at the Bournemouth convention?
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 12:44 pm | | Hi again Caz:
I can reply that I don't think the spelling errors are done on purpose, unlike the pretty obviously "staged" spelling errors in the Lusk and Openshaw letters. I rather think that the spelling errors we see in the Diary are 1) because our penman was a bad speller, and 2) because of haste and sloppiness, vide as with the occasional missing words in certain phrases that we have discussed.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 01:01 pm | | Hi Caz, and the ghost of Keith
Good questions.
First, I don't know if the misspellings here were done on purpose or not. But in either case, there's a potential problem. If our diarist was misspelling things on purpose, because they were using the Ripper letters to help draw their characterization of Maybrick, then this would assume that the letters were written in the natural voice of Maybrick (since he would use his own natural voice and not an affected one in his personal and private diary). But why would Maybrick's natural and unaffected voice be given over to such misspellings? On the other hand, if the misspellings were not done on purpose, then this tells us something about our writer, and either how quickly he must have been going or how sloppy and uncomfortable with language he must have been ("disire").
For you and Keith: I am not reading the diary page by page strictly from the perspective of it being a modern hoax. I have no parameters. I am honestly reading the diary page by page and just seeing what hits me on each page, whether what hits me happens to suggest a recent fake or an older fake or a mess of mixed up stuff or contradictory indications or even an authentic and original document. I am not trying to be consistent in my perspective. I don't want to be or to limit myself to any assumptions. I'm just reacting to how each entry and each page strike me and how I see patterns developing and what those patterns seem to be. But I offer no conclusions yet except that I am beginning to lean towards two I mentioned earlier:
"1.) an author carefully avoiding specifics and 2.) an author writing intentionally for an audience (thus the "begin with the pills" and the 'ha ha ha ha has" written out on the page and the other signs that show the writer knows someone is going to read these pages "It has taken me three days..." right when we need to know that three days have passed or the lines about the Jews right when we need them to establish the motive for the graffiti, etc.). If the diary continues this way for the next forty pages, I think we can make a clear and convincing textual case for a writer who has carefully avoided specifics over an extended period of time (evidence of the desire to not be historically reviewable as much as possible) and a writer who knows he or she is writing for an audience. Of course, neither of these characteristics describes James Maybrick writing in his private journal."
Of course, neither of these characteristics clearly indicates a time frame for the composition either, but this is as far as I'd be willing to go at this point.
To be honest, I hadn't myself thought of the cane/Smith link until you mentioned it, Caz. I had only thought of the wishful crowd out there now counting "cane" references in the diary, knowing the diarist's love of wordplay with proper names. I do not believe I have seen anyone offer a specific suggestion as to where, if the cane comments were a pointer in the direction of the Smith case, the diarist might have stumbled onto those details. Although, it should be mentioned that thinking about forcing a long stiff object like a cane up a female victim as a means of torture or abuse is not an especially original criminal idea and could very well have found its way into this diary for any number of reasons. The related Smith detail might simply be a coincidence here. Especially with our stereotype of the Victorian gentleman usually carrying a cane and with our diarist looking to make Maybrick clearly sadistic early in the book. Of course, maybe the diarist was a closet Clockwork Orange fan. Seriously, though, I don't recall seeing anyone offer a specific set of likely sources for this one.
Finally, on the question of care in research and Lowry. I should make it clear that it has never been my contention that the writer of this book did not do some careful research. Indeed, I believe for instance that anyone wanting to pass of a fake Maybrick as Ripper diary would at least have had to garner a number of significant Maybrick personal details and make damn sure Maybrick wasn't known to be somewhere else at the time of the murders (otherwise the whole plan is instantly shot and the fake is instantly discovered and denounced beyond saving). That being said, the entry on Lowry would only really seem to require the man's name and that he worked for Maybrick. But it also raises another question. What is the thing about? Lowry seems to have accused Maybrick of taking something ("missing items") having something to do with writing his diary? But what? And why would Maybrick have to steal them? And why would replacing the items be "too much of a risk?" Is there money involved? I must admit I am confused about this one. It seems deliberately vague. Interestingly, it is in the second Lowry paragraph that the cane-torture image shows up. It goes right from losing the "pleasure of writing my thoughts" to taking the first whore and ramming the cane. I'm not sure I get the link here, unless the latter is supposed to be an example of the former. But the two paragraphs that refer to Lowry here say nothing that I can see about his age or anything about him other than his name. Perhaps there will be entries later that give us more details, I do not know. As I say, I would not claim that care wasn't taken finding the necessary details for this thing. Indeed, I think more care was taken in finding the details and doing the research than was taken in actually writing it. Although, the feat of remaining completely or at least mostly vague about too many reviewable details for sixty-three pages is in itself an impressive one -- even if there is some serious repetition and page-filling verse composition as one way to avoid the problem.
Hope that answers some of the above questions, at least from my perspective. I really have no firm conclusions about any of this yet but am just enjoying the reading and curious each day to see where it takes me.
Thanks Caz and polterKeith,
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 01:45 pm | | Thanks everyone.
Just a final quickie (Freddie Fudpucker in hand, courtesy of a just-arrived hubby and daughter, back home from work and school) about Lowry. I have often wondered if our diarist had Maybrick being livid with his clerk because the scrapbook he was using to record his dark side had also been used for keeping business receipts, or suchlike 'items', and which scrapbook Lowry had noticed had gone missing, causing him to query its whereabouts with his superior. Perhaps Maybrick was meant to be left in a difficult position because it would look odd if he tried to replace the missing items in a different form - hence the lines:
'Give him no reason and order him poste haste to drop the matter, that I believe is the only course of action I can take.'
Pity we don't get any more detail here of what was actually on the diarist's mind when writing - is that odd in itself, if a faker was trying to paint such a picture for his readers, but possibly natural if the writer knows what this is all about so doesn't think to give chapter and verse in his private journal? I don't know.
Must go.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 02:06 pm | | Sorry All,
One more about those possible misspellings. Could our diarist not have thought himself intellectually superior to Maybrick, and simply assumed, wrongly, that his was a reasonable depiction of the cotton merchant's level of literacy? (since we have been allowing that his poetry was bad, but not as bad as he made Maybrick's out to be?)
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 02:30 pm | | Hi Caz,
Fascinating reading of the Lowry exchange! I hadn't thought that Maybrick might have stolen the book. Perhaps that's what our diarist was hinting at and I missed it. Of course, I'm still confused why Maybrick would have had to steal the book and why, when asked, he couldn't have just said he needed it and Lowry should use another one and he'd give Lowry the records to transpose (if there were receipts or records in the first one) or why Maybrick wouldn't have just taken a blank, new one. It all still seems a bit odd. But I like the idea and think maybe we were supposed to get this one as a possible reason the diary was in such a volume -- but I at least missed it.
As to the spelling problems: absolutely, one possible scenario remains that the would-be-diarist had some reason for thinking that Maybrick probably couldn't spell very well other than the Ripper letters (which wouldn't be relevant since the diary would not be for publication or intended to effect an audience). I'm not sure what that reason would have been, of course, but it does suggest that this is at least probably not the relaxed, natural, and private voice of James Maybrick writing in his own diary (or of anyone writing privately in their diary). I do think that the letters clearly did inspire the writer in his characterization of Maybrick though -- there are unmistakable references to and phrases from the letters throughout the book -- so it also remains possible, it seems to me, that the voice in the diary was concocted in part from the voice in the letters and the inconsistency of a public and possibly altered voice (for effect in the letters) not really completely belonging in a private and personal journal was either overlooked or ignored.
It's funny Caz, the missing info on the Lowry event is precisely the sort of thing I would have expected to see more of in a private journal. It's the one time the voice actually sounds like someone writing to themselves and not to us as well. I would have thought most of the journal, most of anyone's journal would be more like this. But perhaps I was supposed to get the idea, as you did, that they were talking about the book and this was a "history of the actual book" story for my benefit as a reader, and I just missed it. One thing that troubles me about the Lowry thing though, is its strategic placement, coming as it does at precisely a point when we need Maybrick to show a nasty violent temper bordering on lack of control as he is about to plan his first murder. But perhaps this staging is a product of my own ear as well.
In any case, thanks for the very provocative thoughts.
You continue to make me think and to make me smile.
All the best,
-- John |
Author: Christopher T George
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 03:26 pm | | Hi, John and Caz:
I may be wrong, but I think it unlikely that a Victorian business would have much need for a scrapbook. This seems more like something to be found in a private home. A Victorian office would more likely have a ledger for any in-house written business records and filing cabinets for receipts from other firms. In fact, this brings up the idea that if this really was Maybrick writing, why didn't he get his hands on an empty ledger and write in that? Why did he have to use a scrapbook in which photographs or other items had been mounted? Possibly if you both are right, though, and the voice in the Diary is inferring that Maybrick pinched the scrapbook from Lowry there may be something else in the Diary that might confirm your suspicion.
I do agree with John that the mysterious exchange and friction between Maybrick and Lowry is just the type of thing we would expect to find in a private diary and that is all too rare in this document. The hostility between Mrs. Hammersmith and Maybrick is another example that we might cite of something seemingly only to be found in the Diary and not all too clear to the reader in all its ramifications.
There is no doubt that the voice in the Diary and much of what he says comes directly from the letters, but usually I think from Dear Boss rather than the Lusk letter. In fact, the only thing that I can think of that is found in Lusk and in the Diary is the idea of cannibalism. The Dear Boss letter with its underlined ha ha's has good quality spelling and is neater than is the Diary but I do think the Diary writer was trying to emulate the September 25 Dear Boss letter and that the misspellings are inadvertent not intentional.
I do also go along with John's reply to David Hayes that it seems unlikely that the Diary was begun as a novel. I think what we see is all there is and there wasn't a fictional forebear as David hypothesizes there may have been.
Have a good weekend all.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Scott Nelson
Friday, 22 June 2001 - 08:32 pm | | | Maybe Lowry was the name of one of the forgers... |
Author: Christopher T George
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 12:54 am | | Hi, Scott:
Thomas Lowry was definitely a clerk in James Maybrick's office. He testified at the trial of Florence Maybrick. So Lowry was a historical person. Now, whether the Lowry in the Diary is historical is another question. Shirley Harrison in her book categorizes Lowry as Maybrick's 19-year-old clerk. Keith had asked what age I thought Lowry was going by the account in the Diary. It is not clear from the Diary what age he is supposed to be. The anger he invokes in Maybrick seems mysterious. It seems to be over several "missing items" so it is not just the scrapbook as John and Caz posited. It could though I suppose be the scrapbook and/or ink and pens. However, why would a middle-aged cotton merchant have to grovel before his 19-year-old clerk? The anger seems contrived, and done I think to show Maybrick generally seething with anger to pump up the man's volatility in the office and at home so he can assume the mantle of Jack. So in this respect there has to be a certain amount of invention to create these situations, but the forger is clever enough to make the anger over undefined objects being missing, to fail to specify a date, etc. So to that extent, I would have to say yes to Keith's question whether I thought "a fair bit of care and thought went in to the composition." As we discussed yesterday, no great literary craft is evident although there is I would have to say a definite astuteness at how far to venture in the Diary's composition in case a misstep is made.
As for the Emma Smith question, and our possible Mrs. Hammersmith/Emma Smith link, Keith asked where the forger might have got the information about the Emma Smith murder and the object thrust into her vagina which may have led to the forger giving Maybrick the fantasy of shoving his cane up a victim's vagina. I should think Martin Fido's book is a very good possibility. Martin in covering the Smith murder states that the gang who attacked Emma Smith "bestially jabbed a blunt stick in her vagina." I also want to note that I had previously noted that for its two appearances in the Dear Boss letter "ha ha" is underlined, which is the way it also appears often in the Diary, which led me to speculate that the forger may have studied the actual facsimile of the letter. Actually, that isn't necessary, because Martin's transcription of Dear Boss shows "ha ha" underlined. It has also been previously noted that in the vicinity of the printing of Dear Boss, Martin also quotes "The Eight Little Whores" poem which is apparently echoed (though not conclusively proved to be copied) in the Diary. Thus, I think that Martin's book, published in 1987, which contains the police list with the words "one tin matchbox empty" as appears almost identically in the Diary, is a most probable source for the Diarist.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 04:49 am | | Hi Chris,
(Yes, I'm still here for a short while today.)
I believe Martin said he didn't feel that his book was used by whoever composed the diary. I think Keith was wondering how closely a forger would have had to study Martin's (or indeed any other) book to find the details he wanted to include, and how thorough he was in avoiding pitfalls etc.
As for the Lowry incident, I don't think I explained my feelings very well. This is the sort of scenario I had in mind:
Maybrick is sitting in his office one day, his mind drifting to the 'whore' and her 'whoremaster' (wonder how well-read or well-informed our modern forger had to be to know and use this word which is listed as 'obs' in my Chambers. Interesting Shakespearian connections too, Chris - thanks). He picks up the scrapbook, which happens to be on the desk and is being used (in lieu of a regular ledger perhaps) to keep some sort of business receipts or records (plural, as in 'items'), and sees a whole section of blank pages which are just crying out to be filled with his dark thoughts. Before he thinks through the consequences he starts to write and can't stop - or doesn't want to stop the process. Later, his clerk notices the scrapbook is not in its normal place and asks, "where are those business records - you know - the ones in that scrapbook you normally keep on your desk? I haven't seen it lately." (BTW, if they are supposed to be Maybrick's own records, he hasn't pinched anything.) This throws Maybrick into a rage - how dare this whippersnapper question him about anything, let alone this book that has become so important to him. Exactly, Chris - he would have been very angry if he had had to 'grovel before his 19-year-old clerk' - in other words, been forced to destroy the diary because of this young man's eagle-eyed observation. He writes:
'Should I destroy this? [The scrapbook] My God I will kill him.'
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 06:32 am | | Hi Caz:
Well I am still not convinced that a case has been made that the writer is implying that the scrapbook was taken from the office. As mentioned, I do not see a scrapbook as being a usual item in a Victorian office. Moreover, Maybrick has supposedly been writing for some days or weeks before the rage at Lowry questioning him occurs. So it isn't as if the scrapbook has been found to be missing right after the writing began, which would, I think, be likely if your scenario is correct.
Martin may not want to believe his book was used for the forgery but as far as I can see, his book lays out many of the ingredients needed to make our guy the Ripper. In his rhyme about Stride's murder, Maybrick writes, "the horse went and shied" and Martin tells us, "the beast shied and refused to go on into the yard" and Maybrick says, "in my estimation I was less than a few feet from him [Diemschutz]" which implies that the horse and driver did not come right upon him as he was busy with Stride.
All the best
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 08:14 am | | Hi Chris,
I was only musing on one possible scenario for what the diary author had in mind when writing the Lowry entry, considering that the main reason for Maybrick's anger appears to be that the clerk's questioning had somehow put him and his diary at such risk that he had to consider destroying it. It's hard for me to imagine how the writer was not suggesting a direct link between his diary and the 'missing items' that Lowry queried.
I'm off. See you all on Monday (Wimbledon permitting).
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 11:16 am | | Morning everyone,
Fascinating discussion. I still have no real idea what happened between Maybrick and Lowry, or if Maybrick's anger is in any way appropriate for the situation. And I certainly don't know the likelihood of using this sort of book for keeping receipts and records in a business office (not very high, I would think). But the text does seem clearly to link the anger and fight with Lowry to the issue of writing in the diary, for whatever reason. ("Should I destroy this?" for instance -- the "Not even God himself will away the pleasure..." line is a bit more problematic, since he could be thinking that worrying about Lowry is, at the moment, taking away his pleasure from writing, I suppose). My own suspicion, as I mentioned originally, is still that this was a device used to demonstrate the raging temper of our hero at the end of June, and the diarist had to get him mad at someone (other than his wife and kids and the whoremaster guy) and the only historical figure that came to mind was our witness-to-be Thomas Lowry, and so there he is, in a vague fight with his boss over something missing from the office and with no details given in any case but with a clear demonstration of the violent desires and temper of our soon-to-be serial killer hero. But, I do admit the possibility that our would-be-diarist also hoped we would figure out that they might be arguing about the book for some reason, and I just missed that one. You never know about such things.
And today we have a mention of the graffiti and some more cannibalism and, I'm afraid, more poetry.
Page twenty-seven begins with the thought of sending Abberline and Warren (not Lusk) a sample or two of the organs he took (for a rainy day). "It goes down well with an after dinner port." (I know, I mentioned the Lechter overtone here -- the "nice Chianti" line -- and of course that isn't necessarily relevant, but if this is a recent work, that certainly might have been in the back of someone's mind). Then there is another reference to the letter --
"Perhaps next time I will keep some of the red stuff and send it courtesy of yours truly."
Now I may just be confused here, and I hope Chris will help me out. This is being written after the double event, at this point in the diary. Hasn't he already sent the letter complaining of having saved the red stuff but not being able to use it and signing it "Yours truly?" Hasn't he already done what he says here he is going to do "perhaps next time?" The letter is dated September 25th, I thought. The double event was the night of the 29th. This entry has to be at least later the evening of the 30th or perhaps even October 1st or so (he's had time to eat something, for instance, and a new page has started a new entry). But he is just now planning to save some of the "red stuff" and "send it courtesy of yours truly." Unless this means "again," or something else, like sending the next victim's blood in a jar to someone or something.... But to me this resonates with plans for the September 25th letter, at least five days after it had already been sent.
Then we get the mention of the "funny Jewish joke" and the regret that he had "no time to write a funny little rhyme." Notice once again, that although the diarist has Maybrick taking credit for the Goulston St. message, he says almost nothing at all about it. Nothing at all about why it was written or what it meant or why it was a joke. Maybrick doesn't even write down a single memory of escaping from Eddowes body or going to Goulston St. or hiding at the site of the graffiti or anything. In fact, now that I think of it, not once has Maybrick written down any memories at all about approaching any of the women or how they looked or what they said or what they were wearing or how he escaped afterwards or his travels back to his flat or his travels back to Liverpool afterwards, so far. Nothing, of course, that might be checked for possibility or consistency or accuracy by someone with a map of the East End and a knowledge of the murder sites.
Also, I'm sure people have noticed, although he writes about having put up his "funny Jewish joke," there is no mention of any apron piece or of wiping anything clean or needing to wipe anything clean. I will say this, though, either our diarist just naturally is satisfied with the mere mention of things, or they show admirable and intelligent restraint in refraining from discussing too many items and events and putting themselves at any risk of inaccuracy. This is either the sign of a lazy mind, that is happy just to mention and move on, or the sign of disciplined mind, that knows how to avoid trouble through restraint. It's either luck or skill here, and we can't determine which.
Now James plans to send a poem to "Central" to make them remember him "Will give them something to know it is me." It seems possible that this line indicates that there will be something in the verses that are about to be created for sending off to Central that will let them know that he is Jack for sure. This should be important, because logically then, these verses should let us know that, too. Let's see.
We have a few details -- a rose, red hair, that horse again, and sweet scented breath. Now as Ripper people, we get the reference to the cachous here and the horse, etc. -- more word games for the aficionados it seems to me -- but then come the lines that everyone has argued about.
"tin match box empty" Does this have to be a reference to the exact same phrase appearing on the held back possessions list? Was the possessions list in fact available to the public and when was it first available? What does the appearance of this line indicate? These are the questions that have already been much discussed on these boards. And is it possible that someone would write "tin match box empty" without having seen the possessions list, just by coincidence using the same word order (it's only four words, after all)? And what is this talk, in the scratched out line of "the whores knife?" Is this another sign that the writer is working from the list?
I'm happy to let my fellow readers continue the discussion about these controversial items. Perverse as I am, I want to talk about meter and rhyme some more. The quatrain in Section I of the poem that he chooses to leave intact has given up all its hope of rhyme or regular meter -- although the individual lines themselves scan well enough, together they are a mess.
"One whore no good,
decided Sir Jim strike another.
I showed no fright and indeed no light,
damn it, the tin box was empty"
"empty?" as a rhyme for... OK. Maybe this one simply got lost in the composition process (the stanzas above still seek a rhyme scheme, as do those below). We'll know more tomorrow, when we see the finished poem in its final version three pages later. The unscratched-out quatrain on this page in "Section II" (and I love the Roman numerals, by the way, a nice touch -- it's like it's real poetry) also reveals the eating of the "cold kidney for supper."
And then, as these three pages end, there is a word list. This has always struck me as interesting, and I've always thought that here we might have our author perhaps playing a game with us or perhaps working out his verse on the page. Of course, all of this is a good way to take up space and pages, too. But I attempted to look at this list for clues -- to see if I am being told anything or given any hints.
Here is the list:
bastard
Abberline
bonnett
hides all
clue
clever
will tell you more
It's like one of those word problems in the newspapers. We know our diarist is going to try and construct verses for another message to Central. He does. The finished poem appears a few pages later -- and hints about "redeeming" something and "poste haste" will appear in a second list as well before the final version is drawn up starting three pages later on 238 in the Hyperion.
But here's the thing about the first word list, reprinted above. Not all of the words make the final poem or even any of the drafts of it. "bastard" never makes it in, although we have seen our hero use that term before and it is not out of place, especially followed as it is by Abberline. And we know that the poem speaks of Abberline holding clues back and hiding them and that Jim thinks he is clever and is going to tell us more. So most of these words make sense and find their way into the poem as well. But "bonnett" remains unmentioned. I can find no reference again to "bonnett" in the further composition of the poem and I can find no reference to "bonnett" in the attempted verses immediately prior to this list.
How did "bonnett" get in here and what happened to it afterwards?
And just for fun, do the letters or the letter sequence "b-a-b-h-c-c-w" suggest anything to anyone? It's just my own personal curiosity. The words in this list are stacked on top of each other and "bonett" seems just added for some reason and these are the first letters of each line -- so I thought I'd ask, as a lark.
Tomorrow we will see what this verse finally becomes and wonder what these awkward lines mean:
"For I could not possibly redeem it here
of this certain fact, I could send him poste haste
if he requests that be the case."
By this point, I really do start to feel we are being played with as readers. And I would finally offer one little piece of random speculation -- it seems to me our author has more fun with these little word games and is enjoying himself more here than he does when he has to write the prose entries and recount the murders and talk of family and life and stuff. Our writer, perhaps, is more of a game player than a writer (or killer).
Just a thought. Enjoy the day, everyone,
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 05:54 pm | | Hello again, everyone.
Since no one has taken the bait, I thought I'd try and answer my own question concerning the odd presence of "bonnett" in the word list in the diary, even though "bonnett," unlike the other words, never makes it into the poetry that follows.
Remember, the diarist is allegedly composing the verses right after the double event.
Well, it turns out that the police possessions list, yes the very same one that gives us "1 Tin Match Box empty" -- the line that also appears in the diary -- that list begins with the following:
"Black straw bonnet trimmed with green &black Velvet and black beads, black strings. The bonnet was loosely tied, and had partially fallen from the back of her head, no blood on front, but the back was lying in a pool of blood which had run from the neck."
And yes, I transcribed that beginning to the possessions list from the one that appears in boldface on the bottom of page 68 of Martin's book. Although this list remains available from other sources and has been for some time.
The appearance of the word "bonnett" in the diary wordlist even though it never gets into any of the verse (perhaps the diarist intended something about the bonnet is his poetry and forgot), right near the "tin match box empty" line in the diary, suggests to me that the diarist might well have had the list in front of him when he was working on these two pages of the diary.
Of course, that doesn't address the question of the "red stuff" quote above and the apparent mistiming of it, if the Dear Boss letter had already been sent days before our diarist thinks of saving the "red stuff" and sending it in a letter ("perhaps next time").
But I did think the "bonnet" in the list on these same pages as the "tin match box" line and at the very beginning of the possessions list was very suggestive.
Thought I would add that this afternoon to my reading of today's pages above.
Thanks,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Saturday, 23 June 2001 - 11:44 pm | | Hi, John:
Sorry not to have answered your prior message. I was puzzling over the list of words that you cited and wondering whether there might, as you say, be some sort of anagram here. The plain fact though is that I am not good at anagrams and feel intimidated by those types of puzzles. You might though be right that there is something hidden here. Or is it just a list of words such as our versifier might believe poets would make? Another puzzle! 
The list that you gave reads:
bastard
Abberline
bonnett
hides all
clue
clever
will tell you more
From this by using various letter combinations, we can derive the names "barrett" plus "anne" and "billy" and "tony devereau" [sic] -- and even "cane" but not "kane." Does this mean anything? Of course I am just playing around, but the letters needed to form those names are there if you look for them. Possibly someone with better capability at anagrams can make something more of these letter combinations than I can.
I think you might well be right that "bonnett" appears in the list because "bonnet" heads the police list printed in Martin's book. As for the mention that "I will keep some of the red stuff stuff and send it courtesy of yours truly" I agree that this is a slip-up. The writer probably forgot that the September 25 letter received before this entry was supposedly written went into the matter of trying to write with "the red stuff." Possibly by this time, the writing was almost taking on a life of its own and the Diarist was so immersed with his rhyming and wordplay that he or she was not being as careful about coordinating what is being put in the Diary with the sequence of events of the case.
By the way, the fact that Maybrick is made to say he "will send Central another [letter] to remember me by" is, to my mind, another duff note. Why would Maybrick or anyone of the day call the Central News Agency by the rather odd shorthand term "Central"? They might call it the "Central News" or the "CNA" but "Central" seems an unlikely designation to me. In fact, the Dear Boss letter and postcard were both addressed to the "Central News Office."
These are a few thoughts. Possibly someone else can help with the anagram possibility. Meanwhile, I look forward to your next installment on the succeeding pages as we continue this rather fascinating voyage through the very perplexing pages of the Diary.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Sunday, 24 June 2001 - 11:35 am | | Hi Chris, and good morning everyone,
I, too, am terrible when it comes to those little word puzzles and anagrams in the paper and so I am happy to leave it to the more playful to read the word lists that appear in the diary for hidden clues.
In the meantime, the next three pages get us halfway through the book. And so, today we reach the midpoint of the diary and we get to see the final version of the poem-in-progress and we get set up for the first occurrence of domestic violence -- the first time in the book that James strikes his wife -- and, soon, the climactic murder.
We have already seen the latest poem underway, with its talk of Abberline as a "clever little man" (and I still hear an old Python sketch in which the mother of the Minister for Overseas Finance talks to her adult son like a baby "oooh, he's such a clever little boy..." right before her friend explodes -- "Oh, mother, don't be so damn sentimental, people explode every day.") But the poem mentions that Abberline "keeps back all that he can" (a reference to the possessions list that the text suggests the diarist has in front of him in one form or another?) and asks the question "did I not leave him a very good clue?" and here, I suspect we are to think of the carved initials, perhaps.
The there is another word list, made up of material for the second part of the poem. It reads:
Sir Jim trip over
fear
have it near
redeem it near
case
poste haste
The questions of what is to be "redeemed" and where and why the insistence on the "poste haste" spelling and phrase seem the first to arise. In the poem, the poet implies that Abberline expects him to "redeem" something and thereby give himself away, but he is smarter than that and knows that he cannot possibly "redeem it here" and then offers to send Abberline, "poste haste," proof of his identity (the thing which can be redeemed, perhaps) if Abberline asks for it. Clearly, something is being hinted at here for us to follow. At this point any ideas from fellow readers would be appreciated. I have one or two, but they are sketchy at best.
Finally, all by itself, the line "Am I not a clever fellow" once again appears.
I would want to point out again that all this repetition and apparent revision (not much ever actually gets changed, by the way, the revisions are mostly an illusion created by a struck out line or two), all serve to take up page after page without the writer ever having to say anything specific or concrete or detailed about Maybrick, his life, his family, his business, or about Jack, his crimes, his comings and goings, his reasons for writing graffiti, the apron piece, or anything that might be reviewable.
But we do have a small paragraph of prose inserted here before the final draft of our poem appears. And that paragraph includes something that is perhaps worth noting. There is, near its end, for the only time I have seen so far, a sentence where words are actually, perhaps deliberately, obscured after they have been written. In fact, most if not all of the simple strike-outs we have seen so far have been in the poetry (again, I think to provide the appearance of the process of composition -- although we can and perhaps are meant to read the struck-through lines in the poetry as well). But now a line is struck through a prose section and the second part of the phrase is completely obscured with a smudge of some sort (as if the diarist finally actually did write something he did not want the reader to see).
At the beginning of the paragraph, the alleged writer, after being pleased with his own cleverness, mentions his creation of his murderous character's new name: "That should give the fools a laugh, it has done so for me, wonder if they have enjoyed the name I have given?" (One small grammar comment: the diarists penchant for not using periods and stringing several sentences along using commas in this way sounds rather 20th centuryish to me. But I am not an expert on the history of grammar as it relates to writing styles of different periods. I do know that I often write this way, and it bothers my better-half, who is more of a purist. She tells me I do this because I am a Modern and Pomo lit scholar while she is trained in the literature of a more distant time. Perhaps.) And here again, there is also a remark concerning the intention to send another missive, this time including the poem, and, oddly, the insistence that "That will convince them that it is the truth I tell."
Once again, "Maybrick" has here suggested that there is something in this poem that would make the authorities certain that the writer of it is Jack the Ripper. When we see the final version of the poem immediately following this paragraph, the only clues that seem to be offered are the interruption of the horse, the "sweet breath" from the cachous, the tin matchbox empty, the "eating cold kidney," the leaving of a "very good clue," and the mysterious something that remains to be redeemed. The text implies that one or more of these things could have only been known by the Ripper at the time and the poem would therefore indicate that the poem's writer was the killer. It is left unclear (of course) just which of these clues Maybrick thinks will positively convince the authorities of the intended letter's authenticity. But the poem’s last line has me leaning towards the offer to send word about the thing to be redeemed. "Of this certain fact I could send him poste haste/ If he requested that be the case."
As in all prosaic interruptions in the diary, there is, in this paragraph, the requisite cursory mention of a family member and dinner plans (without, once again, anything specific or checkable or detailed) -- just in case we were beginning to think it had been too long since any daily life had shown up (of course it's only a mention here and it is never discussed, as usual). Then there is an odd moment where we have Maybrick, writing in his diary, announcing to himself that he plans to allow his wife the chance to see her lover tonight. Putting aside the question of why he would actually write down his plans about this in his own journal written to himself, it is worth noting that the link between being in a "good mood" and letting Florie cuckold him is once again a strange one:
"I am in a good mood, believe I will allow the whore the pleasure of her whore master, will remark an evening in the city will do her good, will suggest a concert. I have no doubt the carriage will take the bitch straight to him."
(Note again the oddly strung-together, telegraphic grammar of that first sentence.)
And then, once again, we get a sentence or two (after the obscured and false start) that seems to me to reinforce and idea Caz and I had earlier about this "Maybrick" having a cuckold sexual fetish as well as a raging jealousy. After thinking about Florie riding to her lover's home, he writes:
"I will go to sleep thinking about all they are doing. I cannot wait for the thrill."
So here again we get evidence that Caz's earlier reading of lines -- suggesting that James has played this fantasy game with Florie before (she cried out, or something, I recall) -- was perhaps a correct one. Clearly, the implication here is that James is not only murderously jealous, but also sexually excited at the thought of his own cuckolding. (This is a well-known psychological combination, by the way, to a much less violent extent, within the community of cuckold-fetishists. More info on this is readily available on various web sites.) But an interesting problem arises here. Was our diarist somehow privy to some information that James was not only jealous of his wife's affairs but also got a sexual thrill from thinking of them? (Where would such information be available -- in Maybrick books?) Or is this actually a bit of information about our writer's own fantasy life and/or interests that has worked its way into the creation of his main character's psychology? That seems to me to be an intriguing possibility.
Incidentally, I do not know why the first "I will go" sentence in the paragraph was struck through and the second half of it smudged out. Perhaps this was simply a writing accident. But such an event does seem to be a rare thing in the prose paragraphs.
Finally, of course, we have the finished version of our poem. The rhythm and meter and rhyme scheme are by now hopelessly random and out of control, but we do have four stanzas -- two of seven lines and then two of six. It is, finally, barely a poem. But it marks the halfway point of our journey.
Tomorrow we will see more comments about illness and, as I mentioned, a domestic violence incident and a subsequently duplicitous apology, and then, quickly enough, the climactic murder.
Also, for Mike Barrett fans out there, we will read this line, referring to James's brother:
"Poor Michael he is so easily fooled."
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Sunday, 24 June 2001 - 11:49 am | | Hi, John:
I will answer more at length later but surely the "redeem it near" line refers to the pawn ticket for the pawning of the boots belonging to Eddowes' boyfriend, John Kelly, on the morning of September 29 (Begg et al., JtR A to Z, 3rd edition, p. 123). Because no pawn ticket is listed among Eddowes' possessions as given in the police list or apparently in newspaper reports, which adds sundry other items in her possession, is the supposed killer, or rather the writer of the fake Diary, trying to display some inside knowledge here?
All the best
Chris |
Author: John Omlor
Sunday, 24 June 2001 - 12:34 pm | | Hi Chris,
See, I thought that too. The pawn ticket was the first thing that came to my mind. But then I wondered why the diary would have implied that this poem could only have come from the Ripper. Weren't Eddowes' movements on the day of the murder fairly well-known, even at the time, and wasn't the fact that she and Kelly had pawned the boots that day already published in contemporary reports? But you may be right. The implication may be here that James actually has the ticket (did Kelly ever produce it?) and can send it to Abberline as proof of his identity. I wonder why it never turned up in the mail, then?
And yes, in case anyone is wondering, the fact that Eddowes and Kelly went to a pawn shop on the day of the murder is mentioned on the very same page that the possessions list begins (with the description of the aforementioned bonnet) in Martin's book (68). If Chris is right, and the "redeem" passage is a reference to the boots being pawned, then that makes five specific references -- the pawn ticket, the bonnet, the tea, the sugar, and the tin match box (and perhaps the table knife, "the whores knife") -- at least five references on these two diary pages containing a poem about the Eddowes murder -- that are all available on two pages of Martin's book (68 and 70).
Of course, all these references except the pawn ticket come from the possessions list and the pawning of the boots is much discussed in plently of other places. I could have said the exact same thing about the A-Z, for instance. The pawning is discussed on page 123 and the possessions list appears starting on the bottom of the very next page and finishes on 125.
In any case, it really does seem possible that our writer had the list in front of him as he worked out this poem and that somewhere near the list he also saw the mention of the boots being pawned.
Thanks, Chris.
"Aren't you a clever little fellow, ooh yes, such a clever little boy... Do you like your rattle? Do you like your rattle?"
"Ah, yes, the rattle. Very good."
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Sunday, 24 June 2001 - 01:16 pm | | Hi, John:
Here's the answer on the pawn ticket. From the list of Catherine Eddowes' belongings on this site http://www.casebook.org/victims/eddowes.html?show=all:
"Mustard tin containing two pawn tickets, One in the name of Emily Burrell, 52 White's Row, dated August 31, 9d for a man's flannel shirt. The other is in the name of Jane Kelly of 6 Dorset Street and dated September 28, 2S for a pair of men's boots. Both addresses are false."
In his inquest testimony (The Times, 3 October 1888), John Kelly stated:
"The reason which had induced him at length to call at the police-station was his having read about pawntickets being found near the murdered woman relating to pledges in the names of Kelly and Birrell [sic]. Further questioned on this point, he repeated the reference to the pledging of his boots with a pawnbroker named Jones, of Church-street, and stated that the ticket for the other article (a flannel shirt), pledged in the name of Emily Birrell, had been given to them by the latter, who had been with them hopping, and who had slept in the same barn with them."
I hope this helps. Possibly then Maybrick was not claiming to have had the pawn ticket(s) in his possession, but was only musing on the fact that he could have redeemed the tickets if he had so wished.
Best regards
Chris |
Author: John Omlor
Sunday, 24 June 2001 - 01:44 pm | | Hi Chris,
Right. This is what troubled me about the implication in the diary that a.) Maybrick had the pawn ticket to redeem and b.) that he could send it to Abberline and this would prove the authenticity of his letter.
It is of course possible that the "redeem" line means something else entirely and doesn't refer to these pawn tickets at all and that what "Maybrick" is thinking would prove his identity is something else written into the poem, rather than the redeeming of any ticket.
And we can see by your citation that the existence of the tickets was known at the time and reported (Kelly saw it). So this would, in any case, not have been definitive evidence that the poem must have come from Jack. That's why I resisted originally speculating that Maybrick was claiming to have a pawn ticket to redeem. It didn't seem to make sense to me.
But perhaps our diarist was just working in anything he could, using Eddowes' possessions, and figured no one would notice that the tickets were still there on the body and thus Maybrick couldn't have had one. Or perhaps the "redeem" line is meant to to suggest something entirely different. Perhaps something vaguely about redemption -- although it is clearly used as a verb in the text:
"For I cannot redeem it here" and earlier "I could not possibly redeem it here."
To me, this sounds like he is claiming to have the ticket that we know he cannot actually have. The phrase "redeem it near" is even in the original word list for this stanza. Unless he is somehow saying that because he lives in Liverpool, he did not take the tickets, because he could not redeem them there. But the stanza concludes, still speaking of Abberline and his "trap":
"Of this certain fact I could send them poste haste
If he requested that be the case"
So it still seems as if he thinks Abberline knows the real Ripper might have the ticket, and it also seems as if Maybrick is claiming he does and can produce it. But this would make no sense, given what we know about how Eddowes was identified.
One small detail worth noting. The pawn tickets found on Eddowes and listed on the Casebook page do not appear listed in the official police possessions list printed in Martin's book. The tickets are mentioned by Inspector Edward Collard in his satement at the Inquest (he tells the court that he received them and the tin from Sgt. Jones [Ultimate Comp. 202] ). But although Martin's book mentions that Eddowes had pawned the boots, it does not, on that page, mention the tickets as part of Eddowes' possessions, since it reprints the official police list. However, Martin's chapter on Eddowes begins one page prior to the page with the list, and in its very opening sentences mentions that the tickets were found on Eddowes. So unless the writer was reading pages 68 and 69, but had not read page 67 of Martin's book, he or she should have known that the tickets had been left in the tin with the body. On the other hand, if the writer had only a copy of the list itself in front of him and a mention that Eddowes had pawned stuff earlier that day, he might have thought that the tickets could have been taken by James/Jack and later been used to identify himself or even redeemed.
The implication in the diary text is that Abberline has somehow set up a trap and expects "Maybrick/Jack" to redeem something, but that our hero is too smart for that.
But it appears that the mystery as to just what this means must remain, I'm afraid, another reading problem for us.
--John
PS: Oh yeah, all these details about Eddowes' belongings -- the tin match box and tea and sugar and pawn tickets and knife and bonnet -- and the mention of the "funny little Jewish joke," and yet nothing about the apron piece... Hmmm. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 08:40 am | | Hi All,
A quick question, followed by an even quicker observation, then I have to compose a letter to Mr. Cohen, my trusty accountant, before settling down to watch some of the action on the first day at Wimbledon.
Question:
Would we have known if Eddowes had pawned more than the man's shirt and boots, had any tickets gone missing from her mustard tin, over and above the two that were actually found? For example, could she have possessed and pawned a third item, using yet another alias and false address, that might not have been remembered, or missed, or thought worth mentioning (by John Kelly or anyone else), had the ticket never come to light - a spare bonnet, normally pinned to her dress perhaps, like the later murder victim Frances Coles? Why would ‘Maybrick’ necessarily be writing about one of the two tickets which were found? (To ‘redeem’ can also mean simply to ‘rescue’ or ‘get back’, so is there also a possibility that our diarist is writing about an item belonging to Maybrick, accidentally left at the crime scene, and imagines that Abberline is holding this info back in case the killer returns to look for it – which of course he won’t do now, because a) he’s back in Liverpool, and b) he is a clever fellow who has seen the potential trap?)
Observation:
If our diarist is composing while studying a list of Eddowes’s possessions, whether or not Martin’s book is being used, he/she still manages to misspell - or, more accurately, mistranscribe ‘bonnet’ as ‘bonnett’ (as with the five words over two lines from Crashaw, staring out from the page, if the Sphere vol 2 is supposed to be lying open on his/her lap, when the first word ‘O’ becomes ‘Oh’, and the fifth and final word ‘deaths’ becomes ‘death’).
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 10:36 am | | Hi Caz,
As I mentioned once before, I do think that it is possible that the "redeem" lines could refer to something entirely different that the pawn tickets mentioned in the Eddowes case. It could be a reference to something like the item left at the scene, which you describe above. But the fact is that the diarist is at this point writing about the double-event murders and about Eddowes' possessions in his little poem and he does use the words "redeem it near" and “redeem it here," so it seemed only natural at first thought, for both Chris and I apparently, to think of the pawn tickets in the tin. The tickets were known items and they fit the pattern here and they would be appropriate objects for the verb. But the possibility that something else is actually being discussed certainly remains.
And I suppose there could have been a third ticket which no one ever mentioned, including Kelly and the pawnshop -- but I would think once a murder investigation has started and an inquest is conducted, this information would have come out -- especially if Kelly had read about two pawn tickets in the press and took enough interest to talk to the police about them. I would think at least the pawnshop would have told the police "Oh yeah, she also pawned this; didn't you find that ticket as well? I wonder where it is?" and the police would have become very interested. I am afraid that if we start positing tickets that have never been mentioned by anyone, we are in danger of really starting to reach (as has been done before, with the existence of a mysterious "third diary or book," for instance). But if there was a third ticket, that only the killer knew about, this could very well have been why the "Maybrick" character is saying that it would prove the authenticity of his letter to the authorities.
Hello everyone,
We are back to prose. I'm sure many of you are grateful. As the final draft of the "funny little rhyme" ends, a line is drawn and a new entry begins with the lines "It has been far too long since my last, I have been unwell.”
I think we are supposed to notice here the passing of time (since there is such a gap between the double event and the Kelly murder). It is almost a school excuse note. "Please excuse James from his regular serial killing, he has been sick." But an interesting event takes place as a result of Florence talking with the doctor about James's "strong medicine." He gets angry at her and hits her. "It was a pleasure, a great deal of pleasure." The incident of James striking Florie would have had to have been worked into the diary at some point, of course, because of historical accounts. But James acts the part of the abusive and then repentant husband and, as if he were OJ, tells us "I apologised, a one off instance, I said, which I regretted and I assured the whore it would never happen again." But then he adds, so that we know it is a ruse (because we are not very smart readers apparently, in the eyes of our author): "The bitch believed me."
Sometimes it does seem to me that these entries are going out of their way to establish James's purely evil quality. They work so hard at making him an utterly remorseless villain at this point (and then later, as we will see, start filling him with pain and regret, a la a made-for-tv murder movie) without any redeeming characteristics, that it is easy to forget that this is supposed to be a man writing to himself in his own journal.
In any case, it should be noticed here that the pattern repeats itself. After a lengthy attempt at verse, there is as usual an immediate mention of family life for a few lines. The striking of Florie and a thought or two about Michael ("Poor Michael he is so easily fooled.") are then followed by a joke about kidneys and a nice and neat sentence linking us to another murder in the works: “I hope kidneys are on the menu, ha ha. Will put me in the mood for another little escapade. Will visit the city of whores soon, very soon. I wonder if I could do three?”
Now again, remembering that this is someone writing in his own journal and not for readers, that line that ends "soon, very soon" seems awfully stylistically self-conscious to me. Writing to himself, is he likely to have added that dramatic last "very soon"? And another thing: it is beginning to occur to me that this diary often has transitional sentences at the end of its paragraphs, even between entries that are days or weeks apart. This also seems to me to suggest that these entries are written as part of a coherent work rather than as a running journal. One entry often leaves off mentioning the topic that will begin then next, as it does here, for instance. If you know what is coming when you write, this is a normal and even natural thing to do. But if you are writing and then closing the book and living your life for a few days or weeks and then opening it and writing something again, this would be far less likely. It just seems unnaturally neat and coherent and organized to me. But that is just an impression.
The next paragraph is rather difficult to follow.
Apparently, because he has told Michael he no longer sleepwalks, he has to go to Michael's for dinner, and that prevents him from going out to commit another murder (perhaps because he staying at Michael's rather than his London flat). Consequently, he takes the largest dose ever of his arsenic and it causes him great pain. He has to stop his mouth with a handkerchief to muffle his cries and he vomits several times. Thinking about it makes him shudder and he vows to stop.
But, in case we believed him, after a space on the page, our diarist writes
"I am convinced God placed me here to kill all whores, for he must have done so, am I still not here. Nothing will stop me now. The more I take the stronger I become."
So his thoughts of kicking his habit last barely a line. And this is consistent with the pattern of this diary to let nothing last for more than a few lines or a paragraph. A lot of potential trouble is avoided that way.
But two things make the prior paragraph odd. First, the sentence that gets out of control:
"I cursed my own stupidity, had I not informed Michael that I no longer sleepwalked I was forced to stop myself from indulging in my pleasure by taking the largest dose I have ever done."
I'm not quite sure what happened to the grammar here. It does look like sentences I see in student papers sometimes, where it simply gets out of the writer's hands. But even more interesting is the final sentence of the paragraph, where James gives us a bit of stage direction:
"The pain was intolerable, as I think I shudder."
Again, this is a private journal, and here is a guy not only writing what he thinks ("The pain was intolerable") but what he does while he thinks it. "as I think I shudder." Who is this detail for?
I want to stop abruptly here, although I have only read two short pages this morning, because the Kelly murder is approaching and I have an appointment. (That sounded evil.) It should be noted that our diarist does not allow James to think "No more" for more than a moment -- and reassures us quickly that our murderer is back in character right away and is planning to kill again. It is all very carefully constructed, it seems to me. And the next page announces Mary Kelly's murder -- the violent climax of our hero's exploits.
Soon we will hear about "the very best."
Thanks for reading this rather too-quick review, and I will be back this afternoon to discuss other possible readings of these two little pages.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 11:30 am | | Hi, John:
Thanks for this morning's post and I will look forward to the one you will post this afternoon.
It does not seem to fit with our idea that the little list of words came largely from the police list of Eddowes' belongings, but "redeem" if it does not come from the idea of redeeming a pawn ticket could come from the idea of redemption for the killer, although that I think is an unlikely reading. I still think it likely that the killer is implying that he looked in the mustard tin, saw the two pawn tickets, and decided not to redeem them. However, that is in itself somewhat of a ridiculous scenario! The killer, with a few scant minutes to disembowel his victim in the dark corner of a city square and extract a kidney and an uterus, perform the facial mutilations, etc., has time to sort as if at leisure in a lighted room through her long list of belongings, coming to the "tin matchbox empty" and the mustard tin with the two pawn tickets, which he decides not to redeem. All this before P.C. Plod comes tramping up the passage. Please!
By the way, what does the line about him saying he took all he could away with him mean? Does this mean the kidney and uterus and perhaps the piece of apron? It is very noticeable that the missing piece of apron, actually a very large piece of cloth although penman might not have known that, and the Goulston Street graffito do not figure at all, except for a "hint" at the graffito in talking about leaving his little Jewish joke. Thus the penman is laying claim to having left the graffito but leaving out entirely the circumstances of writing the graffito in a doorway above a bloody piece of apron from his freshly killed victim, how he managed with much difficulty to write "The Juwes are the men who will not be blamed for nothing" on brickwork in the dark with his pursuers close at hand, why "Juwes" or "Jewes" is spelled so oddly and the wording so ambiguous, whether he used any kind of illumination to write the words, etc. Indeed, what type of illumination did he use to do his work in Mitre Square???? No, the narrative reads as if the penman has just read about these things rather than experienced them.
As you are, John, I am also interested in the odd spelling "bonnett" and wonder if we are right that the list including "bonnett" is an anagram of some kind whether the extra "t" might be needed to give the solution to the word puzzle. We may be reading too much into all this, but perhaps someone who likes word puzzles could help us.
As for today's reading, I agree that "Maybrick" is setting the stage for the final big murder, and I agree that the penman needs to portray Maybrick as a vicious type, thus necessitating the blow to Florie. Actually, Florie escapes pretty lightly though doesn't she when you consider that she is the main target of his rage???? I also think that the strong medicine causing the vomiting is put in because 1) the penman needs to show that the medicine is unhinging Maybrick's mind, and 2) he/she needs to prepare us for Maybrick's ultimate death by arsenic poisoning.
I note your interest in the sentence that gets out of control:
"I cursed my own stupidity, had I not informed Michael that I no longer sleepwalked I was forced to stop myself from indulging in my pleasure by taking the largest dose I have ever done."
First, let me remark that I think the device of sleepwalking is kind of interesting, typically Victorian in a way. Second, this is a prime example of one of the run-on sentences that characterize the writing in the Diary and that I think are almost assuredly not the type of sentences a Victorian merchant would have written. It is another example of the "oddly strung-together, telegraphic grammar" that you have noted elsewhere.
I am also interested in the other sentence you mention: "The pain was intolerable, as I think I shudder."
"as I think I shudder." ?????
"I am James Maybrick. I think therefore I am."
Again a very odd construction! This wording is almost as priceless as the line you pointed out about his heart leaving his body and bounding down the street with him running after it! Are these items again examples of penman's sloppiness or indications of his or her level of education? It could be either or both.
One other thing, the spelling "poste haste", as has been pointed out before by Paul Begg, is consistent with the writer's spelling of "Poste House." I think it would be very interesting to know if any of the people connected with the Diary spell (or spelled) "post" as "poste."
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Mark List
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 12:53 pm | | What about the watch?
If everything we've been looking at show a forgery, even recent, there's still the question of the Watch.
Is it possible that the watch sparked the idea of the diary and not the other way around, as one might think?
Tests on the watch state that the bit of copper that was left by the writing instrument have been there for a while--not recently.
Mark |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 01:46 pm | | Hi John,
'I am afraid that if we start positing tickets that have never been mentioned by anyone, we are in danger of really starting to reach (as has been done before, with the existence of a mysterious "third diary or book," for instance).'
I would normally agree wholeheartedly. But if our hoaxer was thinking of something, or things, 'that have never been mentioned by anyone', apart from 'Maybrick' in this wretched book, then we can surely be allowed the odd guess or three as to what he may have had in mind, no?
Incidentally, you assumed that Eddowes always went to the same pawnbroker, in which case, as you rightly suggest, he might well have known about other items she had pawned of late, and told the police. But if she had done business with more than one pawnbroker, giving false details, and not yet redeemed an item, would they be expected to connect her with the dead woman Eddowes? I don't know. And would John Kelly have been aware of every item Eddowes possessed, or every occasion she pawned something, or every pawnbroker she used?
Hi Chris,
Could the empty tin match box not have been Maybrick's, at least according to our hoaxer, instead of having him find this item among Eddowes's possessions?
'One whore no good,
decided Sir Jim strike another.
I showed no fright and indeed no light
damn it, the tin box was empty'
Was our hoaxer playing word games again, first suggesting that Maybrick decided to strike another whore, and 'showed no fright' in striking so soon again after Stride, but then turned it into deciding to strike another match, which he couldn't because the damned tin [match] box was empty, and therefore he showed 'no light'? Trying to match up or spark off (sorry) the two images robbed him of any hope of producing a bright (!) verse that rhymed or scanned remotely well.
Hi Mark,
Yes, that pesky watch does keep ticking away in the background, doesn't it, giving us pause...
Love,
Caz |
Author: Mark Goeder
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 01:49 pm | | Hi Mark
Without trying to get myself too mixed up here, what you are suggesting is that someone found the watch which sparked off the idea about forging a diary.
That would make the founder of the watch the writer of the diary.
How do you suppose the Writer of the diary found the watch in the first place?.He must of either found it by luck or he forged the watch himself.
But if he forged the watch first, why didnt he try to cash on it then?Whats the point in writing a diary KNOWING that some one is going to try to prove thats its a hoax.
As you said in your post, the copper( or was it brass?) found on the watch had been there for a while..not recent
If the watch is old and the diary was written between 1989 and 1991 as widely suggested,who had the watch for this period of time.
RK Wild analysis of the watch states, " probably greater than tens of years old".
If you are correct, and the diary was written based upon the watch then the diary must be as old as the watch itself and must have been the work of one person alone which would make the diary an old forgery( 40 - 50 years at least )
But are there not one or two facts in the diary that no one could have known untill the end of the 80's?
If the diary is a hoax then I think its more than probable that the writer of the diary also forged the watch.If not, then that complicates things a little.
2 seperate Maybrick forgeries by two different people who couldnt have known about each other.
Isnt that too good to be true?
Please try to overlook any bad syntax as I rarely have the chance to write in English.
bye
Mark |
Author: Mark List
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 02:13 pm | | "...Ah, what a tangled web we weave..."
Oh, by the way, as I was reading (skimming) through the Diary this weekend (in between frames of bowling) I found it insanely odd that our writer decides not to include his deepest thoughts in this book. ex. "...I remember all..." "I have read of my deeds ... done me proud..."
One would think that a diarist would write done his memories instead of telling his diary that he remembers but doesn't reveal any detail. It's as if he's playing games with someone who would read the diary. But if the Diary is what it's "suppose" to be, i.e. a personal reverie, why hold back information?
Mark |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 03:50 pm | | Hi, Caz:
Yes I agree that our funny little wordgamer was having fun with playing with the word "strike" to mean both strike a light and strike another whore. Interestingly, you know, the Bryant and May match company was in the East End and the strike of the matchgirls was one of the big events of 1888. Get it, strike? Get it, Bryant and May? Maybrick may strike another? Nudge nudge, wink wink. So maybe our wordgamer missed a couple of opportunities there to extend the joke, eh?
Yes, it could have been Maybrick's tin box that was empty. And I believe this is the very thing Shirley Harrison suggests, isn't it, that it was his tin box that was empty of pills? However, in the very long list of items that Catherine Eddowes was carrying round with her, almost a household of items, she being a regular bag woman of the East End of 1888, why shouldn't the tin box have been hers? Possibly though Maybrick is really only musing on the fact that he could have used some illumination in that dark square and was looking for matches, which relates to my last quote in which I questioned the lack of talk of how hard it was to mutilate Eddowes in the dark and then write the graffito also in the dark.
Hi, to the Two Marks:
Mark List might be right that the watch was the inspiration for the Diary, but that scenario seems unlikely to me. Indeed I believe it is very suspicious that the watch only appeared after the Diary came to light. I also think that just as the jury is out on the dating of the ink in the Diary, with the scientific findings of different authorities contradicting each other, there is some doubt about the dating of the scratches. My belief is that the scratches that supposedly refer to the murders (the victims' initials, if that is what they are and not watchmaker's scribbles) and the "J Maybrick" and "I am Jack" scratches, which are not too distinct in any case, were all done relatively recently.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Mark List
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 04:03 pm | | Oh John and Chris,
I'm a bit of a clever word-smith.
There's a clever type of poem that Edgar Poe used. Besides myself, I've never seen anyone use it.
It's not acrosist as you've shown, john, but then, you use only the first letters:
bastard
Abberline
bonnett
hides all
clue
clever
will tell you more
(d,e,t,l,e,r,e)
These are the last letter in each line; do they mean anything to anyone?
The other possiblity, the one I mention above, would be the first letter of the first line, second of the second line, third of the third and so on:
B,b,n,e,(nothing),r,l
Okay, maybe that didn't work out as I original though it would, but backwards is:
d,n,e,s, (nothing) c,y
Oh well, I just wanted to point out the different
poetic ways of creating rhymes:
There's also rhyme meters: the number of syllables in each line.
In the one you site the scheme is this:
2,3,2,2,1,2,4
5-5-6
added together equal 16.
In the poem above this, about the tea and sugar, it goes as follows:
5,6,6,7,9
11, 13, 9
added together equals: 33
It may be nothing, but there's a few interesting points about meter and rhyme.
Interestingly, Shakespeare always used a scheme called Iambic Pentameter (a poem with each line having 5 syllables) to let the audience know that it was the end each act.
Oh well, I'm hungry
So Now I must flee
To get lunch for me
Mark |
Author: EAMONN O LAIGHIN
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 04:05 pm | | Hello,
I am only new to Ripperology but at this stage have read six books on the topic and belive that at this stage the in fighting between experts and ripperologists has clouded the issue of who is or are the real suspects.Maybrick is a case in hand and so was Tumbelty. I now believe there are two suspects which no author so far has gone into too much detail and the infighting has caused authors to put blinkers on and miss what has been sitting right in front of them for years
regards
Eamonn |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 05:16 pm | | Hi Mark,
Striving for this month's award for fussy pedant of the boards (Martin, I think, remains the judge), I thought I'd point out that your definition of iambic pentameter is not quite right. Each line actually has five "feet" (each "foot" is a combination of an unstressed and a stressed syllable), giving the line a total of ten syllables. The pattern of the meter is: an unstressed syllable (short or U) and a stressed syllable (long or /) aternatively. Therefore, a line of imabic pentamenter would read U/U/U/U/U/ or short-long/ short-long/ short-long/ short-long/ short-long.
For instance:
--U---/---U---/---U----/--U----/---U----/
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes.
I all alone beweep my outcast state.
Say the two lines with the u/u/u/u/u/ rhythm and you'll hear the iams. Each line has ten syllables, or five feet.
Also, although Shakespeare regularly wrote in iambic pentameter and used it beautifully, especially in the sonnets, he did not always write in it, even at the end of each of his acts, although he would often use a couplet (a pair of lines that rhyme) to signify an act's end. And sometimes, like in the two lines from a sonnet cited above, it is easy to hear the iambic meter; but sometimes he disguises it beautifully and makes it sound easy and natural. Say the following lines not as poetry but as regular speech and they are not only profound, but the iambic pentameter, which is rigorously followed, almost disappears.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove."
Even as prose, they scan nicely: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.”
Finally, unfortunately, I remain thick as a brick about the possible word games written into the diary's lists, and can see nothing there in any of the possibilities you mention. But I'm not really trying too much, to be honest. I have no confidence in my abilities with such things.
Now I must hit the showers and I will return later to talk of the diary.
Bye,
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 06:13 pm | | Hello again, everyone.
I have returned, clean.
Caz and Chris,
Indeed, the tin match box might have been our hero's, I suppose. I wonder if Kelly was ever given a look at Eddowes' possessions after they had been taken into evidence. Could he have said, at some point, "Hey, wait a minute, this box isn't hers. Where'd this come from?" That would have gotten the police's attention, I suspect, and we would have certainly heard that there was a tin box not belonging to Eddowes found at the crime scene. But more likely, I suspect, the box was found on Eddowes' person. The things that were lying by her side, 3 small black buttons, a thimble, and the mustard tin with the tickets, were handed to Inspector Collard. The rest of the things listed were found somewhere on her person. I believe this is what is indicated by Collard's testimony [Ult. Comp., 203]. This suggests to me that the tin match box was probably the victim's. But this is not proof, I admit.
I think Chris is right when he notices that there is no real talk of the problems of illumination either at the murder scene or at the graffiti scene. And no talk of why he went to Goulston St. or if or why he took the apron and dropped it there. It does often read like someone writing about something they had read about rather than something they had done. And, interestingly, each of our problems of reading -- the pawn tickets, and the "redeem" lines, the timing of the "red stuff" plans, the "tin match box empty" wording, etc., are at least possibly explainable as reading errors on the part of a would-be-diarist working too quickly.
The most detailed and gruesome account of any of the murders (and the most controversial -- where were those breasts?) will turn up tomorrow, on the very next page. Chris is right that there has been some dramatic building towards this with the domestic violence scene (which was historically necessary for our diarist, since I seem to recall there were contemporary reports of Florie turning up with a bruise at one point, no?) and with the excessive doses of his "medicine." James is going to spend one extra day in London. And we know why.
One note on the "redeem" lines: Just to be accurate, I should mention that James claims that he could send the authorities "this certain fact" -- not actually a ticket. I am not sure what the "certain fact" is that James can send them "poste haste" (and I think the spelling here is just a gesture towards periodicity, Chris) or what he thinks it will demonstrate; but the line is immediately conjoined with the talk of Abberline's trap and the inability to "redeem" something "here" (Liverpool, I think).
"He believes I will trip over,
but I have no fear.
For I could not possibly
redeem it here.
Of this certain fact I could send them poste haste
If he requested that be the case."
By the way, the poetry sucks.
--John
PS: People wondering about locks on another board should know that tomorrow we learn that our hero took the key. Unfortunately he chooses to tell us with the lines "I had the key, and with it I did flee." Yuk. |
Author: Mark List
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 08:10 pm | | Thanks for the correction John,
It's been about 8 years since I "studied" Shakespeare and obviously got confused.
But, I'll say this about the word games in the Diary:
Our writer/hero/diarist/killer/Maybrick/forger is attemping to concentrate only on rhymes and anger, and showing how "clever" he is, but he isn't. He's a bad poet, but thinks he's good. All the signs being inadequate when compared to others (family, friends); a failure who NEEDS to feel he has accomplished something greater than others.
But look at Maybrick ... he was a successful cotton merchant whose wife had an affair and whose brother was a musican, and who took drugs.
Is this enough to push a man overboard?
The diary make the case for it. But in truth, when you look at the diary, James is making a big deal out of poems and trying to out-do his brother, when his brother only wrote (professionally) music.
Does he feels like less of a man because his brother is in the theatre? That his wife has an affair?
It almost sounds like James Maybrick was a closet Oscar Wilde--a flamboyant man who's being oppressed by the world around him.
If the diary befits a crazy murderer, that's fine; but it doesn't seem to match Maybrick's life.
So how could this diary reflect Maybrick's tortured soul?
Most serial killers "amount" to nothing in thier entire lives, and this failure is a engine that takes them down the path of murder.
Maybrick was successful, these two (maybe even three) things in his life don't seem to be enough to proper motivation.
Maybe I streching a bit, I don't.
Mark |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 08:30 pm | | Hi Mark,
You make a good point. The diary really does seem to try hard to make "Maybrick" a failure, or at least to convince us that Maybrick thinks he is a failure. It uses his cuckoldry to this end repeatedly, even though it also suggests he gets a thrill from this. It shows us his awkward stabs at poetry (pardon the pun) and his frustration at not being able to compose very well. It shows us his exaggerated pleasure at thinking himself clever when he gets away with his murders. Clearly, it wants us to think this guy was a loser who was taking out his frustrations by cutting up whores. But the motive is never really all that well-established psychologically and we get no real evidence that he is failing in his business or in his community or even socially and we get no real, convincing reasons as to why Maybrick is so driven to kill prostitutes in London. He is not on a religious or moral crusade. It can't just be the drugs, since he takes them regularly and they do not drive him to murderous rampages at home. And the Florie motive seems indirect and just a given (not fully developed) at best.
This would of course be a problem for any hoaxer-diarist. You could always tell about the events, you could imagine and recreate the murders and the intrigue and the domestic hostility between James and his wife and even James's jealousy of his brother and the effects of his drug addiction -- but it would have been very difficult, I think, for almost any writer to believably recreate the mind driven to rip up whores, even as it might have expressed itself privately on the page, and to sustain this recreation over sixty-three pages. This would have been the real writer's challenge. And this is what, to me, sometimes rings more than a bit hollow in our book.
By the way, Mark, your phrase "a closet Oscar Wilde" is filled with delightful overtones...
All the best,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 09:21 pm | | Hi, John and Mark:
I think if James Maybrick had been "a closet Oscar Wilde" he would have been a whole lot more interesting! Incidentally, before the Maybrick Diary broke onto the scene, I wrote a novel that is a fictionalized version of the Maybrick Case. The character that I based on the historical "Michael Maybrick" is a famous violinist, a cross between Oscar Wilde and Luciano Pavarotti. O it was Wilde!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 11:02 pm | | Please forgive me for posting my ideas without knowing all the details of the diary, but I have some observations.
About the watch- when the experts found something in the carving that dated it, was this just one letter or all of the carvings? Now, also, doesn't the diary add a murder that Jack was never accused of, something that seems to confuse us all? Are her initials on the watch? Well, my idea is that the old watch already had some carvings in it, and the rest was added by the forger. Then a new victim was added to the diary to make up for the initials that were out of place. The scientific findings were lifted from the older initials.
Also, does the diary end on the last page of the journal? If it does, that looks really bad for it. It's like Maybrick said "out of paper, have to stop killing". It would also explain the rushing between the last two murders. Space was running out.
But to make these statements I need you experts to say if I'm off on anything. |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 25 June 2001 - 11:33 pm | | Hi Christopher,
No fair reading ahead.
Yup, in fact the diary does end with a full page of good-byes and a final flourish and a sappy closing line and the famous "Yours truly" and finally a signature, at the bottom of the last page of the journal. And I haven't heard anyone ever speculate that there were pages missing or removed after this last page. Are there blanks? I don't believe so. [Correction: Chris reminds me below that there are blank pages, 17 of them.]
SPOILER: And not only did James have the good sense to conclude his "diary" on the last page on May 3rd, 1889. He was then was kind enough to die only eight days later. And the doctor who claimed James had been poisoned also claimed in public that the "fatal dose" had probably been administered on, you guessed it, May 3rd, just as James happened to have run out of entries. Hmmmm.
There is in fact an earlier murder mentioned in the diary, not in London, but the diary gives us no name or initials for the victim and as far as I know no one has ever tracked down a likely corresponding crime on the records. The initials on the watch, however, are only those of the five canonical Whitechapel victims. Also scratched into the watch, allegedly, is Maybrick's signature and (though I can never see this one in the photos for some reason) the sentence "I am Jack."
Hope that helps,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 12:03 am | | Hi, John and Christopher:
The alleged initials engraved on the inside casing of the watch are, in fact, only those of the five canonical victims, i.e., MN [Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols], AC [Annie Chapman], ES [Elizabeth Stride], CE [Catherine Eddowes], and MK [Mary Jane Kelly] (Harrison, The Diary of Jack the Ripper, Hyperion edition, 1993, p. 202). So one might wonder if in fact, as he claims, Maybrick did two murders in Manchester, why the initials of those victims are not engraved for us to see as well.
According to Harrison (ibid, p. 203), the brass particles found by Dr. S. Turgoose of the Corrosion and Protection Centre, University of Manchester, were found in the "A" of "AC" and the "K" of "MK" and he concluded that because of the corroded surfaces on these particles put there by some type of "inscribing tool. . . this may suggest some significant time since they were deposited."
I am not a metallurgist, of course, but a question that occurs to me is: Would it have been possible for someone recently to have embedded corroded particles in the scratches, or could it have been that the inscribing tool was itself corroded giving the impression that the scratches are older than they in fact are? It seems not, though, because another metallurgist, Dr. Robert Wild of the Interface Analysis Centre at Bristol University in 1994 gave the opinion that the engravings "were at least several tens of years age." Wild, according to Harrison "told [publisher] Robert Smith privately that he personally felt the scratches could be as old as 1888/9." (Harrison, Blake paperback edition, 1998, p. 247).
Also, John and Christopher, the Diary does not end on the last page of the scrapbook, the breakdown being, as John may recall we went over several months ago, 64 pages cut out from the beginning of the book, 63 pages containing the text of the Diary, and the last 17 pages in the book blank (Harrison, Blake edition, p. 5).
I hope these facts have helped, or maybe confused you both still further?
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 12:13 am | | Thanks Chris,
I remembered about the blank pages after I had written the above. I looked for the number in the Hyperion edition and couldn't find it, but then you came rushing to the rescue. That's good, because had the final sheet of paper in the book been the May 3rd entry, that would have been a bit much, I think. Anyway, see what happens when you jump ahead?
But an interesting question still remains. As I mentioned, the diary ends deliberately, complete with final signature, on the same day that according to the doctor, James has been given the fatal dose of poison that will kill him eight days later. But if he didn't know he was being "murdered" and had been slipped the fatal dose, how did he know to end the diary that day?
Chris, have you seen the watch in person? I have seen the photos of it only, and although I can make out the initials, especially when given a pointer or two, and the signature, I can never quite see the "I am Jack" line. Is it clearer in person, I wonder?
Meanwhile, I'm off to bed in shame for having forgotten about the 17 blank pages. Tomorrow we will head to Miller's Court.
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 01:03 am | | Hi, John:
I trust the ghost of Maybrick will visit you during the night to chastise you for disremembering the 17 blank pages!
No I have not seen the watch, John. My understanding from Shirley Harrison is that the scratches are not easy to see even for people who know they are there. I understand that there is a possibility that both the Diary and the watch will be in Bournemouth for the UK Ripper convention in September for the delectation of the conventioneers. Since I will be in attendance, I have hopes of seeing for the first time both of those controversial artifacts!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 08:48 am | | Good morning everyone,
Page thirty-five of the diary announces the Mary Kelly murder. But we do not know that, immediately. When we last left our diarist, he was telling us that he had spent one extra day in London. There is one of those sentences that does not quite make clear sense at the end of this small paragraph at the top of the page.
"I fear not, for the fact will not come to his attention as he addresses all letters to me."
"The fact" here seems to be that Maybrick stayed in London an extra day. But how the rest of this sentence works is a mystery. If the "he" is Michael, why would this keep him from learning that Maybrick stayed in London? Who else might the "he" be? Even if it is Abberline, the sentence makes no real sense, since he sends Maybrick no letters. Perhaps I am just being dim here, but I can see no clear way that this sentence means anything.
Then there is a break on the page.
Then the following words appear.
"I have read about my latest, my God the thoughts, the very best."
The readers will notice, no doubt, that the actual murder of Mary Kelly is not what prompts the diary entry about it. It is reading about it that gets James to mention it in his diary. But he did it. He was there. This seems odd to me. He does not race home and write about finally getting the chance to do all the evil things he has dreamed of, but he does write about it after reading about it in the papers.
Still, now he gives us details. "I left nothing of the bitch, nothing." There's that strange tendency again to repeat a phrase, after a comma, at the end of the sentence. Remember "soon, very soon." and "damaged, severely damaged." and there are more than a few others including more to come -- "I am tired, very tired" for instance. I'm not sure about this little quirk of the voice. It makes me curious, very curious. (See, it sounds odd if I do it -- like it is an affectation solely for dramatic effect, in a private journal.)
I offer this thought as well: for the first time, "Maybrick" gives us some real detail as to his mutilations. He remained completely vague concerning what he had done to Eddowes and the others (mentioning only that he cut deep or took away all he could or left his mark or tried to get the head off, but never describing the state in which he left the bodies). But here with Mary, we get some description. One possible thought: the Kelly crime scene photograph. The photos of the other victims do not show the complete and vivid image of the mutilations at the scene. Kate's been sewn up, although we see the cuts on her face, and the others have been prepared for the photographer. But Mary Kelly remains forever in that bed, in vivid detail. She is the one we have all seen as she was left. And she is the one our diarist seems to have seen as she was left.
And a word about pleasure. Remember that James is supposed to be getting a great thrill from writing this stuff (that's allegedly why he is doing it). Here he recalls details, including cutting off and kissing the breasts and the taste of her blood and how much that thrilled him. But his expression of that thrill does not reveal all that much enthusiasm itself. He merely writes: "The taste of blood was sweet, the pleasure was overwhelming, will have to do it again, it thrilled me so." Yes, I can see that. "Will have to do it again?" Sounds like a thought on a list of chores -- "that wasn't too bad, I'll have to do that one again." Then we get a troublesome detail that has already been much discussed. James claims to have put the breasts on the table "with some of the other stuff." This contradicts contemporary reports, as we know. But to me it also suggests something else: the Mary Kelly crime scene photo again (which shows the little table piled high with gooey stuff) and perhaps even the other, second crime scene photo, which shows two distinct lumps or mounds of flesh on the table which might have looked, to a would-be diarist, like Mary's breasts. Maybrick says he "thought they belonged" on the table, but he never says why or what this means. He says he stripped her of her flesh because "They wanted a slaughterman so I stripped what I could." I do begin to think that our writer was working from one or another of the crime scene photos (which, it is perhaps worth noting, do not appear in my copy of Martin's book at least).
And once again, despite this being the most horrible (or thrilling) act of violence in the book, and despite it later driving our hero to despair, the memories of the event are almost totally without explicit detail of the cutting or the act of mutilating or the way Mary was met and engaged and how she spoke and what exactly took place in the room, etc. It is only mentioned that she is young ("younger than I"), and, we are to suspect, therefore more like Florie than the others. There will be more detail revealed as we go, including why the clothes were burnt in the fire and, of course, the famous letters on the wall, but it is all just necessary stuff, hints for readers. There is no simply luxuriating in the immersion of sense-memory for a killer who is allegedly thrilled by his acts and his memories of them.
Instead, James goes back to poetry to reveal more to us about the murders. This makes me think that another reason the diarist might have turned to verse is that it allowed to him to get his "evidence" across merely by listing words and phrases and dropping hints and it allowed him not to have to describe anything in detail or say too much. It turned out to be a good way to remain fragmentary and cursory and to stay out of potential trouble with the facts. With a few well-chosen words or phrases he could talk about the murders and he would not be expected to go into too much detail, since it was verse. This time he begins composing after noting that "The key and burnt clothes puzzle them ha ha." (And the underlined ha ha lines are getting a bit much, now, I think. It's as if every so often the diarist wants to remind us of the letters, in case we've forgotten.)
Oh yes, there is another simple spelling error:
Jack the Ripper misspells "ripped."
Now, come on! We know he knows how to spell that one. But he writes "She riped like a ripe peach." I still think many of these spelling errors are from simply rushing the writing, whether that is because he is in the thrill of ecstatic memory (there is little or no real textual evidence of that) or because our hoaxer was sloppy, had a wandering mind, or was in a hurry. But this one at least can't be a misspelling intended to show us something about Maybrick's literacy. We know he could spell "ripped."
But now the verse.
There is another, larger word list to start. This one includes "key, flee, hat, handkerchief, whim, Mother and father." Yes, "Mother" is capitalized and "father" is not. (All the psychoanalysts out there can feel free to go wild at this point.)
Then, across from these words, we find "rip, initial, whore master, look to the whore, light, fire." And no, I do not believe Maybrick was a Doors fan.
As Ripper students, we know where most of these words are going. Having read thirty-five pages of this book, we can imagine where the rest of them are headed as well.
First, we learn that it was our hero who took the key. He mentions it first in a line that actually scans fine, and has a little internal rhyme: "With the key I did flee." But then he changes that to "I had the key/ and with it I did flee." I would just like to note for the record here that this guy is now revising lines to make them worse. The line he had originally was better than the two he chose to take its place.
He tell us of burning the hat and clothes and thinking of "the whoring mother" (not capitalized here). His revised stanza finally reads:
I had the key,
And with it I did flee
The hat I did burn
for light I did yearn
And I thought of the
whoring mother.
(That "And I thought of the" line is unfortunate.)
We know from various well-publicized accounts about the missing key, so it was only natural that a diarist would have James take it (he does not offer to send it to Abberline as proof of his identity or to authenticate a letter, as far as I can recall). We also know about the clothes in the fireplace, so that was necessary here as well (it's as if we are being given just the explanations of things we need, having read about the case).
There is another page working out another stanza, mentioning the red handkerchief and the bed and more thoughts of Florie, but mostly now the work is becoming repetitive and using up page space.
But stanza III, on the next page, finally mentions the letters on the wall ("an initial here and a initial there/ would tell of the whoring mother." This is the revelation the lines about the whoring mother having been building to. This is the secret.
But we must get the final version of the poem, in two stanzas of eight lines each, written out after a line break, before we get back to prose and, as we will see tomorrow, our hero gloating about leaving the letters there for all to see even though "they will never find it. I was too clever." (Don't think about the contradiction here for too long, it'll make your brain hurt.)
In all, the first hand immediate memories of the Kelly murder once again turn out to be cursory, sketchy, quick, and really an excuse for more poetry (which is even less explicit and more repetitive -- I think our diarist was tired or not really up to dramatizing, psychologically or in detail, this climactic event). Soon James will plan his second Manchester murder (using the bookends theory of serial killing, apparently) and finally write out, in case we have been missing the point, even after his plan to boil and eat a human head, "I do believe I am completely mad."
It was nice of him to tell us.
Oh and of course, since a poem has ended, we need at least a mention, in a line or two, of children or family.
Page thirty-eight through forty tomorrow, where we will see two words linked together that no doubt will delight the "chosen handwriting-sample people" out there:
"Cane, gain"
--John |
Author: Mark List
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 12:51 pm | | I'm a Doors fans!!
Yeah, you're right about the detail with Kelly. It does seem odd that only THAT murder would have detail and that the others wouldn't--like "Well, I KNOW from this picture he did this and that..."
About the Question of the Watch, I'm beginning to strongly believe that the Watch came first and THEN the Diary, only because if we KNOW that information in the Diary could only have come AFTER 1987, and if the bits of brass in the watch where "tens of years old", then it MUST be so.
However, I don't believe that someone went out of their way to implant bits of brass in a watch or get out the science equipment, date the pieces and the scracth in the rest.
It makes as much sense as a hole in the head.
So, it makes sense to me that--somehow--someone finds out about the watch or hears about it or something and then gets idea and starts writing.
Maybe, maybe not....
Mark |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 01:18 pm | | Hi, John:
You make an excellent point that the graphic detail the penman supplies about the Kelly murder, which is noticeable compared to the scant details given about mutilations done in the other murders, which mostly concern his thrill at ripping and fantasizing head removal, are almost undoubtedly inspired by study of the famous photograph of MJK on the bed. Similarly I would add that the allusion to the "FM" on the wall (if they are what the writer means by the words "an initial here and a initial there/ would tell of the whoring mother.") comes also, I believe, from study of the photograph rather than from first-hand experience of actually having done the murder.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Mark List
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 03:18 pm | | John and Chris,
I believe that the FM on the wall is interesting.
I remember when I first saw the video "the Diary of Jack the Ripper" I was doing a research paper on Vampires. One of the books that I was using for research was Don Rumbelow's 1988 "The Complete Casebook of Jack the Ripper" and when they brought up the FM, I opened of the book to the large picture of MK and there it was plain as day...I thought it was amazing.
However, in the inquest and other reports it doesn't state anything about any letters on the wall, but it is there.
Now, if it's just an optical illusion, I must say it sure is weird to have a piece of paper with an "M" on it by Annie Chapman's body, and an "M" here.
But if nothing else, this hoaxer shouldn't be out making fake diaries, he should be in Hollywood. He/She really did their homework and did an amazing job of being "clever, very clever."
Mark |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 03:38 pm | | Hi, Mark:
I entirely agree that the Diary is a piece of work. The hoaxer may have made slip-ups here and there, as we have discussed, but they also did accomplish the fabrication of a pseudo-diary and confession by a famous serial killer. Even if it is imperfect and inauthentic-sounding at times (actually I would say a large part of the time!), it is "good" enough to take in some people and have us debating the details of it eight years after its appearance!
It does seem as if the forger was astute enough to latch onto such items as the "FM" on the wall that seem to strengthen their case. It has to be wondered where they found out about it--just by looking at the picture, or what?
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Tuesday, 26 June 2001 - 11:12 pm | | I would really love to know how this person wasn't swift enough to write an authentic sounding diary, but was able to, I assume, pick up on the FM in the picture and hint at it in the diary, AND manage that it would be the initials of one of the characters in this story. How did he/ she know someone would see the FM also, since the diary doesn't make it obvious that we should look harder at the picture. If it read "I left the whore's initials there on the wall" then I'd say we were pretty much being told to look... but who would ever guess someone would eventually see it? It's most likely an optical illusion, but it's really amazing how well things work out for our diarist in some places.
Also, everyone has said how the diary is vague to keep from tripping itself up- but I would think the writer could have gone on for 20 pages about certain things and not mention anything that could be checked. I think that could be pretty easy to do. You can't really check up on someone's thoughts and ideas. Maybe things were kept short and sweet not because of information that could be inspected, but the more that was written, the more likely there would be a word or phrase that someone could say was not Victorian. If I were writing the diary I would have gotten my hands on a Victorian novel or two and copied from that. Obviously not word for word, but just the general idea.
Bottom line is that it seems an incredible amount of time and effort when in to finding the perfect ripper suspect and making it all fit, and then such a shoddy job on the actual diary. Doesn't add up. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 06:54 am | | Hi All,
Hi Christopher,
I agree with your last observation. I have been thinking about this myself, and wondering if there is a possible scenario in which our hoaxer had an intense interest in both the ripper and Maybrick cases, and was attempting to create a stir of some kind – not with the intention of passing it off as the genuine work of James the serial killer. Could it have been an extreme form of political and social parody, such as those published in Punch, for instance, meant perhaps to highlight the absurdity of the murder case against Florie, written by someone who felt this adulterous woman had been unfairly painted, by the Maybricks and the justice system, as the most notoriously evil woman and murderess in Christendom? “Okay, so let’s turn the tables right around and do the same thing to the husband of the ‘murderess’, just for jolly but to make a damned good point – let’s make him into the most notoriously evil male murderer in Christendom – Jack the Ripper with all the trimmings (the letters ha ha, graffito, cannibalism etc) and give him a similarly flimsy motive for his murders, not adultery in his case, but jealousy of an adored wife’s infidelities. Let’s make him pretty dumb too, just like Florie is painted, and show them all that two can play at this funny but rotten little witch-hunting game.” A commentary on what false accusations can lead to?
This idea of mine would of course be more believable if the diary were old, and there was other evidence that it could have been a Victorian-style obvious hoax, or practical joke, of the engraving-Dracula-on-a-gravestone variety, by an enterprising journalist, or some kind of nutty philanthropist, with a sense of humour and of the ridiculous. And it might explain why no attempt was made to make the writing like Maybrick’s, and why it looks to some as if it isn’t even in a disguised hand.
Love,
Caz
PS Couple of posts by Keith Skinner follow shortly. Please note that I haven't sent him the latest posts yet, including Peter Birchwood's response of yesterday. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 06:59 am | | From Keith Skinner to John Omlor
John – thank you, as always, for your carefully considered reply to my spectral questions.
I suppose what never ceases to amaze me is how much clinical and detailed analysis is being afforded to these 63 pages. The impression given by Melvin Harris and others is that this artifact was thrown together in an afternoon, by a group of people in Liverpool, with scant knowledge of JTR or JM, without any clear idea of why they were doing what they were doing or whose idea was it first and what inspired that idea – and they just got lucky by having Mike Barrett front the scam – picking up a watch along the way.
Best Wishes
Keith |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 07:19 am | | Hi All,
I composed this post over the last couple of days, so apologies if it doesn’t really go with the flow today.
I’m not sure I have been expressing myself too well when it comes to my thoughts about the author of the diary, assuming it to be a hoax. What I have been trying to do is suggest possible scenarios that our hoaxer had in mind when writing, and see whether these showed invention and care, or shallowness of thought; in-depth or scanty knowledge/reading of the subject matter; accuracy or error. Look at the issue of the pawn tickets for instance (sorry for the pun!). Assuming our diarist chose to invent an item not mentioned by Abberline for the entries on Eddowes, he obviously made a mistake if he was hinting that Maybrick had pinched either of the two pawn tickets we know were found in her mustard tin. I was simply suggesting that a hoaxer could have invented another pawn ticket, because the scenario was a workable one – who in the world would know that one couldn't have existed? - I wasn't trying to suggest there was a third ticket for a spare 'bonnett' or anything (or - heaven forbid - that we start looking for the evidence ), just that, if the hoaxer knew what he could invent and get away with, in terms of a plausible storyline, it implies that a deal of care and thought and knowledge of the case went into his/her brainchild. Similarly, with any other item ‘Maybrick’ could have been talking about redeeming. And did he/she deliberately leave the details vague enough to suggest that a) Maybrick could have taken the item in question from Eddowes - whether our hoaxer had a pawn ticket or something completely different in mind - and be in a position to send it to Abberline as proof that he was the ripper? or that b) an item belonging to Maybrick could have been left at the scene, such as the empty tin match box (no mention of this item in the press at the time, according to Feldy or Shirley, I believe – so if not, why not, and is this significant?), and equally he could send Abberline word of this? (But perhaps in reality this would not have been such a good idea after all, in case the box was then publicised and recognised by someone as Maybrick’s?)
It's really all about trying to ascertain how much care and thought (and reading?) went into planning the composition, whatever literary or other abilities our hoaxer could have brought into play.
Hi Chris,
I do appreciate the problem if our hoaxer was directly implying that Maybrick had carefully gone through Eddowes’s bits and pieces in the dark - whether he was supposed to be looking for an item of hers to take away with him, or thinking later about 'redeeming' something he had perhaps dropped at or near the scene. But was he implying this? If the real killer wanted to compose poetry about his exploits, he could have got a wealth of additional material directly from the papers (a typical serial killer trait, surely? Not the poetry, the trawling through reports of his deeds ), and presumably included lines such as ‘sweet sugar and tea’, if he thought it sounded good, without ever having seen them for himself. Is there anything to suggest that our diarist was claiming to have got all his details from personal experience at the crime scene?
Love,
Caz
PS John, I don’t see any problem with the line:
‘I fear not, for the fact will not come to his attention as he addresses all letters to me.’
All ‘Maybrick’ appears to be saying here is that Michael won’t find out about his extra day spent in the City of Whores (and the implications of James keeping this secret from him, considering what happened to MJK on that date) from anyone corresponding with him from Battlecrease (if, for example, Michael were to mention in a letter the actual dates of James’s visit, which someone at Battlecrease could dispute), because all letters coming from Michael are addressed directly to James. |
Author: John Omlor
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 08:51 am | | Hello everyone,
Caz,
Ah. I think I get it now. It's the letters that Michael would write to Battlecrease that are all addressed to James. But why wouldn't they be? This seems an odd thing to note. And also, that shouldn't completely allay James's fears of Michael learning of his extra day, since one supposes that Michael could just as easily talk to someone from Battlecrease (including Florie), or someone who saw James in London, who might let it slip that James did not return home until November 10th. But at least I see the intention now. Thanks Caz, it was my own temporary blindness.
Hi Keith,
Yes, it has always been my opinion that any attempt to dismiss the diary off-hand simply by saying it is "shoddy" or "thrown together" or any attempt to minimize the work put into some of the details, just to make a case for certain suspects, is not only bad reading, it's bad logic as well. You can't find a suspect first and then make your reading fit that suspect. You have to do the reading first, carefully and thoroughly, and then see if any of your suspects fit that reading. At least this diary remains under discussion because it avoided any completely debilitating errors in time, place, name, detail and because it was created in such a way, using vague and cursory constructions, that it resists historical review. That is something of an accomplishment, I suppose. In fact, the major problems I find with the text's claim to authenticity aren't so much in the specific details (although there are a few that are simply slip ups, I think), but in the style. I think what often leaves me suspicious and filled with skepticism when I try and think of this as the real diary of James Maybrick as Jack the Ripper is that it just isn't very well written -- not as a work of fiction, but as a believable diary. It doesn't read convincingly as someone's private journal and there are too many places where it seems clearly to have been written for others to read -- for an audience of skeptics and aficionados. But one cannot minimize the work that would have been necessary to write this book or the fact that it has sustained review for almost ten years at least well enough to remain part of the discussion. And to dismiss it without any careful reading and without acknowledging what it does do, all in the name of either intellectual boredom or some self-satisfied sense of intellectual superiority, or because one has suspects already convicted in one's mind and after that everything must simply be made to fit those suspects, is to make a grievous error in one's analysis and to cast doubt about the rigor and discipline of one's methods.
Hi Christopher,
Regarding the FM on the wall: what you say about the letters is a good point. Could the diarist have trusted that someone would see them? Perhaps he was relying on the power of suggestion? Of course, the coincidence of them being there is more than a lucky one only if we assume that what we see on the wall are the deliberately written letters FM. In that case, our hoaxer either saw them before he picked Maybrick, and thought, who can I use as my suspect that would have the initials FM (this seems to me unlikely), or they got really, really lucky (this seems unlikely), or James Maybrick killed Mary Kelly and then wrote his wife's initials on the wall in blood (this seems unlikely). The other possibility, of course, which you yourself suggest when you mention an "optical illusion," is that no one wrote the initials FM on the wall in blood, and that in the background of an old, faded, sepia photograph of the crimes scene, smears of blood or faded patterns on the wall of the room seem, if you look hard enough or are pointed there, to form the letters FM in the way in which they have splashed and slid down or stained the wall; or the fading on the wall, from years of moisture and smoke and simple age, formed "patterns" which, if you look hard enough or are pointed there by a book or someone else, can be said to be an F and an M. I must confess at this point that I have never been a big believer in seeing things like letters or images in the backgrounds, on the walls of old photographs. Especially once it has been suggested they are there. I have never met anyone who thought the initials FM were on the wall in the Kelly photograph without first being told to look for something like letters on the wall in the back. No one I know who saw the photograph without being told anything at all about it, just jumped up and said "Hey, what about that FM on the wall there." The FM only seems to turn up when one looks for it, after one knows it is supposed to be there. This also makes me highly suspicious. Looking at a photograph, especially an old one, is a lot like reading a text. People are going to be able to find whatever they want in many cases. And it's even worse in an old photo, after suggestions have been made, because the shapes of stains and the effects of lighting and the technology of the process all contribute to the number of possible visions.
I live in St. Petersburg, Florida. A few years ago, on an all glass office building on of our main streets, a pattern in rainbow colors turned up on the side of three of the building's windows of reflecting glass. Once someone told you what it was, there was no mistaking it. It was the Virgin Mary. People came from all over the country. They still do, years later. Shrines were put up in the parking lot. Gifts are left at the foot of the building. People pray on the roadside. The parking lot was given its own traffic light on the highway. Souvenir stands sprung up. Scientists eventually happened to mention that the sprinkling system water repeatedly hit the glass and it was turning it funny colors, but that didn't seem to matter. It was her, and once you were told it was her you could see it was her. The there was no going back to seeing it as a random pattern for you.
I have my doubts about the FM. If you look at the photo as reprinted in the Ultimate Companion without trying to see letters on the wall, I think what you see are no letters on the wall. But once people do think they see them, you can't tell them they do not, because we believe our eyes and what they tell our brain more than almost anything else in the world. So I can only say here that I do not think anyone wrote FM on the wall in blood in Miller's Court, but I cannot convince those who see the letters there that they are not letters. That would not be possible. And once you assume that they are there and were put there on purpose, then Christopher becomes right. How would a hoaxer have managed to find a suspect who was believable, available, and had the right initials for the crime scene? It doesn't seem to add up. Unless, of course, the hoaxer put the initials FM on that wall simply by putting them into our brains.
Having said that, I think it was a stroke of genius if our hoaxer did think he saw, or could see if he tried hard, an FM on the wall and managed to work hints of it into the diary and convince a readership that it was there. Of course, what the diary actually says about James leaving his initials and these letters needs to be read carefully
And I hope to do that later today. I must rush off this morning, but will return this afternoon and try to get another three pages read, including the talk of these letters.
Bye for now,
--John
PS: Finally, Christopher, you write, with good sense:
"Bottom line is that it seems an incredible amount of time and effort when in to finding the perfect ripper suspect and making it all fit, and then such a shoddy job on the actual diary. Doesn't add up."
But you seem to forget one possibility. Like many of us, our hoaxers might have been adept at researching stuff and finding things out and creative planning and even careful forethought, but lacked the skill or talent to write a convincing document. They might have been good at being careful, but not very good at writing well, or creating a believable psychological character. Also, they might have taken their time preparing and then had to rush the writing, for one reason or another. I think, however, that it is more likely that they might have had a facility with wordgames and with planning and with researching history, but had little or no facility with composition or with characterization or with writing in general.
This would make the situation as you describe it, add up. |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 12:42 pm | | John, I think you are correct in saying the writer may have been good at fact checking but not simple writing. I believe this because I could see where I myself would be able to write a believable fake diary, but would probably slip up on fact checking. At least this gives us some insight to who wrote it. Not a novelist, perhaps a detective/ researcher.
I understand and agree with what you are saying about the Virgin Mary (I saw the one you are talking about on TV). You can even look at clouds sometimes and see things. But it's the whole scenario of making this optical illusion work to support the diary, and assuming someone would find it after a vague hint in the diary. Unless the diary's hinting is NOT intentional (meaning the writer never noticed the letters) and just very lucky.
One last comment- it seems every couple of years someone will write a Jack the Ripper book and have a new suspect ready to go... I wonder if someone was looking to make Maybrick a new suspect, simply because it would get a lot of attention like the royalty theory, and they felt they needed some evidence to "turn up" to help support their book, and this is why the diary was written. |
Author: John Omlor
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 04:40 pm | | Hi Christopher,
You could very well be right that this whole thing was a scheme cooked up to introduce a new suspect in James Maybrick to the Ripper investigative community. But then the question that would remain would be: what the hell happened?
If someone was planning to suggest Maybrick as a suspect and wanted the diary to turn up and then be evidence to support their case, what went wrong with the plan? Because no one we know of that has been involved with the diary's coming to light, the Barretts, Tony (maybe), Billy (maybe), etc., has ever seemed to have any plans to write a separate book about the Ripper case or the ability to do so and no one who has anything to do with bringing the diary to light has ever shown any signs of being able to make a convincing case to the community of Ripper scholars of anything, let alone a new suspect. And only Mike and Anne have ever been in a position to make any money at all off the deal as far as we know, and neither of them seem likely to have been planning just to introduce a new Ripper suspect to the public for some reason or another. So if there was the sort of plan you describe, something went horribly awry somewhere and whoever originally had the plan never wrote their book and seems to have disappeared from sight (and how did that someone meet Mike Barrett anyway -- who did not exactly move in either literary or scholarly or true-crime scholar circles). But it is certainly possible that this diary is the product of an aborted plan and we'll never know what the original scheme was.
Hello everyone,
After shooting a terribly average 81, I am back and ready to look at our next few pages of diary text.
[NOTE: In case you missed it, Walter has announced that next Tuesday's live chat will be about the diary, although there will be no actual "deconstructions," I predict, despite the title of the chat. [personal aside: I say this only because I spent too many years (10) and wrote too many pages (over 500 in one project alone) on this "topic" and was honored and fortunate enough to have the help of its so-called "founder" and leading practitioner for a short time in my career. End of shameless personal history.] The details of the chat can be found on the announcement board. It's at 8 CST on Tuesday and I urge everyone to check it out.]
Now to the book.
Page thirty-eight gives us the finished, edited version of the Mary Kelly poem. It is two stanzas of eight lines each and includes the details of burning the hat for light, the red handkerchief, thoughts of Florie, and finally the suggestive "An initial here and an initial there..."
The prose epilogue to the poem includes the hint we have that many people think is a reference to the FM on the walls:
"I left it there for the fools but they will never find it. I was too clever. Left it in front for all eyes to see. Shall I write and tell them? That amuses me. I wonder if next time I can carve my funny little rhyme on the whore's flesh? I believe I will give it a try."
Then there's more stuff about a kidney and supper and a ha ha thrown in for good measure.
But I would like to say two things about the quote above. First, it is sufficiently vague, all by itself, to be read as referring to any number of possible things.
But, let's say that it was referring to something on the wall on Mary's room. Let's say this line, combined with the line about an initial here and an initial there produces a reference to the FM allegedly on the wall. Then we should notice this: the diarist takes care to underscore "front" -- "Left it in front for all to see." The initials on the wall in Mary Kelly's room are only in the "front" of the room if you are looking at the scene from the side of the bed. In other words, the letters are only left "in front" of you if you are looking at the scene from exactly the angle from the which the crime scene photo is taken. The initials are "in front" of everyone because they are right in the middle of the picture. To me, the underscoring of "front" suggests that the diarist was in fact working from the crime scene photo and not his own memory of the killing. Question: how soon after the killing was the crime scene photo published such that normal, unauthorized people could actually see it?
And still, even now, our diarist has written almost nothing about what he felt in that tiny little room as he carved up Mary Kelly. Just more lame jokes about eating kidneys for supper.
Now a word about dreams.
One mistake fiction writers, especially beginning fiction writers, often make is that they use dreams to tell their readers something about their character’s thoughts and make the dreams clear and easy to understand (unlike real dreams). Dreams very rarely manifest themselves in simple terms and tell you exactly what you are thinking. They are usually coded. It is mostly in cheap fiction where characters actually dream exactly what's on their minds, as an easy way to clue the reader in.
Now our hero has a dream of "thousands of people chasing me, with Abberline in front dangling a rope."
This isn't a dream, it's a political cartoon.
This might be read as a sign of an amateur writer trying to create a convenient dream for the reader. Dream logic in real life rarely works in this sort of clear and explicit and easy to understand way. But it often does in beginner's fiction.
Although our hero tells us he is getting tired, he also tells us his desires are changing. "It has been far too long since my last, I still desire revenge on the whore and whore master but less than the desire to repeat my last performance. The thought still thrills me so." (The first sentence here, notice, is another of Chris's run-ons.) So a good deal of time has passed since November 10th now, and he is thrilled more now by the butchery than the desire for revenge, he tells us. But we know that Mary is the last canonical victim. So what is a killer to do?
Well, our killer conveniently decides that "the city of whores has become too dangerous for I to return."
("for I to return" -- who says such things? He hasn't used this figure previously and it just pops up here out of nowhere? This seems less than an authentically consistent voice.)
"Christmas is approaching and Thomas has invited me to stay with him"
For more on whether Maybrick was out of town during Christmas of '88, see Paul Feldman's book. He actually makes a good case here that the diarist seems to have gotten this correct -- based on unpublished letters from the family and friends. (Later, as we shall see, the diarist also seems to have gotten the timing of the Grand National Race and its quality and the timing of Florie's bruises right, too, by the way. Keith is correct in saying it is a mistake to dismiss the research here too easily or too quickly.)
We are now in December, more than a month after Mary's murder. Our hero decides not to kill again in London at this point, but to kill in Manchester (this is the bookends theory of serial killing I mentioned earlier -- first and last out of town).
But if we are paying attention to the prose here, we should notice that we are supposed to begin realizing that a change is happening to our hero's mind. The writer is kind enough to show us that James is now beginning to think differently.
We have not had the requisite regular mention of the family or children in a while, but it turns up again as a way of demonstrating the psychological shift:
"The children constantly ask what I shall be buying them for Christmas they shy away when I tell a shiny knife not unlike Jack the Rippers in order that I cut their tongues for peace and quiet."
All right, now wait a minute. Here is James Maybrick, respected cotton merchant and businessman, whose wife and family at this point do not suspect he is a deranged serial killer -- and when the kids ask what they are getting for Christmas, he says to them: "a shiny knife not unlike Jack the Rippers in order that I cut your tongues for peace and quiet." And no one around the house is troubled by this or suspects anything? And gee, the kids "shy away?" Imagine that. Could this have really happened? And who says "not unlike" to their kids, anyway, even in 1888? But James does admit that this response of his troubles him a bit.
"I do believe I am completely mad. I have never harmed the children in the years since they have been born."
Both Martin and Chris have commented on how sometimes this diary sounds as if it was written by someone trying very hard to sound old-time and Victorian but not really knowing how to do it -- not really getting the syntax right. In this sentence, the phrase "in the years since they have been born" might be one good example of this.
James continues: "But now I take great delight in scaring them so. May God forgive me."
And then he considers suicide for a moment: "Perhaps I should top myself and save the hangman a job." I suppose "top myself" has been checked and it is an appropriate phrase for the place and period. But James is wondering about his own sanity (notice how the book's plot is still developing in a rather conventional way -- the falling action can begin now that the last, climactic canonical murder is done) and he mentions that he talks to Hopper too much.
Finally, this page ends with another attempt at verse. Here we get two stanzas, eleven lines in all, everyone of them crossed out but still readable, except for two:
Am I insane?
Cane, gain
I know what you're thinking. Cane. Gain. Money. Kane. Am I insane trying to do this for gain, signed, Kane. I can imagine some of the reading going on out there. I will say nothing about this for fear of sparking a new "handwriting samples" debate. It could be a word game. It could be a coincidence. I don't know.
But I do know that in the crossed out lines we have the number-sequence rhyme that has prompted people to cite the "Eight Little Whores" poem. Of course, in the diary it is only three and half lines and they are not the same meter or the same pattern as that poem and the number sequence goes in the opposite direction and these lines could just as easily have been composed along the lines of earlier verses here as have been inspired by that poem (which, to be fair, does also appear in boldface in Martin's book). I remain unconvinced, though, that there is a clearly established necessary link. But it is possible. Like so much else in this diary, there are not enough words, there is not enough development, to know anything for sure. Again, this is either the sign of a disciplined mind and a crafty strategy of writing, or the sign of a lazy mind without the energy to sustain the writing, which produced a fortunate side-effect. In either case, the text remains open to a number of possible readings at this point.
Tomorrow we'll see more scratched through poetry (always run through such that we can still read it) and, yes that's right, we will finally approach the lines of the illustrious Richard Crashaw.
We have now read the first forty pages.
Thanks everyone, for reading along,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 04:56 pm | | Hi, John:
I will have more to say about your day's evaluation of the pages, but I wanted to clarify the statement you made in regard to next Tuesday's live chat, which Tim Mosley has said will offer a deconstruction of the Diary.
You state:
. . . there will be no actual "deconstruction," I predict, despite the title of the chat. [personal aside: I say this only because I spent too many years (10) and wrote too many pages (over 500 in one project alone) on this "topic" and was honored and fortunate enough to have the help of its so-called "founder" and leading practitioner for a short time in my career. End of shameless personal history.]
Just to be clear about this, you are not, I think saying you spent 10 years studying the Diary and writing over 500 pages on the topic, are you? You are I think saying you spent ten years studying and writing about deconstruction. Am I correct? You might want to tell us how you define deconstruction as well. Thanks!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 05:15 pm | | Hi Chris,
I was afraid this would happen. Yes, I was saying I have spent a good chunk of my life studying and writing and working with the texts that are often grouped under a label like "deconstruction" (although, as someone once said, the word should really be written always in the plural, since deconstructions are always multiple).
No, I would rather not tell you how I "define deconstruction." At least not here on these boards. I have been asked the question many times in many different places and circumstances, both professionally and amongst friends or on lists or boards. I do have an answer. It usually takes up about a page or so and it's a hopelessly inadequate response, but I would be happy to send it to anyone who might genuinely be interested in the history of the term and what it has come to suggest and, when it is carefully considered and respected and not caricatured or simply dismissed out of laziness, what still gives it its formidable rigor and its philosophical and critical significance. If anyone wants to see such a short summary and approach to a definition, just send me a note at omlor@tampabay.rr.com. But discussing it here would be, for me, too much like work, like my job. And it is the summer, after all.
I look forward to your reading, Chris,
--John
PS: I am in no way suggesting in the above that Tim either intended a caricature of the term or was being lazy. I was only noting that such things often happen when the term is discussed these days, even by "professionals" in the fields of philosophy and literature. I am sure Tim meant the word in a much more common and literal way, and it was probably silly and even stupid of me to object. The only problem is the term "deconstruction" as it refers to critical strategies of reading, has nothing to do with the idea of "construction" or "constructing" and nothing whatsoever to do with tearing down or breaking apart. This is much too complicated to get into here, and it's unnecessary in this context anyway, since most people here will neither object nor care about the term, but it's been a big part of my own life for quite a long time now, and I bristle instinctively whenever I see it used this way.
I am no doubt being completely silly here, and should never have mentioned it at all. I apologize to all concerned. It's just one of those things.
Thanks, everyone, for your patience with my peccadilloes. Now back to the diary and a Ripper who misspells "ripped" and a hero who has conveniently literal dreams and threatens to buy his kids Jack's knife for Christmas.
Save me, Chris. |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Wednesday, 27 June 2001 - 09:49 pm | | Caz--Well, I guess I am completely unable to remain quiet. But I have to say I was impressed by your creative effort to resurrect the integrity of the Kelly crime scene. You wrote:
'Did the writer intend this passage to suggest that Maybrick’s own memories matched exactly the reports he had been reading? (And therefore dropped a clanger about where the breasts were found?) Or was it meant to be a mixture of actual memories (like the kissing perhaps) and what he assumed he must have done because, after all, that’s what the papers were telling him, wasn’t it? It’s not entirely clear, but later on (when the writer gets Maybrick to have flashbacks to the horror) we do get the lines:
‘I kissed them,
I kissed them
They tasted so sweet
I thought of leaving them by the whores feet
but the table it was bear
so I went and left them there'
[my emphasis]
Could it possibly be that the writer is suggesting that Maybrick was having trouble with the details of such a horrific crime, and was having to reconcile the reports with what he actually recalled doing? Could a paraphrase be: ‘I could have sworn I left them by the whore’s feet, but the table was bare, so I guess I left them there’? (Or am I totally over-reaching myself? )
In any event, what did our modern faker know about where Maybrick should have recalled placing the breasts? If he/she thought they really were found on the table, the reference to the whore’s feet must have been put in by sheer chance."
But I would respond by asking whether or not your admittedly clever reading of this passage might not be a good argument that the diary IS INDEED a modern forgery by a "modern faker" --for isn't it true that Dr. Bond's report, which gives the specific details of the Kelly's crime scene [one breast under right foot and one under the head--not exactly 'at the feet' as the diary says] did not resurface until 1987 and was not published until Martin Fido's book appeared that same year? Or do we now have to add 'owner of purloined documents' to our list of attributes to this most impressive and omnipresent old forger who was also, evidently, an intimate acquaintance of the Maybricks [Yapp or Formby?] a reader of Richard Crashaw, a listener of the Mikado, and a viewer of unpublished police files? Or is Melvin's scenerio starting to sound a little more plausible?
Best wishes,
RP |
Author: Porritt
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 01:32 am | | Greetings
Forgive the intrusions of a newbie to these salubrious tomes. I was a JtR junkie YEARS ago - but in the outreaches of New Zealand there ain't much interest so I let it dwindle till I discovered a 2nd hand copy of Trow's "The Many Faces of JtR" yesterday!
His dismissal of The Diary fascinated me - I'd never heard of any controversy as to its authenticity. . .
I had assumed, on reading The Diary way back in the dim dark days of 93, that the subject was closed.
End of story.
Maybrick dunnit.
Not that I was convinced. . . So I'm thrilled to find that there is real, intelligent debate about the subject!
One question burns. On reading Barrett's confessions it occurs to me that - and excuse the bluntness, but - well, he ain't the most intelligent of creatures! I've read in this site about Barrett's 'problems' (okay - so I'm an insensitive cow) but the Diary, y'gotta admit, is the result of some damned good research and one helluva lotta creativity! Does Barrett really have the capability to create this stuff? Or was his wife a damned good editor?
Oh! and another question burns! How did Barrett come to select Maybrick as his Ripper? Was Maybrick ever a contender in the stakes?
Damn! Now I have to read the Diary again!
Porritt |
Author: Guy Hatton
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 07:03 am | | John -
Having previously speculated that the "Diary" author may have been taking inspiration from the Yorkshire Ripper case (the "Mission from God" suggestion), I'd now like to add this, from the Sunderland hoax tape (very widely disseminated):
Even if you do get close, I'll probably top myself first.
All the Best
Guy |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 08:55 am | | Good Morning, everyone,
Hi RJ,
If we choose not to accept Caz's reading of the breast placement lines -- that the killer was (or that the diarist had the killer) basing his own thoughts and recollections about the details of the murder on what he read in the papers, perhaps because of an amnesia which sometimes haunted him like his sleepwalking -- if we decide instead that the diarist was, for instance, probably working from the crime scene photos, including perhaps the reverse one which shows the two lumps of gooey stuff on the table, then what happens to the idea that the diarist must have read and been using Martin's book? I ask this not because the crime scene photos aren't in my copy of that book (a diarist could have seen them any number of places). No, I ask this because if we assume the diarist had read Martin's book, then, as you point out, he must have also read the details of Bond's report and knew the breasts were not on the table. But he still puts them there. Doesn't this suggest, according to one possible interpretation at least, that he did not read Dr. Bond's report in Martin's book?
Remember, the diarist also says that he placed them on the table because he thought "they belonged there." Also there are a number of lines, including the line that underscores the position of "front" for the initials, that suggest the diarist was looking the crime scene photo. Perhaps the placing of Mary's breasts on the table is an indication that the diarist had seen the photo (and maybe the second photo) but had not seen Dr. Bond's report -- that is, had not read this detail in Martin's book.
But even if Caz is correct, and the mentioning of the thought in the poem of placing them "at the whore's feet" is an indication that the diarist had our hero getting his memories from the paper on purpose, this would not make it necessary for our hero to have seen Bond's report, either in Martin's book or anywhere else, either in the 1880's or the 1980's. The diarist could very well have been working from the newspaper reports and placing the breasts on the table and also had our hero write the line "I thought of placing them by the whores feet" without ever having seen any official document that said that one of Mary's breasts was under her head and "the other breast [was] by her right foot" as Bond's report puts it.
So these lines might very well be read to suggest that our writer had not seen Bond's report or read its details in Martin's book, whether our diarist was working recently or working long ago. Our diarist could still have thought it was an interesting and useful character detail to have his James remember the Kelly murder in bits and pieces from the accounts he was reading at the time mixed in with his own vague memories of the actual event -- this would conveniently save our diarist from the charges that James was simply remembering things wrong and therefore could not have been there. This, I think, is one of the suggestions Caz was making. But her analysis does not necessarily imply, on its own, that we must have either a recent diarist or a diarist from a while back, as far as I can tell. [I should note here, though, that James does not say anything explicit about his memory loss, even when he is talking about his "sleepwalking," which seems to be more a convenient excuse he gives to Michael so that he can get his own London place and not be expected to stay with his brother and, therefore, be free to come and go as he pleases.] And Caz's conclusion: "If he/she thought they really were found on the table, the reference to the whore’s feet must have been put in by sheer chance." remains completely possible -- especially as the line differs significantly from the Bond report in any case.
Also, you say that Bond's report "did not resurface" until 1987. Just to be comprehensive, I would have to ask when, though, did it first disappear? Do we know if the details, concerning where the breasts were, were available to anyone, say, a century ago?
Finally, you write: "Or is Melvin's scenerio starting to sound a little more plausible?"
Wait a second. I thought Melvin had no interest in identifying the forgers or speculating as to who wrote our diary? Perhaps you can remind us of the details of Melvin's scenario -- is it just that the diary was written quite recently and that it used Martin's book and a few others, including two Maybrick books and the Sphere guide? But if it used Martin's book, how come it got the breasts in the wrong place? I'm not sure this detail in the diary makes Melvin's scenario more plausible at all. In any case, Melvin surely isn't suggesting that Mike or Tony or K. or Anne was our author (or that anyone in particular was) right? He remains uninterested in this question and refuses now to speculate about such things, right?
Hi Porritt,
Yes, the more we read carefully through the diary text, the more we get a sense of the sort of person or people who would have written it and what skills or knowledge or talent or habits or discipline they would have had to possess. I do not find this document all that well-written or convincing, as I have said, and I find a number of problems with the authenticity of the voice and with the clichés in language and plot development and I find too many moments when the text seems to be written with an audience in mind. But that does not mean that some serious work did not go into this thing and that it would have required at least a certain facility with wordplay and a certain amount of research and energy and thoroughness. Whether Mike Barrett is likely to have created such a document sitting at home typing on his word processor is a troubling question -- especially, as you say, after one reads his own attempts at confessing.
Hi Guy (Remember that commercial with the dude in the medicine cabinet that said "Hi Guy?" Perhaps I am showing my age. And perhaps in your case it is pronounced "G-e-e" with a hard "g.")
Hi Guy,
Thanks for the "top myself" sighting. I'm sure that during the authentication-of-the-diary days someone must have checked at some point and made sure that this phrase was in use and common in Maybrick's place and time. But you might be right that our diary does have overtones of the Yorkshire case and its intrigues.
Now it's time for three more pages...
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 10:10 am | | Hello again, diary readers,
It's time to read Crashaw (and look at how it is written on the page) and to find a new and mysterious possible motive for murder. Pages forty-one through forty-three of the diary give us a bunch of scratched out poetry, including the lines about Mary's breasts that were being discussed above, but also give us some difficulties. These pages bring us through December of 1988 and up to the healing joys of a Maybrick family Christmas (tomorrow) .
First, there is rejected poetry.
The lines on page forty-one are, for the most part, scratched out after they have been written in their entirety. They are not scratched out one line at a time (with one exception). So it seems clear that verses were written out first and then a decision was made after the fact to cross them out. There is no revision here -- the lines of verse were done and then lines were drawn diagonally through the completed stanzas. So this is not a composition process, it is a simple act of rejection or frustration after the fact on the part of our killer/poet. Or at least that is what we are supposed to think. Of course, we can still read the words that he has written, and this allows us to get the ideas he wants us to get. There are a few "damn it"s sprinkled here and there to let us know that James is not happy with his poetry and finds it difficult and frustrating (in case we missed the lines drawn through all the stanzas -- I become more and more convinced that our writer either thought his audience was completely dim or just didn't understand the concept of subtlety).
But the scratched through lines say a few interesting things. For one thing, we see the line "He detests all Jews" referring to "Sir Jim." On tomorrow's pages James will meet a friend of his from the Exchange who is Jewish and will confess that he has many Jewish friends and is sorry for what this case has done to them. James does not hate Jews. He shows and tells us that. But he does want this "Ripper-in-writing character of the letters and the funny little rhymes to Abberline and the Central" to hate Jews (giving the public what it wants and expects). This allows me to conclude, I believe, that the scratched out lines on page forty-one are intended to be sent as Ripper missives at some point and are not being written for James's own pleasure. These are the lines James is working on to send to the public as "Jack."
But no, they can't be. I must be wrong. Because they refer explicitly to "Sir Jim" and "Michael" and Maybrick could never include such references in a public missive.
So now I'm confused. The anti-Semitic crack is clearly a part of the "Jack" persona -- tomorrow's pages will demonstrate that -- but the mentioning of Sir Jim and Michael is clearly the private journal writer Maybrick. What is going on?
I have one possible answer. The diarist is covering his butt in all possible cases. Once this thing comes out, people who know about Maybrick -- the experts -- are going to announce whether Maybrick really was anti-Semitic or not. Our diarist doesn't know this for sure. So he plays it both ways -- having Maybrick sometimes write explicitly anti-Semitic remarks not only as "Jack" but privately, in his own Maybrick persona, but also having him mention his Jewish friends and feeling sorry for what the case has done to the Jews (we'll see this tomorrow). Now the diarist doesn't have to decide whether Maybrick himself was genuinely anti-Semitic, since the diary can be read both ways. This is a nice move, if you ask me.
Then there are the lines about the breasts. And "bare" is spelled "bear" (I think this had to be a silly joke thrown in by a bored writer). But James is not happy with any of this and curses himself again and bursts out in angry, run-on prose, cursing Michael "for being so clever the art of verse is far from simple" and cursing Abberline. For a future moment, I would call the reader's attention to the line, concerning Abberline: "Banish him from my thoughts, he will not catch Sir Jim yet."
Now things get strange.
"I am cold curse the bastard Lowry for making me rip."
What?
Is this some weird new motive? How has Lowry "made" James rip? Later, on the next page Lowry's name turns up again.
"My head spins will somehow have to find the strength for my journey home. The devil take this city, it is too cold for me. Tomorrow I will make Lowry suffer. The thoughts will thrill me on my journey home."
I think I understand. Maybe. When James writes "I am cold curse the bastard Lowry for making me rip." he is in London. Being in London, he feels compelled to kill a whore. But he is having nightmares and feels tortured by his own desires. London is too cold. He is going to make Lowry suffer when he gets home. The implication seems to be that Lowry did something, business-wise, in the office, that has forced James to go to London (and thereby to want to rip again and to be miserably cold and tortured by his own desires for blood).
So Lowry is not being offered here as the cause of James's ripping, although it looks that way at first, but as the cause of his having to be in the city. (This time James is apparently staying with Michael or in a hotel and only remembering Middlesex street -- "that was a joke" -- and planning to take up new lodgings when he comes back to the city.)
James once again mentions his addiction (but as always only mentions it) and then once again expresses his desire to prove his identity. But to whom? I find this line most interesting:
"Think think think write tell all prove to them you are who you say you are make them believe it is the truth I tell."
Of course, it could be said that James here is thinking about his missives to Central and his intended messages for Abberline. But to me this line resonates with the desires of a would-be diarist and a hoaxer. Perhaps this is a rare moment of our hoaxer thinking aloud to himself in this journal. Remember, the journal is allegedly private. But here there is clear desire not only to be known but to be believed. The writer wants his readers to believe he is who he says he is. Of course a hoaxer could get away with writing this line because Jack (or someone claiming to be Jack) sent letters to the papers and so James would want to claim his own authenticity. But if you really think about it, this line seems much more like the desire of our writer speaking to an intended readership here in this journal, and that might mean that it is also a quick glimpse or peek into what the person holding the pen is really thinking.
The next line is even stranger:
"Damn him for creating them, damn him damn him damn him. I want to boil boil boil. See if there eyes pop."
Damn who? For creating whom? God, for creating whores? Perhaps, although it's not "Him" in the diary. The "there" which should be "their" clearly refers to the whores, so maybe this is the correct reading.
And then, after "Cut deep deep deep" reappears, we find ourselves with a crossed out line -- "Sir Jim will cut them all" -- and the two most talked about lines in the diary:
Oh costly intercourse
of death
We know the story by now. How did a line and a half from a Richard Crashaw poem which translates a sacred Latin hymn get into this diary? How is it that these lines are part of a passage cited in a Christopher Ricks essay in a literature book that was and/or is owned by the Barretts (and that may or may not be still lodged with a solicitor)? Why are the lines transcribed wrong?
I'll leave the explanations for the appearance of these lines to my fellow readers, if they want to cover these questions again, or to the archives, where the debate can still be found -- with significant detail. I do want to note two new things, though , about the words on the page.
First, they are immediately followed by the desire to "banish the thoughts." Readers should remember that on the previous page the writer used the phrase "Banish him from my thoughts" to refer explicitly to Abberline and to getting caught. So the implication here seems to be that the Crashaw lines remind the writer of getting caught (the costly price of his intercourse with death, no doubt). He feels better when he thinks about his pursuers as "chickens with their heads cut off." This lessens the thoughts of getting caught that were sparked by the Crashaw lines.
So the lines aren't just thrown in at random and for no reason onto this page. They appear within a specific context set up a page earlier -- wherein our hero is worried sometimes about getting caught and the price he will have to pay and the "costly intercourse of death" seems to be a very appropriate phrase for his being haunted by thoughts of Abberline, which he seeks to banish. I think any claim that these lines just looked good because they spoke of sex and death -- two things the Ripper would love -- is a bit naive. There is more going on here than just "Hey, these sound good. Let's throw them in somewhere." There is evidence of thought here. "Oh costly intercourse of death" reminds the writer of a price to be paid for his murders, which reminds him of Abberline and once again prompts him to "banish the thoughts" (a phrase he had used only a page earlier in this same context) and to see his foes as ridiculous, a more comforting vision.
Second thought about the Crashaw lines: If you look carefully at the page of the manuscript, you might notice that the Crashaw phrase is written slightly smaller and not against the left hand margin. You might also notice on the same page that the "chickens with their heads cut off" lines are written slightly smaller and not against the left hand margin. It almost looks as if both of these were written at the same time and that the order of the page was disrupted somehow by adding both of them. I don't have any idea what this means, but I noticed it when I looked at the photocopy in the book and thought I should mention it. Check it out.
Well, there is another "Am I not a clever fellow" just for good measure, and then some more scratched out verse, including the mention of "his knife in his bag." and then the paragraph about Lowry and going home that I have already read above.
In all, there are some very interesting problems and language in these last six pages from yesterday and today. Tomorrow James runs into a Jew and we do indeed celebrate a Maybrick Family Christmas. Happy holidays, indeed.
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 11:54 am | | Hi Guy,
When I read:
Even if you do get close, I'll probably top myself first,
I wondered at first if it was a personal comment on how you felt after reading all our protracted efforts to get to the truth about the damned diary.
Hi RJ,
The issue of how the diary author treats Mary’s breasts is just another little puzzle that needs sorting out. Why should I care if any of my observations help with the argument for a modern forgery? I’m simply looking at what our diarist has chosen to write and trying to work out possible sources of his/her information. For instance (and I now notice John has addressed this too), if one of his main sources was Fido, why did he choose to repeat an old error from previous ripper books and have Maybrick leave the breasts on the table, and then go on to hint half-heartedly and inaccurately at the ‘proper stuff’ he would have got from the Bond report, by way of the ‘whores’ feet’ afterthought? Logically, wouldn’t he have waded (aaggh sorry!) right in by saying the press were fools because he recalled leaving one at her head, the other at her foot? On the other hand (aaaggghh sorry again!), if he hadn’t read Fido, and all his ripper sources were telling him ‘table’, and he had no reason to doubt them, you have to admit it’s quite a coincidence that any reference to an alternative position appears at all – even more stunning that, out of all the places in that room he could have picked, he had Mary’s feet on his mind (go on, tell me the whole line was dreamed up at random, and all because he was stuck for something to rhyme with sweet ).
I honestly don’t know what to make of it, RJ. It doesn’t seem to make sense, whether Fido was one of the forger’s sources or not – any more than it makes sense to suggest that he could have known to put in a foot and breast connection before Fido was published. What do you think?
Love,
Caz
PS Just spoke with Keith Skinner, who tells me that the Bond report with the correct info about the breasts was not in Fido’s 1987 hardback (which featured the Punch cartoon - another reason why some believe it was used for a modern forgery), but was first published in his 1989 softback edition (with no Punch cartoon). So did our faker use one, both, or neither Fido? |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 11:56 am | | Hi, John:
I am trying to meet a big deadline at work. I will shortly owe you at least three days' worth of feedback to your well-considered and in-depth critiques of the Diary pages. I appreciate all the work you are putting in not deconstructing the Diary, ha ha.
I cannot resist mentioning, John, how please I am that you mentioned your "peccadilloes." I have it on very good authority that the only thing that Maybrick and Jack shared in common was their little peccadilloes.
Best wishes
Chris George
P.S., Porridge, welcome to the boards! You are exceedingly well named! The Diary is like Porridge. It fills you up but does not provide a full meal.
P.P.S., Porritt, please excuse me for having a little fun at your expense. Seriously, I do sincerely welcome you here. Be warned though, this place becomes addictive after a while. |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 12:44 pm | | Hi Chris,
The one thing I craved for most when in labour was porridge. Little did I know then that I would one day be labouring - or wading - through the stuff by the bucket-load.
Hi Porritt,
Considering Mike Barrett is a working-class man (who associates intercourse with sex), I do wonder if this is one of the reasons some people conclude that the diary author (who talks of the thrill he'll get from thoughts of what Florie will get up to when the carriage has taken her to her whoremaster) is also working-class.
The shortcomings in the diarist's apparent level of literacy, and creative writing talent, appear IMHO to contrast quite sharply with some other aspects of his/her insight, imagination, intelligence, experience and capabilities.
Haven't a clue where that leads us though.
Love,
Caz |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 01:17 pm | | Caz--Thanks, and thank Keith. I always wondered how Martin Fido managed to slip a lost document that didn't turn up until November of 1987 into a 1987 book! (I have a later edition). So the answer is that it didn't appear in the first edition. This would seem to eliminate John's objection that the forgers (had they used Martin's book) were repeating a crime scene error that would have been disputed by the Bond report that appeared in another part of the book. To be honest, I had always felt that that was one stike against it having been used as well.
In general, I don't like coincidences. Mike's ownership of the Sphere, for instances. But in this case, I guess I have to write-off 'I thought of leaving them by the whore's feet' as a bit of luck on the forger's part. After all, it still isn't historically correct. However, if you feel this does indicate a more complex knowledge of the crime scene ---and since we pretty much know that Bond's report must have been entirely out of circulation between Macnaghten's time & 1987--I guess this leaves everyone still happy: either it means the diary is genuine, it is a very old hoax, or it was written after 1987. I still opt for the last. [I guess your reading eliminates Billy Graham, no? But did anyone really ever suspect him? I think not.]
By "Melvin's scerio", I, of course, meant that the diary could have been constructed using a couple of recent Ripper books, the Sphere History, and a Maybrick book or two-- and doesn't demonstrate that a great deal of research had to have been used. [Only one line in the entire diary still gives me trouble. Maybe Keith has spotted it?]
Cheers,
RJ Palmer |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 28 June 2001 - 09:28 pm | | Evening, all,
Chris, no worries about getting responses in on any sort of deadline. I'll just keep reading and you can jump in when you have the time and something strikes your interest. And please be assured that my reading of the diary on this board has included nothing at all in the least bit deconstructive. In fact, the issues and concerns of philosophical and critical deconstructions would not help us in what we are trying to do here, would not be in any way relevant to this sort of reading task, and would probably only serve to further muddy the investigative waters as we look for evidence of the nature of our possible authors. We are looking for a source. That is a very undeconstructive thing to do. My reading of these pages has actually been more simply critical and response-oriented, and at times almost impressionistic. It hasn't even been that scholarly. It has just attempted to mix attention to detail with some honest reactions. I hope that's all we need at this point and I hope anyone else who wants to just react honestly to what they are reading will feel free to do so.
Hi Caz,
Thanks to Keith for the info on Martin's editions. So it is still possible then, as RJ correctly points out, that the writer was reading the first edition of Martin's book. But the question then would be, in that edition, which did not contain the Bond report, what did Martin write about where the breasts were placed? Did that edition say they were on the table or did it say one was at her feet? I have a later Barnes and Noble hardcover edition and can't check. But I'd be interested to know, just for fun.
Hi, RJ -- There are some details, like Maybrick's whereabouts on Christmas of '88 and the record time for the Grand National and the timing of the appearance of Florie's bruises and the simple but vital fact that James Maybrick was not on record or on any social calendar as being anywhere on some very important dates in the Fall of '88 (and thereby simply excluded from being a possible suspect) that would have required some more leg work than just looking into the two Maybrick books that have been mentioned. And the diarist seems at least to have gotten these pretty close to correct. Either he has been very, very lucky or else I think we should give credit where credit is due (even though I still think this is a badly written and finally unconvincing book).
Hello, readers all,
I do want to say that it seems clearer now as I re-read these pages that the Crashaw lines are not just mentioned, they are placed in a narrative context that interweaves our hero's fear of being caught and his being haunted by Abberline and his desire to banish these thoughts and his awareness of the "cost" of his intercourse with death. The textual evidence is pretty clear on this, as I have cited up above.
And I do think the anti-Semitic rhetorical maneuver made by the diarist as cited above, which allows him to deflect potential historical criticism concerning whether Maybrick was or was not actually anti-Semitic is a fairly sharp ploy (the details of this maneuver, using both the Maybrick-as-letter-writing-Jack and Maybrick-as-honest-private-diarist personae are also chronicled with the relevant passages cited up above).
Although I have been very critical of the diary's inconsistent voice and slip-ups on some of the details and clichéd plot and character development and an apparent improper awareness of an intended audience, I wouldn't want to speak too soon about what exactly was necessary to write this book. I don't think we know that yet. Just like we don't know who wrote it, either.
But it is fun reading it.
And tomorrow it's Christmas. I never slept on Christmas eve when I was young. I just couldn't.
Bye,
--John |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 03:30 am | | John--Sorry old chum, but I think you're way off base here. I've done quite a lot of reading of the old Maybrick materials and I think all the above points are in dispute. First off, the Diary says absolutely nothing about the Grand National being a record time, you're merely paraphrasing one of Shirley Harrison's arguments. The diary says "True, it is the fastes race I have seen". Now Maybrick saw one heck of a lot of races; if you, Shirley, Paul Feldman, or anyone else can prove to me that this was the fastest race Maybrick "had seen" then I'll swallow my words and admit this is historically accurate--but until then, this has not been demonstrated. Second of all, the diary is very likely to be wrong about the events of Christmas 1888. It was around Christmas time that the Maybricks met Charles Samuelson & his wife--in Liverpool. Nigel Morland has them spending a usual Christmas at home. The diary says "I regret that I will not see Michael this Christmas"---but at Florie's trial Michael Maybrick states that he DID see his brother "at Christmas time". Where are you finding evidence that the diary is correct about Florie's bruises? And finally, as for Maybrick's social calendar, I think this is a specious argument. The fact that the diary's handwriting doesn't even remotely resemble Maybrick's handwriting (nor the Dear Boss letter) did not deter the writers of the diary, so why wouldn't they risk an alibi? The idea of the forgers scouring hundreds of newspapers or hotel records in fear that Maybrick had an alibi is untenable. The popular books on Maybrick make it pretty plain that he was in his regular work routine during the fall of 1888. There's nothing to indicate with any certainty that any of Maybrick's movements in the diary are historically accurate. [And by the way, the fact that Prince Eddy had an alibi in Scotland didn't deter Stephen Knight from writing his book, and his work is a heck of alot more complex than this, IMHO]. But I've said this before: Maybrick was an anonymous person until he died. There is no detail history of his movements. At some point the forgers would simply have to risk that he had no alibi, and it has proven a pretty safe risk so far. However, I'm still working on it ... [To you researchers out there: the records of the Mutual Reserve Fund Life Assurance of New York might have some interesting data for us on this account....]
But hang with me awhile, John, I think I'm pretty close to being able to demonstrate the single source from which all the Maybrick material came from... I'll be in touch. RJP |
Author: Guy Hatton
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 05:25 am | | Caz -
Top myself? While you're here to make life worth living? No chance! Just thought it worth dropping in the occasional idea. After all:
I warned you in March that I'd strike again
All the Best
Guy |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 05:55 am | | Hi John,
The point Keith was making to me, as I understood it, was that the first ever mention, in print, that Mary's breasts were placed under her head and foot (and therefore not on the table, as in all previous ripper books, I gather) was in the 1989 softback edition of Fido's book. So, if the line about the 'whores feet' indicates that a modern forger knew about the Bond report, the diary must have been created in or after 1989.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 05:57 am | | Hi Guy,
Love,
Caz |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 06:15 am | | Hi Peter,
Can we presume that, contrary to Karoline’s opinion, that it should be simple and quick for anyone to get the date of Mike’s lodging of his Sphere vol.2 with his solicitor; and despite your own opinion that a more complete response could and should have been solicited and received years ago from the auctioneers who allegedly sold the diary scrapbook to Mike; you have had no luck yet yourself?
And can we also presume that there is nothing to report yet on the Steve Powell front – I seem to recall that you were going to keep the board informed if and when you had had any success?
And would you now concede that silence is not necessarily any indication that the research was not done, nor the right questions asked, and that it could be more a case of nothing being that simple?
Hi John, Chris, All,
Regarding the supposed FM on the wall, I’m not sure if Mike Barrett ever explained, when talking about his part in the forgery, the reasoning behind the references to two initials, one here and one there, which would tell of the whoring mother. I’m pretty sure, in fact, that Mike didn’t say anything initially (!) about them being a pair of initials – FM - daubed on Mary’s wall in blood. Feldy got to it first, I believe, but through another researcher, Simon Wood, who had mentioned seeing a letter, or letters, in the photo well before the diary surfaced. (But I’m led to believe that nothing of the sort, that a forger could have read about, appeared in print until later.)
The vague references in the diary are not in fact a very good match for the FM, as I posted elsewhere a while back. If you think about it, the two initials appear together on the wall, yet the diarist separates them into ‘an initial here and an initial there’. Then he says, ‘I left it there….they will never find it….Left it in front….’, so the separated initials become one item again – a pair. Are we sure about that? Did the diarist expect anyone to get it from this description - another example of sloppy writing perhaps? Or of leaving details vague enough so they could mean absolutely anything, if the FM on the photo were later proved by photographic experts to be an illusion? Or did our forger have something else in mind? Meanings can change subtly, and possibilities increase, when you put the emphasis on different words in a sentence. If you take the following, for example, and read the words out aloud, with the emphasis on the words indicated, you will see what I mean:
‘I wonder if next time I can carve my funny little rhyme on the whores flesh?’
‘I wonder if next time I can carve my funny little rhyme on the whores flesh?’
In the first example, he is contemplating a brand new experience – that of carving one of the diary rhymes on a future victim. But the only carving he has mentioned doing before, I believe, was leaving his mark on Eddowes’s face – yet he is supposed to be reflecting on MJK’s murder, and looking forward to the next, isn’t he?
In the second example, he appears to be suggesting that he has already carved something on the latest victim – MJK – but next time he wants to do even more, and carve a whole rhyme.
I wonder which example makes more sense overall? If it’s the second, did our diarist have Maybrick carving ‘an initial here and an initial there’ on the latest whore’s flesh? It would be a good ruse, considering the mess she was left in, making it entirely plausible for him to have ‘left it there for the fools’, and for them not to have singled it out from all the other terrible wounds the killer inflicted.
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 08:38 am | | Good Morning all,
Hi RJ,
Please understand that I would be perfectly happy if you or someone can demonstrate that all the material in this book comes from one or two Maybrick tomes. It would make things much easier, and since I am not at all of the opinion that this book is authentic or even very well written, it would not alter my conclusions about the book or about the character of the forgers very much at all. It would still, of course, tell us nothing at all about who wrote this book. In fact, in might make the field of possible authors even larger – since many more people could simply read two books than could do any serious research.
But let's take one thing at a time. You write about the Grand National:
"The diary says 'True, it is the fastest race I have seen'. Now Maybrick saw one heck of a lot of races; if you, Shirley, Paul Feldman, or anyone else can prove to me that this was the fastest race Maybrick 'had seen' then I'll swallow my words and admit this is historically accurate--but until then, this has not been demonstrated."
We know that Maybrick attended the race. We know also that Alfred Brierly attended the race. This all came out in the trial. We know that the diarist had written "but the thrill of seeing the whore with the bastard thrilled me more so than Knowing his Royal Highness was but a few feet away." And the timing of the entry would be right for the '89 Grand National and it is about this race that Maybrick says it was the fastest he race he'd ever seen. We know that the Grand National of '89, won by Frigate, was won in the fastest time in eighteen years. So either the diarist had Maybrick say this was a very fast race and he was really just guessing and he was very, very lucky or he had seen something somewhere about this being a very fast race. I'll accept either possible explanation. But I don't want to judge just yet, since I don't have the necessary data to know for sure which is the case. And neither, I think, do you.
Don't we also know that within a week after that race, and after Brierly escorted Florie to see the Prince of Wales, Florie turned up (the next weekend) at Dr. Hopper's office with a black eye and told him that James had hit her (again from the trial)? We know that at right around this time, immediately after the race, the diarist has James fighting with Florie and him saying "I struck her several times." The diarist might very well have been lucky here again.
Finally, the Christmas question is approaching. I don't know anything for sure about this one. As I mentioned in my original reading of the diary's pages, I only remember the letter that Feldman cites from Baroness Von Roques saying that during that time Florie was free to dance and go out in society because she was "left unattended by her husband." The diary has James accepting Thomas' offer to visit him over Christmas: "Christmas is approaching and Thomas has invited me to visit him. I know him well. I have decided to accept his offer." And then Maybrick returns before the New Year and writes "Thomas was in fine health." The idea that Maybrick visited someone for a time over Christmas seems supported by the letter Feldman cites from the Home Office files. I don't know anything about this letter, of course, and merely mention it here so readers can judge. It is cited with its official numbers on page 326 of Feldman's paperback. But I will say, and emphasize, that I am always uneasy citing from this book, since I do not trust its logic nor its arguments nor its rhetoric. But it looks at least like there is a letter that discusses the right time and circumstances and that this is what it says. So maybe the diarist just got very lucky again. I'm still willing to buy that, RJ. But I am not willing yet to decide for sure. There might very well have been some research done here that we don't know about and I don't see why we have to dismiss that possibility. What does it profit us to dismiss any possibility at this point, since we don't know yet who wrote this book or how? Why be so quick to insist that some research beyond reading two books was not done when we don't know this yet and have conflicting signs? Why be so anxious to prove that research was not done, even if the material does exist in two books? But you are free to decide such things whenever you want and to dismiss whatever possibilities you want for whatever reasons appeal to you. I prefer to keep on reading and to keep the possibilities open at this point.
(Note: It should also be mentioned, of course, that even if all the Maybrick material used in this diary is available in two existing books on Maybrick, that does not logically allow us to conclude that those two books and only those two books were used in the actual writing of the diary. All the Maybrick material might very well be in those two books and it could still turn out that our would-be diarist used other sources. We are forced by simple logic at least to admit this possibility.)
Finally RJ, you write:
"The fact that the diary's handwriting doesn't even remotely resemble Maybrick's handwriting (nor the Dear Boss letter) did not deter the writers of the diary, so why wouldn't they risk an alibi?"
Because, although they could always dance around the "science" of handwriting analysis, or thought they could, there would be no dancing around the fact that Maybrick could not have been in London on the weekends in question because he was on business somewhere or listed as a party guest somewhere or seen by someone, especially since this would have all been somewhat investigated already and reported, since he was a celebrated murder victim (and not anonymous at all by 1889).
You tell me:
"The idea of the forgers scouring hundreds of newspapers or hotel records in fear that Maybrick had an alibi is untenable. "
But even Peter has written that they could very well have checked some of the contemporary papers from the weekends in question in the local library, to make sure there was no record of Maybrick being in Liverpool when he'd need to be in London. Honestly, if you were writing a diary that claimed Maybrick was Jack the Ripper and you were going to foist it on the world, wouldn't you at least be inclined to check and make sure that Maybrick could be Jack the Ripper and wasn't immediately excluded from being him because his local paper or some simple record had him elsewhere at the time of the murders? I would think this was one of the most important things for our hoaxers to check out. But you think they would have just figured it was safe and run the potentially fatal risk with this entire project. Then you must figure that so far they have been very lucky, again. I'll prefer to keep my mind open about such things and to think that perhaps it was necessary for them to at least check some contemporary reports to see if their man was even going to fly as a suspect for a single moment once the book hit the public arena.
But you promise some telling details in your research, RJ, and I look forward to them. I would be surprised, frankly, if there were not some record of Maybrick's life and times that would make it impossible for him to have been the Ripper. Of course I don't believe he was or that this diary is genuine, as you know. So I hope you do find something. And if you find a single source from which all of the Maybrick material might have come, I would welcome that too, and whatever it might suggest about who then might have had access to it and who might have written this document.
Until then, I'll try and keep my mind open to all possibilities and to see what the text says.
Thanks, RJ, and a sincere welcome back to the discussion.
Hi Caz,
I agree that the diary's words are not clear enough for us to be certain that they are discussing the FM allegedly on the wall. If they are, it seems clear to me that they might very well have been constructed from a creative viewing of the photo. If they are not, then this is another incredible bolt of luck for our diarist -- who was continuing the initials-motif from the Eddowes killing, perhaps, and only after the fact had his readership create the stir about the letters FM supposedly on the crime scene wall. The power of suggestion is formidable thing and old photos are like clouds and office building windows, I suppose.
But if the latter scenario is the historically accurate one, then whoever wrote this book should have also bought a lottery ticket or two, because they really have been riding a streak of interpretive luck that would make most professional gamblers envious.
Now on to the day's pages.
All the best,
--John |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 09:49 am | | John--Just a little clarification. I didn't mean to suggest that the diarists wasn't referring to the Grand National race. He obviously was---it is precisely the event mentioned in every popular treatment of the Maybrick case: Morland's, Whittington-Egan's, Ryan's, Christie's, etc. That Maybrick beat up his wife after this race is well known and is also in all of those accounts. What I dispute is that it has been proven historically accurate that this was the 'fastest race' that Maybrick had ever seen. But, for that matter, the fact that Frigate won this race is in Nigel Morland's book... the forgers could have checked the time using that information, but I greatly doubt this, and would say "not proven".
By the way, a Canadian Ripperologist was writing (or had written) a book length argument for Neill Cream being the Ripper, even though Rumbelow later showed that Mr. Cream was definitely incarcerated in Illinois at the time. I believe Richard Wallace made a similar error with his suspect Lewis Carroll.It's a risk one takes, but not a great risk, as most people aren't able to be tracked on a day-to-day basis after 102 (or so) years. Regards, RP |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 10:17 am | | Hello all,
"I cannot bring myself to look back, all I have written scares me so."
It's not really that scary, if you ask me.
Anyway, as the diary continues, James is back home, getting a visit from George. He does say, as RJ mentioned above, that he regrets that he will not see Michael for Christmas (he is planning to visit Thomas). Michael says at the trial that he saw James "at Christmas time." Of course, there are no specific dates on the entries in the journal and we do not know how big a period of time or number of days constitutes "Christmas time." The letter I mentioned in my previous post suggests that James was away from home at about this time and that Florie was on her own. But the specific timing of all of this is impossible to determine and so, either through the craft of vaguery or through the beneficial side-effects of a sloppy and lazy mind, the diarist has slipped through another potential historical pitfall.
(Added Note to RJ: I agree that the question of the fast Grand National reference remains "not proven," like almost everything else in this book, in part because it is so vague. But I don't think we need to know for sure whether it was literally the fastest race James had ever seen. We do know this much: James saw it. It was the fastest race in eighteen years. James remarks about how fast it was. So, either the diarist knew it was a particularly fast race or the diarist got very lucky when he had James comment on how fast it was. I'll buy either possibility, but one or the other has to be true. And of course, as I have said, it is possible that our diarist never checked James's whereabouts on the days of the murders. I would have. But they might not have. In which case, unlike the two cases you cite, they have once again been very lucky. That's a lot of luck, RJ.)
Then James meets a Jew.
"I felt regret for was he not Jewish. I had forgotten how many Jewish friends I have. My revenge is on whores not Jews. I do believe I am truly sorry for the scare I have thrown amongst them."
So our diarist has James/Jack feel regret for what he has done to the Jews. But only a page ago, in the midst of some private versifying (mentioning Michael and Sir Jim and therefore not for later distribution or sending) James wrote "Give Sir Jim his due/ He detests all the Jews." Here James seems to be speaking in his Jack-as-Letter-Writer voice, even though he is writing to himself. By mixing up James' friendship with Jews and regrets about their fate and James' Jack inspired and dramatically created anti-Semitism, our diarist manages to protect himself from whatever historical information might come out about James's true beliefs once the diary goes public. If experts say James really was an anti-Semite, the diarist is covered by the lines in the verse. If they say he was not really an anti-Semite, our diarist then can claim the appearance of having inside knowledge of this, as evidenced by the "old friend on the Exchange floor" passage.
James also tells us his regret about the Jews has made him unable to write his funny little rhymes (as opposed to, say, lack of talent). Perhaps there is a bit of denial here, either on the part of our hero or the part of our would-be diarist, about their skill with verse. In any case, James announces that he has stopped sending letters as Jack.
Then there is another of my favorite sort of sentences:
"I am tired, very tired."
I have already spoken of my fondness for this rhetorical construction.
And we learn that James is heading off for Manchester and plans to repeat his "last performance." I find it interesting that in a number of places in the diary James speaks of his killings as performances or as a sort of drama or acting. The sense of jack being a performer, acting a part, is very noticeable in the language of this diary. Perhaps this is the influence of movies the author has seen, perhaps it is the remnant of the fact that our writer is playing a part. I don't know. But there is a certain staged quality to this whole text and it speaks of the murders as staged as well.
James, though he desires to kill again, also appears to be softening. We are in the declining-action section of our standard, Aristotelian, clichéd plot now, remember. "The day is drawing to a close, Lowry was in fine spirits. I am pleased. I regret, as with my Jewish friends I have shown my wrath. This coming Christmas I will make amends."
This is a kindler gentler James the serial killer.
But things change very rapidly. This too is a pattern that has developed. Right before James lashes out in a burst of anger the diary gives us a moment of calm (before the storm). Again, this is a device commonly used in horror movies (and movies in general). Right before the chaos there is a deceptive moment of peace to lull the viewer into a false relaxation. It's not done well here, the peace does not last long enough to relax us, but it clearly echoes the common movement of movies.
And then the music stings and James rails:
"The bitch, the whore is not satisfied with one whore master, she now has yes on another."
Florie, apparently, has shown interest in a new man. And just that quickly, our hero, in the very next sentence, lets it slip that he has struck again.
I should note once more that the murders in this book almost slip by unnoticed. This one is buried, in vague terms, in the middle of this paragraph that begins with Florie's further infidelities (we are supposed to see cause and effect here, I think).
But you could almost miss what happened if you weren't paying attention. (This happens again a few pages later, when James seems to have been nearly caught and not been able to kill and then plans to "take all" and leave "nothing not even the head" -- perhaps the diarist is just hedging his bets here concerning the torso murder -- we'll see tomorrow. ) This time, the murder that follows the line about Florie having eyes for yet another man is not as much fun:
"I could not cut like my last, visions of her flooded back as I struck. I tried to quosh all thoughts of love. I left her for dead, that I know. It did not amuse me."
I think this was a murder. Sometimes it's sort of hard to tell in this book. In any case, it seems not to have been in London but in Manchester. And it is followed by the scene which some readers have suggested represents the tearing up of James's first will. "I have left her penniless, I have no regrets." But the language here is far too vague and the references to striking the whore and to hurting Florie get all mixed up and it is not at all clear which action is taken against which woman and there is no will mentioned and this paragraph could actually mean any number of things. But I think someone got killed.
Then Christmas arrives.
"Thomas was in fine health. The children enjoyed Christmas. I did not."
Suddenly James is writing in simple declarative sentences. What happened to the run-on writer we've all come to know. This is an odd change in style and voice.
James once again longs for Springtime and warmth and "flowers in full bloom" and for his "favorite month." But then he checks himself. "My heart has been soft." And he goes right back to talk of his knife and cutting. This pattern of waffling between regret and hostility is setting us up for the coming collapse of James's will to kill and the diary's final, melodramatically tragic pages. So be aware. It is starting, in little bits and pieces now, but will develop more and more until memories of Mary Kelly and "no heart" finally render him unable even to go on writing. There is at least evidence here that the writer knew what was planned and that the diary had been outlined or sketched out in advance -- hints that James is going to go soft start cropping up pages before it finally happens.
James does say the he regrets he gave himself the name "Jack the Ripper" rather than "Sir Jim." Once again, I think his aesthetic judgment concerning turns of phrase fails him. And James once again merely mentions his drug habit. This is at least the third or fourth time he has written the sentence "I am taking more than ever" or something like it, without further comment. It seems just to be a reminder for drifting readers.
And sure enough, the old James returns:
"I curse myself for the fool I have been. I shall have no more regrets, damn them all. Because Mr. Abberline I will return with a vengeance. Once more I will be the talk of England."
But does he ever "return with a vengeance?"
Maybe, maybe not. It is sort of hard to tell reading the text. But we will see in the next day or two whether the diary does claim that James tries to kill again in London. And there will be more of James shifting from tired and regretful to enthused and angry and there will be more domestic intrigue and a letter from Florie to Michael.
But I am hungry, very hungry.
So I am stopping here, with a note to Caz about "James's" fantasy life. Caz, I did notice, reading ahead, that at one point he will say: "I have thought often about the whore and her whore master. The thoughts still thrill me. Perhaps one day the bitch will allow me to participate. Why not? All have taken her. Have I no right to the whore. I wish to do so."
When it comes time to interview any potential authors of this book -- someone might want to ask them some very personal questions about their interests, preferences, and hobbies.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 11:03 am | | from The Maybrick diary:
"Michael is well, he writes a merry tune. In my heart I cannot blame him for doing so. I regret I shall not see him this Christmas"
from the transcripts of the trial of Florence Maybrick [H.B. Irving]:
Sir Charles Russell: Do you recollect what was suggested? Do you recollect that she suggested it was perhaps strychnine, or some other drug? Do you recollect the word strychnine?
Michael Maybrick: I cannot say I do.
Sir Charles Russell: Can you undertake to say, from your recollection, that she did not, referring to a white powder, say it might be strychnine?
Michael Maybrick: I should not like to say one way or another; my recollection is too vague.
Sir Charles Russell: Your own family doctor is Dr. Fuller?
Michael Maybrick: He is.
Sir Charles Russell: That fact was known to your brother and his wife?
Michael Maybrick: Yes, it was. I mentioned it at Christmas time, when I asked him to come up to London to see Dr. Fuller.
Note: I'd like to make it plain that it is not my intention to debate that the Maybrick diary is a forgery--this is unnecessary; it has already been proven to be a forgery, the handwriting is not James Maybrick's. My intention is to show that this document demonstrates no in-depth research. I submit that had the forgers made the very rudimentary research effort of reading the transcripts of Florence Maybrick's trial, they would not have written the line quoted above. The argument that the diary, in claiming that Maybrick visited his brother Thomas in Manchester at Christmas, shows that the forgers did careful research strikes me as particularly weak one--because no one has ever proven that Maybrick WAS in Manchester on Christmas...it could merely be so much hot air. As Melvin Harris has noted, Mike Barrett even made remarks to this effect. This has yet to be disproven.
RP |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 11:42 am | | Serious thanks for the useful citations, RJ.
One thing I would ask, though, about this: Michael's response is to the question "That fact was known to your brother and his wife?" Do you think Michael was saying that Florie was also there when Michael mentioned it to James "at Christmas time?" Because we do have contemporary evidence that Florie was left unattended at home at some point by her husband during the season, don't we?
And of course, you are quite right that no one has proven that James was in Manchester during the holiday season or in London during the holiday season. Does Michael's response mean that James was in London sometime around Christmas or that Michael was visiting James and Florie, and while he was there at Christmas time, suggested that James come to London to see the doctor? I don't know. And I'm certainly not taking Mike Barrett's word for anything.
As I say, I have no idea how much research was actually done or how many sources were used in the creation of this book. The diarist could very well have used one or two books on Maybrick, or he could have used more and read contemporary reports from the papers and found documents in other places. He could have done all of this and still have gotten things wrong. He does seem to have been lucky in mentioning that the '89 Grand National race was a particularly fast one and he does seem to have been lucky that James's whereabouts were not discovered to be traceable in the Fall of '88 (unlike your own two cited examples above) and he seems to have remained vague enough about James's Christmas time movements so that it can neither be proven nor disproven that James saw Thomas as he said he did. So I don't think it is fair to say yet that we can know exactly what research our diarist did or exactly what sources our diarist used. And as I mentioned, even if all the necessary material was available in only one or two books, we would have no way of knowing whether our diarist knew that or used those two books or used other books or records in any case.
But I'm still not sure what's at stake for you, RJ. Why is it so important to claim for certain that no real research was done when we can't really know this, even if the text is badly written or shows shoddy results? Why the rush to dismiss the possibility that other sources might have been accessed or that someone who wrote this might have looked at newspapers from the time or looked in places other than the two books you mention?
I am certainly not claiming that the diarist necessarily did any "in depth research" or that he must have or that this is what the diary shows. I am simply claiming we don't know yet just what our diarist had seen or what was used when the book was written and therefore we ought to keep an open mind about the possibility of different sources being used at some point or another, even if they have been used badly. That seems like a fair way to conduct an investigation to me.
But I accept that you are convinced that there was no research done and that all the information came from two books. That is the joy of the sort of reading we are engaged in here. We can all make decisions as we go along about what we think we know and when we think we know it.
I'll continue to keep open in my own mind both the possibility that some research was done and our diarist was sometimes more than just lucky and the possibility that no further research was done and that only a book or two was used and some luck then followed. Not deciding this yet, since I do not have any idea who wrote this book or why or how, suits me just fine.
But I would also like to hear from others as we read these pages and see what is happening to our hero, James.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: R.J. Palmer
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 12:48 pm | | | John--of course. By all means carry on. I don't wish to discourage you & the others from taking part in the textual discussion; I'll return in three weeks or so with my findings--(I'm not done yet and it will take some time to compile them). As for my aim, that's a fair question. I only wish to make the very limited contribution of showing that the diary would not have taken complex or contemporary knowledge of the Maybrick household, and, perhaps, at the same time suggest a likely source for all of the Maybrick material. People will be welcome to critique my findings when I make them available. I'm not aiming to prove the identity of the diarist(s). Bye for now, and best wishes to everyone. |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 01:50 pm | | Thanks, RJ,
Best of luck in your research. I look forward to seeing the results. Any new information that might help us figure out how this book was produced and even why this book was produced would certainly be welcome.
In the meantime, now that I have eaten some fried fish sticks (from Gorton's) and rice (from Minute), I did want to finish the second half of the page where my previous reading ceased because of hunger. Just one more paragraph of prose needs to be examined to get us through to page forty-seven.
It appears now that James has committed another murder (this time in Manchester, perhaps) and subsequently fought with his wife. He was, for a time, troubled with regrets about the Jews and about Lowry and about other things. But now he promises no more regrets and to return, as we have seen above, "with a vengeance."
Then we see our hero's thoughts turning to his wife and her lover again:
"I wonder if the whore will take the bastard? The bitch is welcome to him."
I did want to mention that the sheer repetition of the words "bitch" and "whore" in place of Florie's name or any other noun is almost scrupulous. Our would-be diarist seems convinced that the regular, repeated use of such language will confirm in his reader's minds the evilness (or at least the limited vocabulary) of "Sir Jim."
But James plans his own assignation:
"Tonight I shall reward myself, I will visit mine, but I will not be gentle. I will show my whore what I am capable of. Sir Jim needs to wet his appetite, all whore be damned."
Yes, the last "whore" is in the singular in the diary. A slip of the pen, perhaps. But once again I am struck when reading these words by the performative nature of them. It's easy to forget that this is supposed to be a private document where a man is writing his own thoughts to himself. These little pieces of information (more than we needed or wanted to know, really) seem odd in such a context. Why write out these plans? Perhaps some of us would, I don't know. But it just seems to me that this is written with an audience in mind and to be intentionally dramatic.
Then there is another tantalizing little sentence:
"A friend has turned, so be it, Sir Jim will turn once more."
See, this is just the kind of thing a good would-be-diarist/hoaxer would do. You put in a vague reference about a friend's betrayal, without any context or explanation or date or place or time, and then let the experts go mad searching for an episode where one of Maybrick's friends turned on him. There are bound to be some (who hasn't had a friend turn on them?) and at least one can probably be made to fit the entry, it is so vague. And, voila, you have inside knowledge and a claim for authenticity. As we have seen, the diary has many such vague mentions, whether by design and craft or because of our writer's lack of focus. In either case, it's worked to the book's advantage for nearly a decade now.
James once again claims he has more evil deeds to do and, for our friends on other boards, he invokes the devil (at least in a figure of speech). "When I have finished my fiendish deeds, the devil himself will praise me." Question: who refers to their own actions as "fiendish deeds?" Who even seriously uses the phrase "fiendish deeds?" Maybe it was less comical sounding in 1888. I'm not sure. But James assures us, concerning the devil: "he will have a long wait before I shake hands with him." "Shaking hands with the devil" is another interesting, familiar, and resonant phrase, but I can't quite place it.
And then, sadly, the lamentable kidney joke again:
"I have works to do a great deal of works ha ha. kidney for supper."
If I have to be reminded once more that this is supposed to be the guy that wrote the letter that had the underscored "ha ha" in it and that mentioned eating kidneys, I really am going to start being offended by what our diarist obviously thinks is my very short attention span or my mental deficiency. I get it. I remember.
In any case, things do get more interesting shortly. James goes back to London and is very nearly caught, and the handwriting in this book starts getting seriously out of control.
Thanks to all who are reading along,
--John |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 04:42 pm | | The first Batman movie had an infamous line about dancing with the devil - that's what "shake hands with him" made me think of.
Back to the handwriting for a moment- Paul Feldmans book shows an example of James Maybrick's signature in which he fills up the space below it with a line, much like the diary. So I would think the person who wrote the diary was working from this, and it would be interesting to know if samples of this writing turn up in any of the books about Maybrick that people believe were used to write the diary. Again, just luck?? Can't be.
Some of the vagueness towards the end of the diary starts to throw me off. For example, a very good job was done at explaining what Maybrick was talking about when he said Lowry made him kill... but why are these sentences being written so mysteriously, when only by figuring it out does the diary actually make MORE sense? It doesn't seem like a rational thing for a hoaxer to do, and this is the only time the diary sounds like it could pass as genuine to me. |
Author: John Omlor
Friday, 29 June 2001 - 06:13 pm | | Hi Christopher,
Right, I remember another Jack (Nicholson) asking about dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight. But there is some reference to "shake hands with the devil" that is still in my brain from somewhere -- perhaps an old song -- but I haven't been able to place it (one of those mental block things).
I haven't written much about the handwriting, but I will soon. The writing changes drastically as the diary proceeds. The pages we read earlier are written in a very small, tight handwriting with controlled lines. But the letters gradually get bigger and less controlled and the spacing becomes less consistent until finally all hell breaks loose in a few pages from now. Perhaps some writer thought this was a sign of a mind in the process of deterioration (although it should be noted that the smaller, more controlled writing returns at the diary's conclusion) or else someone was getting tired of writing halfway through and started being less careful. Writing with ink is a tricky business if you are not used to it, and if you lose your focus or stop paying attention to what you are doing, your letters can get out of hand. Of course, another possibility is that the beginning and end were written by one person and someone else wrote the middle parts. I don't really know.
I also don't know if either of the two Maybrick books have an example of the line drawing tendency you mention, although it was fairly common in signatures back then, especially those of people who thought they were important. A diarist could have easily thought that the flourishes gave his pages a Victorian look.
Your question as to why the diary seems written in such indirect and vague and clue-like terms is a crucial one. As I see it, there are directly conflicting possibilities. It may be that an intelligent and crafty and disciplined diarist was deliberately being vague and inferential in order to keep the document safe from historical review and criticism. Or it may be that our writer had almost no attention span and could not express himself very clearly and preferred word puzzles over clear, careful, and extended narrative and so by accident created a vague and troublesome document that has remained at least a topic of interest and discussion even among experts for nearly a decade.
I'm not sure which of these two directly contradictory possibilities I find more likely at this point. But it is a fascinating question.
Now it is Friday night and I must, as they say, paint the town red. On this website, that phrase takes on a whole other meaning, doesn't it?
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Saturday, 30 June 2001 - 08:44 am | | Hello all,
This morning brings us to the reading of the last fifteen pages of the diary. Along the way we'll see a noticeable and even drastic change in the handwriting, as I mentioned above, and a change in James's mind as well. But page forty-eight still finds our hero filled with the desire for his medicine and the desire to kill.
"I am tired of keeping up this pretence of respectability."
Here, apparently, James is speaking at least in part about his drug addiction. He had found a new source for his medicine. From the trial, we know that Maybrick has now met Valentine Blake, the chemist, who became James's arsenic supplier. We are now in January of 1889.
We are to gather that the drugs embolden James, I think, since he immediately mentions writing to Michael and planning another trip the to "city of whores" and more "deeds to come" which will be "much finer than my last." And they prompt him to compose another short verse to Abberline.
But here again, the diary seems to know its own future. Possible in fiction, but impossible in a journal. In his latest verse, James mentions Abberline and "next time" and how lucky a killer James has been for not getting caught and then, as if on cue, in the very next entry, James very nearly gets caught (possibly by Abberline, himself). It's as if the diary knew James's bragging about his luck would mean that he would then have to be nearly caught. As if life worked the way novels do. But novels are planned in advance and diaries, authentic diaries, are not.
There is no record, as far as I know, of an incident in which a possible Ripper murder is interrupted or foiled in January of '89. And I don't think Abberline ever says anything anywhere about such an event. Of course, our-would-be diarist can always claim that James retreated without actually being seen, so no record exists of the event.
Here is the paragraph in question. It's final mention of Abberline ties it back to the verses that preceded it. Yes, there is yet another "ha ha."
"Damn it damn it damn it the bastard almost caught me, curse him to hell. I will cut him up next time, so help me. A few minutes and I would have done, bastard. I will seek him out, teach him a lesson. No one will stop me. Curse his black soul. I curse myself for striking too soon, I should have waited until it was truly quiet so help me I will take all next time and eat it. Will leave nothing not even the head. I will boil it and eat it with freshly picked carrots. I shall think about Abberline as I am doing so, that will give me a laugh ha ha the whore will suffer tonight for the deed she has done."
We learn about that deed in a moment. But a question remains (besides the one about whether the carrots are another Lechterism, like the fava beans).
Why would our diarist create this event?
Why add a scene in which our hero tries to kill again in London and is nearly caught in January of '89? Did he see some reference to something somewhere and want to cover himself? Did he just want to add some suspense to the book? We know no Ripper-related event was reported at that time, so why bother with all of this? Was it just a film fan's need for such a near-miss scene or did our writer think perhaps that such a scare would be a good reason for James to stop killing in London? I don't know, but I am certainly open to any suggestions or possible explanations.
The "deed" that Florie must pay for, it turns out, is her having written Michael a letter telling him of James's "medicine." James has a burst of rhetorical anger and threatens to "cut the bitch up and serve her to the children." (I wonder if this is evidence that our writer had read Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus or had seen it on stage somewhere? -- there, of course, the situation is reversed and the children and served up to the mother.) "If I have my funny little way the whore will be served up this very night." Notice here that the phrase "funny little" -- borrowed from the regular description of the rhymes -- doesn't quite work in this context but is simply added as a referent to the voice, as a familiar pattern whether or not it is appropriate. James does tell us that he "stood his ground and informed Michael it was a damn lie." I'm not sure, by the way, that this is actually "standing his ground" in any significant way. It's just lying.
Florie, apparently, is planning to go to London. She says her aunt is sick. He thinks she is planning an adulterous encounter. He lets her go with yet another ha ha. He finds his ruse, letting her go as if he knows nothing about her secret affairs, to be very, very clever.
One of the few times that the voice in this diary sounds, to me, genuinely enthused and excited, is when it is announcing how clever it is. I am beginning to believe that this may be because this is one of the things that is written honestly and with sincerity. Perhaps it is a reflection of the fact that, over all, our would-be diarist thinks of himself as very, very, clever, and really wants very badly to tell someone or show someone just how clever he is. Could this be a motive for writing this book? Not to make money or to introduce a new suspect, but just to show the world how clever one is? But then, what happened? Mike tried, and failed. He remains unable to accurately and convincingly and consistently explain in verifiable detail just how this thing was written. But someone put this thing together, and they never did take credit for it (perhaps because its reception got out of hand and they became frightened, I don't know). But the text does suggest that our writer perhaps had moments when, like their subject, they were very pleased with themselves.
James, meanwhile, who told us before the near-miss that he would be visiting London "soon, very soon," and that life is "sweet, very very sweet," now says that he feels "strong, very strong."
There it is again, three times in one day, too. You gotta love this guy.
Tomorrow, as we near the handwriting's largest change, and then its contraction back into the neat and tiny hand of its earliest entries, we will visit the races, meet the Prince of Wales and even read of Victoria, and hear the echoes of my favorite South Park character when we read the exclamation of Sir "JIMAY!"
Have a fine day, everyone,
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Sunday, 01 July 2001 - 12:00 pm | | Hello everyone,
Sunday is here and were are coming ever closer to the end of our reading of the diary and the end of James Maybrick's life in this book. We have only twelve more pages of writing left and if you look at the page which contains the giant "Sir Jimay" and then quickly turn to the last page, you will see clearly what I have been saying about the difference in the handwriting as the diary works towards its conclusion.
But first, we must read a few pages concerning Maybrick's home life. Our hero, you will recall, has sent his wife off to London with his blessing --ostensibly to take care of her sick aunt, although he knows ,and tells us he knows, she is probably going there to meet her lover, the whore master. James promises more violence when she returns, "I relish the thought of striking the bitch once more."
Then, again, we get: "Am I not a clever fellow. I pride myself no one knows how clever I am."
As I mentioned in my previous post, our writer's pride (or the pride he gives to his main character) seems one of the few genuinely insistent and enthusiastic parts of the diary. I really do suspect that this pride was shared by whoever was composing the lines -- that they too thought themselves "very clever."
Now you might wonder how our writer thought to write, in big letters on the next page, "Sir Jimay" (a play on Jim and the May from Maybrick -- or possibly Maybrick's rap-dj name) and the words "live" and "forever" underneath it, as a cool word joke. Well, it turns out that he wrote a simple sentence one page earlier that he realized held this cool joke in it and wanted us all to see it, in case we'd missed it the first time, and so wrote it again, big. Again, this seems to suggest that our writer knew he had or would have an audience and wanted to impress them with his facility with syllables. The first time this appears, our writer is in the middle of a paragraph and writes "How can they stop me now this Sir Jim may live forever." This might have slipped by the casual reader as the origin of the big text on the next page. But in writing this sentence, our penman actually had to write out the words "Sir Jim may live forever" and perhaps in the act of writing them out realized that they made up a good piece of wordplay -- Sir Jimay/live/forever. Even this paragraph ends with a simple exclamation: "I feel clever."
By this point, our hero has suggested he might cut again, refers to blood as "the red stuff" again and once again uses the phrase "chickens running around with their heads cut off" to describe his pursuers. The patterns are dissolving into simple repetitions.
After the big "Sir Jimay" lines, and some added ha ha ha has for dramatic effect (and think about the physical act of actually putting the pen on the paper and deliberately writing out the letters "ha ha ha ha ha" -- five of them -- to yourself in your own journal), we get a seemingly wasted page. I'm not sure what happened here, just as I remain unsure why, as I mentioned in my last post, a diarist would bother to create the near-miss scene in London in January of '89, when we have no record of any such event and it wouldn't help the case for authenticity and seems unnecessary.
This time, I'm not sure why our diarist would have decided to give four simple lines, with no new insight or information, a page all their own with a big flourish underneath them.
The lines are:
This clever Sir Jim
he loves his whims
tonight he will call
and take away all. ha ha ha ha
And a long flourish falls from the last "ha."
I would note this, though. When the writing resumes on the next page, the tiny, straight-lined hand is back.
Perhaps the nearly empty page marks the changing of shifts for our penmen (it there were two, for instance). Perhaps a new page is started because someone else has picked up the pen.
If you look closely, you'll see that the verse that follows the full paragraph on the next page, is back in the larger handwriting of the immediately preceding pages, as are the two pages of prose that follow the pages of verse. But then, beginning four pages from the diary's end, the tiny hand returns, even more markedly different this time, beginning with the sentence "Fuller believes there is very little the matter with me." And this hand continues to the end.
I do not know if this is evidence that more than one hand held the pen or not. But I did want to mark these distinct changes and speculate as to why a single pages is used for only these four lines of ordinary and repetitive verse.
The page of the manuscript that begins "I was clever, George would be proud of me." and the page that begins "Fuller believes there is very little the matter with me." seem to me to be very different in many respects. But I am not an expert in these things and I choose to leave the conclusions to others.
Now back to our reading.
After the page of four lines and a flourish, we get a much discussed paragraph of prose which mentions an event well-documented at the trial and in the press. James and Florie and Florie's lover Brierly all attend the Grand National race of 1889. James thinks he is a very clever fellow in letting Brierly accompany Florie on this day. He gets "the greatest pleasure" from the two of them appearing in public together. He remarks about how fast the race was (the record shows it was indeed the fastest race in eighteen years, as I mentioned earlier), but he is more thrilled by seeing Florie and Brierly together than he is by knowing that "his Royal Highness" was but a few feet away from "yours truly ha ha." And then James is apparently overcome with a fit of anger about the Monarchy and sovereignty in general (as if Jack's acts were also somehow democratic -- making the Monarchy look foolish and putting it in its proper place): "To hell with sovereignity, to hell with all whores, to hell with the bitch who rules." This, of course, would be the Queen. It is fascinating that our diarist would have his James as Jack refer to Queen Victoria using the same epithets he uses for his victims and his wife. Queen, mother, wife, victim -- the relationship between these women in James-as-Jack's mind is a fascinating one. Although James says nothing particularly important or telling about his own mother in this book (a fact which is in itself odd, it seems to me) there is the potential for some fun psychoanalytic speculation here, especially when James starts attacking his Queen in the same terms he uses for his wife and his victims.
But James is also compelled to created a piece of Occasional Verse (a poem marking and recounting a specific event). Here, our diarist has our hero compose an account of his own knighthood -- of the ceremony, complete with another, clever, very clever hidden "may" (except it's not so hidden, since in the final version, our hero underscores it for us four times, since our author really does apparently think we are completely dim -- James knows where the joke is, he allegedly wrote it, so why would he have to underscore it if not because we his readers are so slow and feeble-minded?)
In this verse Sir Jim become "Sir Jack." Perhaps because the Queen must not know James's true identity. The verse begins with numbered stanzas, but the numbers, like the original but scratched out phrase "Victoria the bitch," are dropped in the final version. Here is the finished product:
Victoria, Victoria
the queen of them all
when it comes to Sir Jack
she knows nothing at all
who knows,
perhaps one day,
I will give her a call
Show her my knife
and she will honour me for life
Arise Sir jack she will say
and now you can go
as you may
Jim, Jack Jack Jim ha ha ha
Once again we should note that although the first stanza has a decent meter and rhyme, the poem quickly gets out of control, there is no first line for the second stanza and after that the thing deteriorates completely, all towards the final payoff -- the appearance of the syllable "may."
I really am beginning to wonder if this is a good writer writing deliberately bad poetry or if neither our hero nor his creator had any particular talent for verse.
In any case, it is a peculiar scene, Queen Victoria knighting Jack the Ripper. One our writer was no doubt very pleased with. (The next line in the diary is "I was clever" although it refers to the fight with Florie over her and Brierly's meeting the Prince together.)
But there are now only six pages left in this diary. We have to read about this fight and watch James's mind start to go and see him overtaken by memories of the Kelly murder and finally announce his own doom. All in the next six pages. It is possible, I think, that our writer wrapped this thing up pretty quickly at this point, after getting in the grand National scene (which he would have had to) because he really was out of fresh ideas. We'll have to see what the text suggests.
We have only six more pages left in this diary and what have we seen so far?
I will let that question linger, and return tomorrow to begin to read the diary's final pages.
Thanks and have a great Sunday,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Sunday, 01 July 2001 - 06:13 pm | | Hi, John:
I am still mounded under with work but I wanted to comment that I think the big, sprawling "Sir Jimay" may be partly to show that his mind is unhinged, whereas as you noted the writing gets tiny again at the end of the Diary, denoting that his campaign is over and he is back to his old self, reconciled to life and has remorse for what he has done, and is looking forward to June, though his health is deteriorating. Thus we move to the final lines where he sets his affairs in order and prepares to die.
I will probably have more comments on all you have written in the next few days after I have finished my big deadline. I continue to think though that our penman is writing at the height of his or her powers and not dumbing down. And yes the constant repetition of how clever they are is one of the main themes, as, if as you say, the penman thought they were personally clever.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Christopher Scavone
Sunday, 01 July 2001 - 10:10 pm | | If the writer of the diary was using his own personality to write as James- and he likes to play word games and leave clues, perhapse the diary holds clues to who wrote it. Ms. Hammersmith could be telling of where the writer is from, just an off-the-top-of-my-head example.
"an initial here, an initial there..." |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 03:49 am | | Hi, Christopher:
Yes, I believe you are right, there possibly may be clues to the author of the Diary somewhere in the text. That is one reason I was calling for somebody with some facility with anagrams to look at those word lists since John Omlor and I have admitted we have no expertise with such word puzzles!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 08:32 am | | Hi Chris,
Yes, I too thought that the change in the handwriting was intended to show us another sign of the deterioration of our hero's mind. And that the wildness of the "Sir Jimay" page was a breaking point in this respect. The only problem is, the content itself doesn't really show us this. James doesn't actually get crazier and crazier as his handwriting gets looser and looser. In fact, he says many of the same sorts of things on page twenty-three as he does on page fifty-three and his flashes of crazed anger come and go throughout the first fifty-five pages. And the "Sir Jimay" line itself, as a word joke, actually already appears written into the text rather ordinarily a page before its wild appearance, and is simply transcribed as the joke the second time. Now, perhaps the diarist thought he was making James look less and less in control emotionally as he went along and tried to get the handwriting to echo that thought about character development. But, as far as I can see, reading the repetitive entries, he never actually writes anything that would clearly signify this evolution or completely pulls it off in the body of the text itself. On the other hand, you are correct, I think, that there does seem to be a marked downturn in the last five pages, as James does start to be haunted by memories and finally gives up and resigns himself to his own fate, and there the handwriting is markedly different again (although this could still be because of a second penman -- and we are ascribing the change to an emotional evolution because that's what we expect to find). But perhaps this is simply a case where the diarist's reach for a genuine depiction of a psychological evolution exceeded his grasp as a writer and the only remainder or trace of this intention that we have left is the "evolution" of the handwriting.
By the way, do you have any thoughts on why the diarist would decide to include the near-miss in London in January of 1889 that I spoke of above? As I say, I can think of no real reason why such an unreported event involving a foiled Ripper-attack in London would have been necessary or even advantageous to a forger composing this story. But there it is. I'd be interested to hear any speculation you might have about this little passage.
Hi Christopher,
Yes, I have often thought or hoped that there were clues hidden somewhere in the wordplay concerning the diarist's identity. But, as Chris has recalled, I am hopeless at such things (they are too much like math problems, I think) and would no doubt need a player to find them for me even if they were there.
Thanks,
--John |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 09:12 am | | Good morning, everyone,
In the last six pages of the diary, which is all we have left, we see a sudden shift in James's thoughts and handwriting, as discussed above, and we see him haunted by memories of Mary Kelly and her missing heart and we see his final preparations for his own death (which arrives only a few days after the last entry, although it's not really clear how he could have known that was going to happen).
But let's take it a few pages at a time. After the knighthood poem, James's thoughts drift back to the fact that Albert and Florie's being presented to the Prince together at the Grand National might cause a scandal, even though he was the one who arranged for Brierly to be there. At least this potential scandal is the pretext he uses for getting into another fight with his wife, and hitting her again. He thinks he is being clever in getting himself an opportunity to go at her in this way. But his fun is interrupted by the servants (where were they when he was cooking human kidneys in the kitchen, I wonder?)
"I struck her several times an eye for an eye ha ha too many interfering servants, damn the bitches."
Yes, yet another "ha ha" pops in to say hello.
He curses Hopper (the trial record shows that Florie went to Hopper with her bruises a week or so after the race and told him that James had hit her -- this is no doubt the source of this incident and the reason it needs to be in a diary that is not going to end until May of '89). he notes Florie is in debt again and promises again to "cut her." The our hero apparently also recalls the previous near-miss episode in London where he was interrupted, and promises to find that person as well.
"I will rip rip May seek the bastard out who stopped my funny little games and rip hi to. I said he would pay. I will make sure he damn will."
Hey! This might be the reason for the near miss scene after all. This might be a reference to the letter often ascribed to the Ripper threatening a witness (the one that claims to know the witness's identity and threatens to harm him -- Chris knows the one I mean). The diarist might have thought that letter was a genuine Ripper missive and figured he had to account for it in the text and so had a near-miss scene devised that made our Ripper swear to hunt down this guy and say he has already warned him. This whole near-miss scene may have been an attempt to account for the other letter and hint that James wrote it. Chris perhaps will be kind enough to fill in the details of that little note for us and we can see if this reading makes any sense. I don't remember too well who received the letter or the circumstances surrounding it.
There is a gratuitous mention of Edwin and a promise (by now ringing rather hollow I'm afraid) to take out the next whore's eyes and send them to Abberline.
The mention of this names prompts a couple big "bastard" "bastard" lines, written in the shakiest and most unsteady lines we have seen so far. Perhaps here our diarist is, as we speculated above, deliberately trying to use the handwriting to indicate James’s state of mind -- his anger, frustration, and paranoia concerning Abberline and the possibility of getting caught -- which seems to disturb James much more than the horror of his actual murders at this point.
"Curse that bastard Abberline, curse him to hell I will not dangle from any rope of his."
This is a reference to the too-convenient dream our hero had a while ago, of course. This is something our diarist might have wanted to refrain from mentioning again, since it really is a strong sign that we are dealing with a piece of beginner's fiction here.
And then the passages which cited to Caz a while ago finally appear. James fantasizes about joining Florie and Alfred in a sexual experiment that would allow him both to "take" her and still be cuckolded at the same time. This thought really thrills him. (I still believe these fantasies offer some insight into the imagination of our writer. I would definitely suggest delving into the private, personal desires of anyone thought to have written this book, if I were an investigator.) But like many people haunted by such conflicting desires, our diarist has James get frustrated by what his own mind is thinking and finally he is reduced to repeating his epithet for his wife. The scrawl is barely legible, again perhaps an attempt to indicate the growing insanity and loss of control (oddly, after the last murder has already taken place) or perhaps to indicate that it his unusual sexual desires that are really driving James mad and not his medicine nor his murderous thoughts or deeds. Perhaps this really all just a case of Victorian repression after all. In any case, "James" finally scrawls the words "The bitch the bitch the bitch."
And then everything changes on the page.
You turn the page over to read the next entry and the handwriting is completely different. The change is sudden and unmistakable. And two short paragraphs that appear four pages from the end first reveal a killer unable to kill and a man still in love but suffering from heartache. A man willing to toss his knife away and a man who writes of being spurned by love. A melancholy lover who is ready to give up his campaign and is overwhelmed by thoughts of his dear Bunny.
So what the hell happened!?
One page he's thinking of joining his wife and her lover in a threesome and swearing he will cut her and looking to rip rip and the next page he is a lovesick schoolboy.
We'll have to read these two interesting paragraphs, beginning with "Fuller believes there is very little wrong with me" very closely. A major change has suddenly occurred. Is it just because our writer wanted to get this thing over with? Is it because a new writer has taken over, as the handwriting might suggest, and there task is to write "the ending?" Are we supposed to think that James is simply, finally, getting weak and sick from the arsenic? Or are there other possible reasons for these two paragraphs and the next three pages that follow them?
But, I have errands to run and golf to play, so these two paragraphs will have to wait until this evening.
I will return, like our hero, with "no regrets, no regrets." (Speaking of "no rugrats," where have the children gone in this book?)
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 10:33 am | | Hi, John:
It has not previously been my impression that there could have been two penmen. I am currently away from my copy of Shirley's Hyperion edition which contains the facsimile. Let me look at the handwriting in detail and see if I think it is possible that two penmen were involved in the closing pages of the Diary.
The threatening JtR letter that I believe you are talking about is a letter from October 1888 so it is way before the January incident that our humble narrator mentions. That is not to say though that knowing about that Ripper letter may have given the forger the idea to make such a threat against the person who interrupted him. However, this brings up the question why he didn't threaten Diemschutz who had similarly disturbed him when he supposedly killed Stride and was foiled from mutilating her. Maybe he didn't know Russian or Yiddish. Ah, yes, I know, some of his best friends are Jewish. . .
As for why the penman included the preempted London murder of January 1889 and the two Manchester murders, I believe they were just put in for verisimilitude, to give us a bit of knowledge we didn't know. I suggest that our forger anticipated that anyone who knew the Ripper case would be looking for "new" information. You note though that no dates are given for those incidents. For is he not a clever fellow! As you and I have discussed, there is little or no new information beyond the Manchester murders, the attempted London murder, and the mentions of Maybrick's alleged but unexplained anger at Mrs. Hammersmith and the clerk Lowry.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 02:44 pm | | Hi All,
Yes, John, I also find it interesting that the diarist has Maybrick referring to almost every woman in his experience as a bitch - from a supposed casual acquaintance, in the form of Mrs. H, to the servants in his household, to his wife and the ripper victims he uses as voodoo dolls, symbolically killing the beast, to the Queen of England herself. (This may argue against the diary composer being a woman, depending on if the author really does think 'he's' being clever when 'he's' not, and really does have fantasies of seeing his woman in another man's arms, and really does have a genuine inferiority complex, and really does hate women. )
I would agree that our diarist appears to be putting on an act or 'performance' for an audience. But we don't know if he had a real live audience in mind, and if he was attempting, rather badly, to write as if for his eyes only, or if he could have had the kind of warped personality that led him to fantasise from the outset about the world reading his words. Is it not possible that someone could be writing for themselves, while at the same time imagining they are writing for an audience? Or do you think our author was just not clever enough to be that subtle, or not weird enough to be doing it for real? (I'm still trying to get to grips with how and why, if Mike didn't know the diary's origins, the author was intending to get his work to an audience.)
And one thing about dreams. If our author is supposed to be a crazed sexual serial killer, worrying himself stupid about being caught, I'm not sure how we go about determining what sort of dreams or nightmares the guy might have or not have. I often dream of actual events that have happened, or that I would like to happen (even been disappointed to have woken mid-dream, and managed to go back to sleep and continue it on occasions ), or that I'm afraid might happen, and in some detail, involving real people and places and colours and everything. So, although it may read like a rather comic and dramatic plot device, I'm not so sure you can dismiss Abberline and his rope as an impossible dream.
There is some suggestion, isn't there, that Maybrick may have come off the arsenic in the last days or weeks of his life? For example, there was very little apparently found in his body after death. And there is also some indication that arsenic withdrawal can even cause death. Could the diary author have been aware of either possibility, and made the handwriting go a bit haywire, so he could finally make it return to 'normal', to signify Maybrick finishing with his medicine - and with it his 'disire' for revenge - for good?
Incidentally, one earlier line sounds vaguely Scrooge and Marley-like to me:
'The day is drawing to a close, Lowry was in fine spirits. I am pleased. I regret.....I have shown my wrath. This coming Christmas I will make amends'....
Love,
Caz |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 03:17 pm | | | Sorry, I meant Scrooge and Cratchett-like (it's been a long hot day ). |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 06:23 pm | | Hi Chris and Caroline,
Good points, all (but not as many as I made in my quota game today, where I shot an excellent 74, made 34 points and won a whole bunch of money. Drinks, as they say, are on me!)
Chris, thanks for letting me know that the timing is all wrong for the threatening letter to be the source of the near-miss (unless it was just a general attempt to cover one's butt with a vague reference). You might be right that the near-miss scene was added solely in the name of "extra and new material" to keep the experts busy and feeling like they were doing something potentially worthwhile.
Caz,
All of your points are well-taken. I have thought before about the possibility that the diarist might be writing for himself but with the secret desire that, after his death or something, someone will read this. I am personally inclined to think it is more likely that the intended readership was more specific. There are, for me, just too many places where the writer seems to be addressing Ripper buffs and Maybrick aficionados, dropping hints on purpose and playing silly word games rather than just confessing for posterity about his crimes. The staging and the performance seem to be more immediate than in the name of the distant future (although a word or two about the diary's eventual discovery will turn up on its last page). Still, your suggestion of a diary as performance for the future in the name of revelation remains possible. I of course, have absolutely no idea how the author of this thing planned to get it out to the public originally. But I think they did intend its dissemination while they were writing it. I think the text shows us that. Perhaps they figured they'd worry about that difficulty when the time came. I don't know.
I'm not sure that the omnipresence of "bitch" in reference to women lessens the possibility of a woman author, by the way. But then, I live in America and I watch daytime talk shows ("Jer-ry, Jer-ry!") and spend time in New York City and hearing one woman call another one "bitch" is nothing new to me these days. It might, I think, move us away from the likelihood of a Victorian woman diarist, though.
The problem I have with Maybrick's "dream" is that it is so convenient and so simply representational. Now we very well might have a representational dream or two, although usually they are at least a little coded, something is a little off or somehow different than it is in our daily life; but this one is so simply emblematic and comes at such an appropriate time in the plot that it really reads to me like a beginning fiction writer's device to let us into his character's mind. But then, I may be biased, because I see creative writing students try this sort of trick all the time and it seems forced and deliberately composed to me. And notice that nothing happens in the dream. It's just a still photo -- Abberline with a rope and a crowd chasing James. There is no talk of details or of events or emotions -- it is just a single image, like a cartoon or drawing. This does not seem like an authentic recounting of a dream to me.
We'll have to read that last three or four pages in detail to see if it is suggested that our James has stopped taking his medicine and that this has contributed to the marked change in his penmanship and to his desire to throw his shiny knife into the water and to his lovesickness.
And so we shall.
But now I must shower and reward myself for a fine day on the course with an excellent roast beef dinner (truth is, I've already treated myself once -- to a Newcastle Brown after the round).
See you all later,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 09:35 pm | | Hi, Caz and John:
I very much doubt if the penman is writing for his/herself. That might be so, for all the unnaturalness in the voice that we have observed, if this really was James Maybrick. But instead it is someone pretending to be James Maybrick and to be Jack the Ripper. Someone writing almost without doubt decades after the murders in full knowledge that the Ripper case is by now world-renowned and that money is being made through Ripper films and books. So what do you think. . . someone writing for their own private satisfaction, or for an audience???? I vote for the latter!
Caz, John appears to disagree but I think you make an excellent point that the labeling of every female figure in the story as a "bitch" who is the target of the speaker's hatred betokens a male penman and probably a male with a major hangup about the female sex. This is a major concession from me, so take heed! I had previously thought that the mentions of the children seemed more consistent with a female writer. Although, as John says, the mentions of the children are cursary at best and put in seemingly because penman thought Maybrick should say something about his son and daughter! Quick aside, are we talking about a husband and wife team here? . . . I still have to do that handwriting analysis, John, to test whether I think you may be right that could have been two penmen.
Hi, Mark:
I think to prove the Diary genuine would at this point take provably genuine period letters of James Maybrick written in a similar hand to that seen in the Diary, proof that the Diary was found among Maybrick's possessions after his death, proof that he was in London on the dates of the murders and not elsewhere, and possibly information from the Scotland Yard and City of London Police files that might show that James Maybrick was a contemporary suspect.
Incidentally, Mark, don't worry about forged documents. There are plenty of provably genuine documents. It is just that Diary does not even pass the first hurdles in any attempt to prove it authentic: it is not in James Maybrick's handwriting and it cannot be tied to the Maybricks and has no provenance.
All the best
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Monday, 02 July 2001 - 10:02 pm | | Hello everyone,
(Chris, our posts crossed, but I think you are right about what it would take to prove the diary genuine. I heard Mark's question as wondering what it would take to prove it a fake and answered it that way. Thanks for coming at it from the other, more productive, direction. Also, if you read below you might find a little more grist for your "tag-team writer" thoughts. Coincidentally, of course. It's just an immediate reaction of mine this evening to these pages -- but I think the text at least possibly bears out the following speculation.)
Just a few paragraphs before bedtime. The end is near.
There are two tightly written paragraphs four pages from the end of the book that deserve our attention. Apparently, as Shirley and others have noticed, the change in the handwriting and in the thoughts of our hero occur immediately after a visit to Dr. Charles Fuller (Michael's physician in London -- and on the record from the trial as having seen James). "Fuller believes there is very little the matter with me." Interestingly, this is a direct echo of Fuller's analysis of James presented publicly after James's death and published for others, even today, to read. But then there is this:
"Strange, the thoughts he placed into my mind."
And here our diarist uses an interesting device to move the plot. James comes back from Fuller's with new thoughts. He now cannot strike. He thinks he is mad. He tries to fight his own thoughts and walks the streets until dawn. He once again is in love with his wife.
"I could not find it in my heart to strike, visions of my dear Bunny overwhelm me. I still love her, but how I hate her. She has destroyed all and yet my heart aches for her, oh how it aches."
This is a new James, and it is the "ideas" placed in his head by Dr. Fuller that seems to have brought about the change. Of course, by not telling us what those ideas were or recounting the visit, by only mentioning Fuller's name, our diarist ingeniously allows the suggestion and resulting change in James's prose to do the work for him. This is one of the better written moments of the diary, since some actual, psychological change occurs. And we hear a more authentic diary voice:
"My God I am tired, I do not know if I can go on. Bunny and the children are all that matter."
He talks of throwing his knife into the river (his "shinning" knife, that is) and offers a line at the end of the paragraph after vowing to end his campaign, that is almost poetic:
"'Tis love that spurned me so, 'tis love that shall put an end to it."
These lines will later begin the final verse of the book.
I am now going to suggest something that is completely off the wall, but I am beginning to sense it. There is, I think, at least a possibility that the change in handwriting beginning on this page marks not only a new penman (and I don't have any real evidence for this, after all) but also, perhaps, a new composer. It seems to me that there is some textual evidence here that the voice has changed and that it is being written now by someone else, not just someone who has undergone a change psychologically, but a different person. And, I suggest, that person is a better writer.
The voice is simpler now, more direct, more believable and more controlled. The language is more natural and the poetry is even almost poetic. There seems to be more "talent" here, or at least a greater skill at creating a character's voice. Not because it is calmer and more sedate -- that might have actually been more difficult to make sound natural than the free-wheeling and wild rantings of a killer -- but because it is slightly more polished at this point. We'll see if that holds up for the next three pages. I do know that it continues for the next paragraph, at least.
"I am afraid to look back on all I have written. Perhaps it would be wiser to destroy this, but in my heart I cannot bring myself to do so. I have tried once before, but like the coward I am, I could not. Perhaps in my tormented mind I wish for someone to read this and understand the man I have become was not the man I was born."
You see? The grammar is better, more polished, the sentences flow better, the voice is more relaxed and mature and actually carries a certain emotion within it, which the angry and jealous James voice and murderous Ripper voice never really did. There is insight here, too -- James realizing his own cowardice -- a far cry from the "clever" James. And there is a sensitivity in the words and syntax that is missing from the heavy handed narrative voice of the first fifty-nine pages.
I think it is at least possible that someone else finished this book and that that someone was simply a better writer that our original author.
Tomorrow we will see if I still feel that way after reading the book's final entries.
I welcome anyone's comments on this rather unusual and speculative piece of reading and interpretation.
Thanks,
--John |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 07:25 am | | Hi John,
My overall impression when I first read the diary was that only one author composed and penned it, and that the last few entries were concerned with making Maybrick's life, and Jack's murdereous career, end on a positive note - all the elements of remorse, confession, asking the world to forgive this gentleman born, coming together as a way of putting his world in some kind of order before leaving it, possibly using Fuller's advice and coming off the arsenic (just found 'I no longer take the dreaded stuff...') as a catalyst.
In fact, if our diarist is in the singular, and intended this Hyde to Jekyll transformation (from Black Jack back into Gentleman Jim) after a change of 'medicine', he certainly was a clever fellow if he did it so effectively that you think another personality actually took over the writing at this point!
Must also point out that remorse is not a trait one generally associates with serial killers these days. So I think it unlikely that the ripper would have felt sorry for his deeds, whatever changes he may have gone through physically or mentally. But I guess it's a fitting end to a tale set in 1889, when it was thought likely that Miller's Court proved too much for Jack, because it was more than 'normal' people could cope with.
Love,
Caz |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 08:44 am | | Good morning, everyone,
We have arrived at the last three pages of the diary.
I began this reading nearly three weeks ago, on Thursday, June 14, 2001, at 09:50 am. Over the past twenty days, we've looked at almost every sentence in the book, certainly every paragraph and most of the lines of verse.
Now we have come to our last entries. We are in our somber voice in the diary, the controlled and more patient and natural one that I speculated last night might be the created work of a different person entirely. Whether it is or not, it is clearly better written, I think. And the sentences have gotten simpler, as well (perhaps to indicate renewed clarity of mind -- perhaps because our new writer is satisfied with simply being clear).
"My dear brother Edwin has returned. I wish I could tell him all. No more funny little rhymes. Tonight I write of love."
The poem that follows is not exactly good, but at least it has some form and structure (a series of lines beginning with "tis love that..." and is simpler and more direct and honest-sounding than the earlier verses.
The last line of the poem resonates with human sadness:
"tis love that I regret."
Perhaps the writer of these final pages, whether this is a new person or the old one, finally decided to create a believable voice in a journal. Perhaps they were writing from memory of their own emotions now (which they were not when trying to re-create the mind of a serial killer/arsenic addict), and so it has become easier to sound convincing and natural. I don't know. But at least this line reads effectively and scans well.
James does admit, as Caz, had suggested earlier, that he has stopped taking the arsenic (good catch Caz). "I no longer take the dreaded stuff for fear I will harm my dear Bunny, worse still the children."
This, though, is not necessarily a reason or a way to account for the clearer and more believable voice. First of all, when drug addicts stop taking their drug of choice, they do not suddenly become clear-headed and controlled in their expression and direct and simple and rational in their thoughts. In fact, sometimes their expression and their thoughts become more confused or at least they retain a certain clouded indirectness. And second, we have no evidence that Maybrick thought or wrote this way before his addiction began, so we cannot know if this is his natural voice or merely a better written voice of a fictional character. I would be interested to see if the voice in Maybrick's business correspondence (which I have not read) sounds anything like the sensitive and thoughtful and introspective voice here. A serious difference wouldn't prove anything, of course, since that would be business writing and for a clearly different purpose and with a different audience in mind. But similarities of expression or syntax or sentence structure or directness of discourse between the letters and these final pages might be worth noting if they were there.
The next to last page holds two small paragraphs and announces an intended confession. Again, there is a simple and honest sound to the prose.
"I do not have the courage to take my life." and later "I deeply regret striking her, I have found it in my heart to forgive her for her lovers."
And then our hero makes a plan:
"I believe I will tell her all, ask her to forgive me as I have forgiven her."
But there is still a sign that James blames his wife for what has happened:
"I pray to God she will understand what she has done to me."
Isn't this just like a man! First, he forgives his wife and regrets his own horrific actions, but then in the same breath he still says it was not his fault and that a woman made him do it. Typical. Passages like this do make one wonder if the last three pages were not written by a woman -- but there is no way to tell that, of course -- I could have written them, I think. (And besides, Victorian women often wrote their fiction as men, of course, as a way of getting published. Someone once mentioned Jane Eyre around here. Of course, the first public readers of that novel all believed it had been written by a man.)
In any case, our hero is now troubled by thoughts of his crimes, and finally is overcome to the point where he cannot write and lets the pen fall from the last letter of entry in the performance of a collapse (either mental or physical).
"Tonight I will pray for the women I have slaughtered. May God forgive me for the deed I commited on Kelly, no heart, no heart"
And the dragged pen line indicates a further inability to write.
I should also note one other thing. This sounds like the end. It reads like a final summation, like a review and a conclusion with regret. And it is also very filmic -- our serial killer hero now realizing what he has done was wrong and being tortured by his guilt and his memories. This feels like an ending, and a satisfying and closed and conventional ending at that. It's like a movie or classic novel. Aristotle would have loved it. The plot has come to where it should and now it should end. Insight. Realization. Regret. Sadness but newly gained wisdom. This is how almost all our conventional fictions end (though not, necessarily all our lives). It's almost like Stan or Kyle in South Park saying "You know, I've learned something today..." But there the writer's are self-consciously making fun of the half-hour sitcom format and its penchant for just this sort of artificially satisfying resolution at the end of every episode (something the form inherited from Hollywood, which throughout its history has specialized in this sort of ending). It is a most conventional ending, and still, to me, awfully composed, neat, Aristotelian, and less than completely believable.
But it is fairly well written, in a simpler and more effective narrative voice than the rest of this thing. Although the "no heart, no heart" is a bit of a maudlin and sentimental touch. Still, it does have at least a couple of layers of meaning, as it cites both the horror of the missing Kelly organ and perhaps also the hero's recognition of what has been missing all along for him and what has finally brought him to this tragic fate.
Finally, there is the last page.
It is a full page. It is complete. It resolves our story and announces the end. It ties up all loose ends and offers the climactic unveiling, the revelation of the proper name invented by our hero. It is clearly staged and the last two lines are clearly the payoff.
It begins simply "The pain is unbearable." This last word is written in so small a handwriting that it is barely readable. It is eeked out onto the page.
And then we learn that the confession has apparently taken place. "My dear Bunny knows all. I do not know if she has the strength to kill me. I pray to God she finds it."
Is this a set-up for the trial -- for explaining why Florie kills James (or why people think she did -- since it seems clear now that perhaps she did not)? There is no prose here that recounts the scene and the reaction when "Bunny's" husband tells her that he is Jack the Ripper. I suspect this scene and this reaction would have been much too difficult to write and make believable. (But wouldn't Maybrick have written something about it in his own journal, since he was there?)
James makes sure Bunny knows that an overdose would be appreciated and that since his brothers know of his habit, no one would know that Bunny did him in. He has "begged" her to "act soon." He tells us "I do not believe I will see this June, my favourite of all months."
I should note that the sentence does not read: "I have begged Bunny to act soon, very soon." That sort of cool-guy prose designed for a dramatic impression is no longer present. This imagined death scene is much more controlled.
And James is even thinking of doing the right thing. He has restored his will such that Bunny and the children are well cared for. This really is a Hollywood ending, or at least a literary one. It is neat and classical. At the end of hard-boiled detectives stories, like The Maltese Falcon, only the crime gets solved -- the world is still a dark and shadowy place full of people who cannot be trusted and bumbling cops and a hero still willing to bend if not break the law. At the end of postmodern detective stories, like Chinatown, not even the crime gets solved, the bad guy walks away and the detective is told to forget it and nothing makes too much sense but we have to find a way to continue and to improvise and to live productively despite the lack of closure and satisfying solutions. But at the end of classical detective stories, like The Hound of the Baskervilles or any episode of Murder She Wrote or Agatha Christie novel, which all take their plot resolutions and closure from classical drama, everything is restored to a satisfying order -- the crime is solved, the eligible young man marries the beautiful woman, the old woman's estate is restored to her, and the world is once again a rational and ordered place in which God or the detective or both have made all things right. Most movies and TV shows and novels still are of this latter sort. And so is our diary. It ends with an extremely classical paragraph and a neat and almost clichéd classical set of phrases.
"Soon, I trust, I shall be laid beside my dear mother and father. I shall seek their forgiveness when we are reunited. God I pray will allow me at least that privilege although I know only too well I do not deserve it."
And still the prose seems much more easily produced and relaxed and smooth here, as if this writer was more comfortable doing what they were doing.
And then there is the Poe like finale -- with the placing of the document to be found later and a message for the future:
"My thoughts will remain in tact, for a reminder to all how love does destroy. I place this now in a place where it shall be found. I pray whoever should read this will find it in their heart to forgive me."
And then James speaks to us directly from beyond the grave. This is a common literary device, especially at the end of a work. I think the name for it is prosopopeia. At least I seem to remember that. It has been around since literature began.
"Remind all, whoever you may be, that I was once a gentle man."
And then, as if that weren't enough, we have the ultimate concluding lines:
"May the good lord have mercy on my soul, and forgive me for all I have done."
It really is classic. It's perfect in its fulfillment of the conventions. It is exactly what we would expect and what would satisfy most readers (after all, we can't have an open-ended, postmodern sort of Ripper diary, where our hero simply stops in the middle of an entry with no indication of where the book is going or what we were supposed to learn or how the story ends, now can we?)
But is it real or believable?
It is, at least, certainly "finished." In every sense of that word.
But there must be the final revelation, the identifying last shot of the movie, that gives the reader the final insight and puts the whole project in perspective with an ultimate announcement and revelation. It's the shot or tendency so beautifully parodied and emptied out by Kubrick at the end of The Shining, when the camera zooms in slowly, in a meaningful and revealing fashion, the filmic equivalent of pulling you close to tell you a final revelatory secret, and shows you... a picture on the wall that makes no real sense at all but allows to you guess and to speculate among a number of possible but undecidable meanings. Jack where he shouldn't be in time. It should mean something. It should explain things. But it does and it doesn’t and it leaves us in a state of complete instability and undecidability and then asks us how we feel about that and how we feel about our own conventional and artificial expectations. It is a brilliant final shot, because it does so much, but not what it appears to do. It is the opposite of our diary's final gesture, which simply and perfectly fulfills our expectations and produces just the sort of satisfying closure we long for because it allows us not to have to do any work ourselves. Of course, the lack of an ultimately identified, actual author of the book, after the fact and despite the book's announced intentions, reopens the ending and makes the book more of a real-life postmodern reading problem than it would like -- but that's another question. The book itself ends by offering exactly what we hope for and expect. How else could such a conventional plot have ended? The book itself does just what it is supposed to do -- it gives us a final, climactic, revelatory, and fulfilling signature and, finally offers us the one other thing that has been missing all along, a specific date in time:
Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
Dated this third day of May 1889
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 09:00 am | | Hi, John:
Another fine and perceptive commentary on the closing pages of the Diary.
I wonder if the change in voice is due not so much to a new penman or author but to a number of factors:
1) The author no longer needs to "stretch" to be Jack the Ripper and to invent Maybrick's thoughts about the crimes.
2) The narrator can afford to be serene because he senses (well, actually the penman knows) the end is near.
3) The penman can allow the narrator to be filled with loving thoughts of his wife, so that penman is now able to compose in a romantic vein instead of the frantic and frenzied style of earlier. Maybe soppy love stories come easier to the penman's nature than the destructive work of blood and guts killing.
4) The writing is nearly at an end and it is a relief to the penman who may have been stretched to the limits of his/her writing capability to write the prior sixty or so pages.
5) The writer is composed because Maybrick is setting his affairs in order, writing a new will and putting the Diary in a place where it will be found
6) The writing by nature needs to be composed to get to the final "confession," the signature "Jack the Ripper."
Just some thoughts leading up to the July the Fourth holiday as we dwell on Jack the Ripper's final confession. . . Here in Washington, DC, July is the loveliest month, at least right now, with almost fall-like temperatures, at least momentarily, before the heat comes back!
Looking forward during the holiday to going over your analysis of the final pages in more detail, John. Still struggling with my deadline, I might add.
Best regards
Chris George
P.S. Why is June the favorite month for Maybrick not May? When I remembered a few months ago about him writing about his favorite month I thought I had recalled it was May but realized on rechecking that the text says June not May. Why not May for Maybrick? Is it June because May is the month that Maybrick died (on May 11, 1889) and the penman knew that, and that June would make the end that much more heartbreaking? Break out the violins. |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 11:42 am | | Hi Chris,
Yes, these are all possible ways of accounting for our change in voice. I'm not sure they are quite so successful in accounting in the change of skill I sense in the writing, though. Numbers one and three do help the cause here, in particular, but I'm still not sure that we don't have, at the end of the diary, the critical and literary input of someone who was a little better at constructing sentences and rhythms and making a character's voice slightly more believable and even effective, someone a little more comfortable with the written word. But that is just a piece of simple speculation on my part, based on the changes in syntax and clarity that appear in the final pages.
It certainly could be the case that our writer just got better once they had more personally familiar stuff to deal with and that we wouldn't have seen signs earlier that our writer actually had some skill at characterization and the creation of a believable voice because they were working out of their depth. I'm not sure. And yes, having James die in his "favorite month" (making it "May" for May-brick)would have been a bit heavy on the irony -- and besides, his never seeing his favorite June -- it being just beyond his reach, as a punishment for his deeds perhaps -- is a touching detail. He died, of course, just a week or so after the last entry is dated.
A final note: Now that we are done and the signature of "Jack the Ripper" has finally appeared as a revelation on the last page of the diary and in the post that reads that page above, I do want to thank Chris and Caroline and Mark and RJ and Christopher and all of those who offered thoughts as we read. And I also want to thank all of those people who read along with us, without comment, for these past twenty days, day in and day out, even if it sometimes got terribly slow and dull and self-indulgent. I hope that this little exercise has offered at least some small provocations. I am glad the reading concluded on the same day that some of our readers will be chatting about the diary in the weekly discussion group. It was a fun three weeks of reading for me at least, and I thank everyone for their patience and consideration.
Enjoy the day, everyone.
Yours truly,
--John
Dated this third day of July, 2001 |
Author: Christopher T George
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 02:42 pm | | Hi, John:
Is the P.S. to your last post a clue to who wrote the Diary? .
Indeed, John, thanks for undertaking the marathon effort to analyze the Diary page by page. I for one am very appreciative for your in-depth analysis and perceptive comments which have helped me to reevaluate my own feelings about the document. You have given us quite a number of items to talk about in the structured chat tonight. Will you be able to join us? I hope so.
As a reminder, everyone, the chat on the Maybrick Diary will be tonight in the JtR chatroom at
http://www.geocities.com/grahf_chess/index.html at 9:00 pm US Eastern time or 8:00 pm Central time. See you there!
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: Lisa Muir
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 06:21 pm | | I know a not-terribly-bright man with a drinking problem. There have been times when he's written letters to me, long letters. They begin somewhat incoherently - thoughts scattered all over, never seemingly connected to one another.
By mid-letter, however, his thoughts would seem lucid. And, yes, almost poetic-like. Depending on the length of the letter, they would either end rationally, or in the raving scrawl of a lunatic.
I've always assumed that he began these letters while still somewhat sober & that it was a chore for him to write. As the alcohol kicked-in, he would be more relaxed, more capable of expressing himself. Then, of course, as even more alcohol was consumed, he reverted to rambling & incoherency. But oh that clarity somewhere between sobriety and complete inebriation! |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 07:17 pm | | Hi Chris,
Thanks. I will try and make the chat this evening, though I will also try and stay somewhat quiet, having had more than my say here.
Hi Lisa,
Yes, I know this phenomenon too. Interesting observation. That little window of lucidity and fineness of expression in the alcoholic cycle is a fascinating thing to see. I wonder what the arsenic high is like and what it does to one's faculties? I'm sure as hell not going to try and find out first hand. On another list I am on these days, people are currently swapping absinthe recipes and talking about where the real thing can still be had. That sounds like an interesting experience as well, and something our Victorian friends often had a taste for, especially among the wealthy and adventurous.
One thing I do think is that the diarist had, working in his favor, the fact that none of us could know what a real journal of Jack the Ripper would sound like and none of us can really imagine what someone like Jack would have actually written. Unlike, say a Hitler diary or a Napoleon diary, we have nothing to reliably compare it to and we can't just put ourselves in Jack's place and think "what would we write?" since none of us, I hope, have shared those experiences.
So we are left to read, the best that we can.
I look forward to reading the thoughts of others in the chatroom this evening.
Bye for now,
--John |
Author: David Cohen Radka
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 09:48 pm | | Was Maybrick Jewish? Has anyone ever looked at this angle?
David |
Author: John Omlor
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 11:27 pm | | Hi David,
James and the Maybrick family were Church of England. I asked about this once, because I felt only a Catholic would be very likely to quote Crashaw in 1888.
Hope that helps.
--John |
Author: Porritt
Tuesday, 03 July 2001 - 11:59 pm | | Hi John -
One last comment before retiring after your chat, eh?!
Seriously - thank you for your dissection of the Diary and for your input into the chat tonight! I arrived late to both. . . But I've been working my way thru the Diary all over again while referring to your (archived) notes - now we're in sync!
It appears obvious to me that:
a). the Diary is a modern (post-1987) creation intended for a reading audience.
b). Mike Barrett didn't create it. Conjecture reigns as to his involvement. . .
So who DID write the Diary?
One person or two? (Methinks one. . . if that One be of a theatrical bent. . .)
Does it matter? (Methinks YES! This puzzlement be as great as that of the identity of JtR his very self!)
Porritt
PS This place should have an addiction warning! |
Author: John Omlor
Wednesday, 04 July 2001 - 09:14 am | | Hi Porritt,
No doubt about the addictive nature of this place, that's for sure.
Needless to say, I don't know who wrote this diary, nor, I think, does anyone around here. But someone does somewhere.
And of course, it matters only if you think it matters. For most people in the world, the whole question of who Jack the Ripper was doesn't matter one tiny little bit. And for many people who care about who Jack was, who wrote the diary won't matter one tiny little bit -- since it apparently wasn't Jack. But just as some people are fascinated by Jack's case precisely because no one knows who he was, some will be fascinated by the diary because no one knows who wrote it. I know that I prefer my mysteries without solutions. Once I know who did it, it becomes a lot less interesting to me. What fascinates me is how we operate -- how we write and discuss things -- when the knowledge we need or desire remains unavailable to us. That's what makes writing about the Ripper in a scholarly and responsible way such a tricky thing to do, since you are always already in the realm of speculation and conflicted readings as soon as you start discussing suspects. And that's what makes the diary such a fascinating exercise in expectations and comfort-levels for me as well. It and its history are chock full of contradictions and lies and impossible stories and incomplete details and vagaries and uncertainties and fragments and a history that is more absent than present, more unknown than known, and this makes people uncomfortable and they want very badly to posit "final" chapters and solutions. Me? I like to watch that process and those desires at work and, of course, I like to read, especially interrogative texts (texts that produce more questions than answers, whether on purpose -- like Kafka's -- or by accident -- like this mess).
Welcome to the funhouse, Porritt,
--John |
Author: Christopher T George
Wednesday, 04 July 2001 - 10:23 am | | Hi, John:
Sorry I missed the chat. I hope a few more useful ideas emerged. After having all good intentions of being there, I crashed out after a long, tiring day in D.C. Hope you found your visit to the chat room to be productive, John. I am hoping that Tim will hold a Maybrick Diary Chat Part II that I will make certain I make!!!!
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 08:44 am | | Hi All,
Bit of catching up to do from Tuesday’s posts before catching the ladies' semi-finals at Wimbledon.
John has described in some detail how the final part of the diary appears to show a marked improvement in the skill and talent of the writer – so much so that he is seriously wondering if a substitute was brought on to oversee the final chapter. There could be a number of good and logical reasons for such a change. Chris and John have both observed that the person who began the diary showed signs of growing weary of the task ahead, using the same words and phrases over and over, and just about remembering to include the salient points of Maybrick history along the way, in his bid to get to May 3rd post haste and without having to try too hard. But, of course, it might have been part of the original scheme for No.2 to effect the change of personality both writers felt appropriate to the situation. Whether or not there is any truth in their tale, the thinking behind it appears to be that arsenic could make a man mad enough to kill like Jack the Ripper (and obsessive enough to repeat his ‘ha has’, ‘bitches’ etc ad nauseam, and his senses dulled enough to inhibit the powers of expression, both in prose and poetry, perhaps?), and that withdrawal could quickly restore sanity, natural writing ability and produce remorse in a former serial killer. So, if we have a double act, was it planned that way from the start, both knowing which role they should take – sane or insane – according to their individual writing skills and style? Or did the second writer only come in because the first had had enough, or realised he wasn’t up to producing a good finish? Either way, we have a problem if there are now two mystery people, determined to pen this thing between them in recent years, who have so far both managed to stay in the shadows, resisting fame, fortune and being ‘outed’ by those in the know (assuming we discount Anne, Mike and the late Tony D, for one of the reasons we do James Maybrick – the handwriting differs).
But what do we make of it if, as I suspect, only one person wrote the diary? Chris’s instincts tell him that the entire diary was written to the very best of that person’s ability – prose and verse – yet John has observed that the writing improves noticeably towards the end. Can Chris and John both be right? If one man was responsible (and, yes, I still think this was a man at work, although, when John said, ‘Isn’t this just like a man!’ when he noted that James blamed his wife for what happened to him, my own reaction was, ‘Isn’t this just like a serial killer – always puts the blame elsewhere!’ ) – if only one man faked this thing, don’t those last-minute improvements in the writing, showing what he was really capable of, suggest that he must indeed have been dumbing down for the earlier Mad Maybrick phase, an act lasting right through ‘til it became time for James to emerge butterfly-like into the Spring - in which the flowers bloom tra-la – for the briefest moment, before giving up the ghost, and with it all hope of ever seeing another June? I don’t know that we can explain away the apparent differences in basic writing skills and talent by suggesting the writer found the former role more of a challenge than the latter, particularly as I think I recall John suggesting the exact opposite at one point – that the better writer could have been picked for the ending because they thought it required greater effort, care and ability than simply putting down the jumbled, repetitive thoughts of a madman! (You guys can't have it both ways, you know. ).
Any more thoughts on that change of voice?
Love,
Caz |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 09:56 am | | Hi, Caz:
I still have to make the analysis of the handwriting in the last few pages to test whether John's notion that there might have been two penmen might be the case. However, going by my theory that it is only one person, I believe that instead of there being another person, to borrow and modify your phraseology, "the ending . . . required greater effort." I have remarked before that to me the final lines with the signature "Jack the Ripper" look the most artificial section of the whole document. I think the person who wrote this was trying to be extra careful and thoughtful in writing the final pages since they knew that it could be on those pages on which the authenticity of the whole document might be judged. That is, they were thinking to themselves, "I had better make this look good." So, in other words, instead of the mayhem and madness that they needed to convey on the prior pages, here they had other concerns. They had to show a more composed man, a man capable of making the damning confession -- supposedly to themselves, though Maybrick does tell us that he is going to leave the diary in a place where it will be found so finally we know they are writing for an audience after all even though the pretence was kept up for the preceding 62 pages that this was for Maybrick's eyes only.
Best regards
Chris George
P.S. Caz, I hope you enjoy the Wimbledon ladies' semis! Don't eat too many strawberries. |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 10:04 am | | Hi, all:
Another thought. Possibly in the preceding pages, the writing was done mostly directly onto the page without any or maybe only one prior draft. However, the last several pages were done differently, preparing a number of prior drafts to get the wording right and then to transfer it into the scrapbook. In other words, what we are seeing in the final pages is a "fair copy" of something the penman has written out previously to make sure they got the wording as they required. This could explain why the writing is neater, smaller, more precise, and without the crossings-out, blots, and missed words that we have observed on earlier pages.
Best regards
Chris George |
Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 10:18 am | | Hi Caz,
Some thoughts on your thoughts:
If two people composed this diary, then yes, I guess it is possible that they had a plan and that the plan was that they would play two separate roles -- the raving James and the mellow, "sweet baby" James. And yes, that means somewhere at least two people are being very quiet about their little storytelling experiment.
But I think it is also just as likely, if not more likely, that one person wrote this thing (perhaps from on outline, perhaps not) for a time and finally got to a place where they might have been stuck or forced to stop or out of ideas or whatever and a second person came in and wrote them out of it and finished the thing and then said "There, that's it."
If that was the case, then I would bet, when we meet up with our authors some day, the second person is quicker and brighter than the first, but the first is more plodding and works harder day in and day out. No, wait, that's me and my brother. Never mind.
On the other hand, if only one person wrote this thing and they pulled off the transition of the last five pages by themselves, then there are still two possible explanations. One is that you are correct and that they were actively dumbing down the first fifty-some pages for dramatic effect and their bad verse was not the verse they could have written but the verse they chose to write. The second possible explanation is that they were simply more comfortable writing in the mellow-James mode because it was closer to their own immediate experience (being spurned by love and both loving and hating someone and being filled with regret and facing one's own mortality, etc.) and that they were simply out of their depth trying to carefully reproduce the Ripper James and the prose and the verse got away from them (or at least got them "quite cross") because they had nothing to draw on and their comfort level was exceeded trying to be a drug addicted homicidal maniac and they ended up not writing as carefully or convincingly.
Perhaps, having written the first fifty-some pages and having covered the murders and most of the historical Maybrick material, they finally, at long last, at the end, took a deep breath and felt they could relax and write simply and clearly and, voila, we have our different voice (and different handwriting).
Frankly, of these four possible scenarios:
1.) the tag team writers with a plan
2.) the second, better writer to the rescue
3.) the deliberately dumb writer showing his true talent in the end
4.) and the out of his depth until the end, perhaps once lovelorn writer
I don't know which one I prefer or which one the text offers as the most likely. I would have thought that writing a believable mellow and regretful James would have been harder than creating a melodramatic madman; but others with a different sort of imagination or interest or skill might have found creating the madman James and getting the historical details in and right much more difficult that composing the mellow "I really do love my wife" James of the end.
Perhaps the pressure of having to write the murders and their history was too much for the writer to worry about the quality of the prose early on and after the murders were successfully chronicled (at least in sketch form, briefly, as they are in this book) the writer could relax and turn his attention to his sentences and his voice. Or perhaps the theory about arsenic and getting off arsenic was really in the writer(s) mind(s). Perhaps this was the reason for our voices (although this does not actually match the pathology of drug addiction and withdrawal with regard to clarity of expression and coherence of thought, as I mentioned once before).
But I have no answers or even any clear preferences at this point. And I have to catch up on some sleep from yesterday.
All the best for a fine Thursday,
--John
PS: For the word "Caz" my MS Word spell-check suggests "Czar."
PPS: Hi there, Chris: Our posts crossed again. We always seem to be writing at the same time. Please know that I am not committed to the "second penman theory," but in my reading I did want to mark and take careful note of the serious differences in the writing and the abrupt change beginning with the mention of Dr. Fuller. It is pretty obvious. And the syntax, style, and grammar all change along with it and the writing sounds much more natural and relaxed to me. Although all of your thoughts above seem possible to me. |
Author: Christopher T George
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 10:44 am | | Hi John:
Yes our frequent cross-posting perhaps indicates our minds may be on similar wavelengths. Scary thought!
Am I right but doesn't the exact same wording that you quoted as appearing in the final pages, "Fuller believes there is very little wrong with me", occur early in on the Diary as well, probably the first time he went to London? Can you confirm this? I am not sure what to make of this except that it is, if I am correct, yet another repetition of the same or very similar phraseology in the document.
Glad to know you are not stuck on the two-penman theory. Will get back to you about the handwriting in the final pages.
Best regards
Chris |
Author: Caroline Anne Morris
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 02:02 pm | | Hi Chris, John,
As Chris says, towards the end, 'the writing is neater, smaller, more precise, and without the crossings-out, blots, and missed words that we have observed on earlier pages.'
And, regarding John's comments on the pathology of drug addiction and withdrawal, I have no idea how clarity of expression, coherence of thought, or handwriting for that matter, would be affected by arsenic, either within a short time of a 'fix', at any given point between fixes, while craving or immediately prior to the next fix, or at intervals after withdrawing for good. Neither do I know if our diarist(s) had any more of a clue than I do, or just thought it made for a decent storyline, regardless of whether or not any supporting case history exists.
I do think it significant that we get many references, throughout the 63 pages, to the 'medicine' and the 'whore' being the two main causes of Maybrick's descent into ripping, which, as soon as the former is finally dumped as a bad thing, allows the latter to be forgiven, taking away his 'disire' to rip, so he can prepare to put the diary and himself to bed forever, in time for May 1889, courtesy of the changed voice of Sir Jim, reverting to the gentleman born. It all looks pretty inevitable, suggesting to me that a hoaxer (or hoaxers), knew from the start that the voice was going to have to change at the very point it did, and as obviously too, in line with this basic story. So I’m not too happy with the idea that a second, superior composer came to the rescue of the first, and that it just happened to coincide with this pivotal point of the story (John’s No.2). But, of course, if tag team writers had a serious plan from the word go (No.1), it would have made more sense for neither of them to put a word into that scrapbook until they had worked out between them who could writer better. And if they already knew that, because they planned for him/her to finish the job, perhaps he/she should have taken over the entire composition. (I'm afraid I don't think there were two different penmen, but that's purely due to my amateur view of the overall consistency and natural look of the handwriting throughout - unless the second and superior scribe also just happened to be a skilled imitator of the first.) So let’s consider the lone penman/composer, who found him/herself out of their depth with the ripper stuff, and felt more comfortable with the sentimental ending (John’s No.4). It seems such an odd project to choose to get into, and stick with, if the main subject matter is not one you are sure you will find easy, or be comfortable, writing about - unless of course there is an exceedingly strong reason for finishing what you decided to start. Would you not also need a rather unhealthy obsession to kick it all off? I don’t know.
As always, nothing quite manages to add up for me - and I don't even know what I am entitled to use for my sums.
And why was no attempt made by a modern forger to see if a Maybrick will ('I have redressed the balance of my previous will'), in his own handwriting, was available to copy from? Carelessness? Apathy? After all that effort?
Love,
Caz
PS The strawberries come fresh from my own garden, Chris - yummy! |
Author: Mark List
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 03:09 pm | | Caz, or perhaps somone else with knowledge, have you ever written a diary?
I know it might sounds weird, but most women (or young girls) have kept diaries at some point in their lives.
I have never been to kept writing a journal for more than a week, but have you ever looked back on your writing and see if your feelings, thoughts, motivations, interests...etc. change?
How about the voice? does it change with your mood, your composure?
The reason I ask is because, now that we've picked apart this Diary, and discussed how illogical it sounds at times, does this ever happen to us with our own personal writing? Where we see a change in our views and thoughts?
Mark
Happy 4th of July
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Author: John Omlor
Thursday, 05 July 2001 - 08:28 pm | | Hi Mark and Caz, and all,
Mark, another interesting and related question would be: if some stranger read your diary, how much of it would they understand and what sort of sense would it make to them? What would your diary reveal to outsiders? My guess is that this journal of Maybrick's contains a lot more clues and hints and suggestions about things for readers than most of our diaries would.
Caz,
Like you, I am not really satisfied with or have much confidence in any of the four alternatives I listed above. They each seem to have problems. I thought more about this over dinner (Why do the call it "London Broil" anyway? It was good -- but I'm not sure I know the origin of the name.)
Trying to imagine a believable scenario for the actual composition and writing of the document that would account for its tones, it changes, it handwriting, its information, its wordplay, its bad poetry, its games, its obviousness, its repetitiveness, its lack of imagination in some place, its simplicity and clarity and directness in others, and its varying shades of narrative believability, seems to be a very daunting task.
There are apparent conflicts everywhere. It seems deliberately dumbed down perhaps or it seems written by someone with limited imagination. It seems clear in places and direct and it often seems deliberately vague and evasive. It has a very limited amount of real, historical, reviewable information -- but this scarcity is precisely what keeps it alive and protects it from simple and final exposure and could be the result of deliberate craftiness.
And the troubling question remains -- has its author resisted identification through luck or through strategy and skill?
Let's assume some things for fun. Lets assume that it is 1988 and its the centennial of the Ripper crimes and there isa bunch of publicity and there are a mess of new books and someone somewhere, let's say Liverpool, gets the idea that another case they remember hearing about -- the Maybrick trial -- happened around the same time. And let's say that one day they read something about that trial and a light bulb pops up over their head. Wouldn't it be cool if Maybrick was Jack the Ripper -- or more precisely -- wouldn't it be cool if I wrote a book saying Maybrick was really Jack the Ripper -- or even more precisely and nefariously -- wouldn't it be cool if I created a diary wherein James Maybrick confesses to being Jack the Ripper. That would be very cool.
Let's stop for a moment. What sort of person has this idea? What would we expect the sort of person who thinks about writing a diary wherein James Maybrick confesses to being Jack the Ripper to be like? What qualities would such an idea suggest? Who (other than someone like Chris George) is likely to just say to themselves one day, I think I'll forge a nineteenth century diary based on the celebrated murders of Jack the Ripper and the life of James Maybick? And I'll try to use ink and paper that will make the scientists unable to determine whether it was written ten years ago or a hundred years ago. And I'll sign it "Jack the Ripper" and mention each of the murders and some things about Maybrick's life too, and I'll try and make it believable (but I won't try and imitate Maybrick's handwriting). To whom might this occur one afternoon or evening. What sort of daily life are they likely to be leading?
Anyway, let's say that I decide one day that it would be very cool if I wrote a fake diary that demonstrated James Maybrick was Jack the Ripper.
Why? To make money? But how? How could I make money with it if I want it to be genuine and no one to know that I wrote it? I can't claim any money without putting myself under suspicion -- unless I think I am clever enough not only to write it but then to make myself the leading suspect for its authorship by also being the one who goes public with it, all the while knowing that I was smarter than the police and everybody and so I could pull off both the composition and production and survive an investigation into its origins with me as the leading suspect. OK, maybe I shouldn’t be the one to go public with it. So how am I going to make any money from it then? I don't know.
But let's say I write it anyway, putting aside for the moment the problem of how to profit from its dissemination.
Now think about the book we've just read. What probably happened next? Did the guy who had the idea go it alone -- go out and do the research, find the scrapbook, acquire or produce the appropriate ink, compose the text, handwrite the diary, all by himself?
Did he, at some point, recruit others to help him, knowing that every accomplice he acquired meant one more mouth to possibly tell the story later and one more cut in the profits?
Was it a lark? Just for fun, to see what would happen if I did it, if I really could pull it off, because I'm interested in such things anyway? Was it a carefully planned operation, for profit all along? If we assume the idea dawned on someone in '88, that leaves a few years for the work. And it means that whoever wrote this thing, and whoever else was involved in its production -- no one has said a single decisively incriminating or substantiated, revelatory word in at least thirteen years. Thirteen years, and the only thing we have is a small set of attempted confessions that prove miserably contradictory and factually inadequate upon closer inspection even by the most objective of readers. Thirteen years - an entire childhood - and no one has broken ranks or just been hit by a burst of hubris and gone to the tabloids and said "I helped and here's how we did it." And there has been some money, but nothing like a fortune for anyone. There are no fancy cars and big houses being bought or happy retirements being lived off the diary. And still, it's at least thirteen years later, and we can't even decide or say whether the text was written by a single person or more than one and how many might have been involved in composing and producing it.
I do not think, personally, that one guy created this entire document from start to finish, including research, acquisition of materials, composition and transcription. But it is certainly a possibility, I suppose.
I don't know if the handwriting is all of a single type or hand or not (there are certainly drastic changes in the writing, but they could very well be the changes of a single person's hand, especially one not used to writing with pen and ink). I don't know if the composition is by a single person (my reader's experience tells me it is probably not -- that at least two people, perhaps more, worked on composing this text at some point or other -- but that's just an educated guess).
I don't know if a writer was deliberately dumbing down his own abilities -- language is the sort of thing that can be produced and reproduced in so many different ways that disguises are made easy -- ask our anonymous cyberfriends about that, those that are so many different, forged people in so many different online places. I don't know if our writer, like our hero, really did suck at poetry and used that lack of skill to his own advantage by making James suck too -- and using up a lot of space.
I don't know if our writer was being very clever by remaining sketchy and vague with historical detail and reviewable information and reducing his text to mere hints and repetitions or if he was just sort of lazy and happy to just repeat things and didn't have very much to say and so left things only partially developed.
I do know our writer(s) had a sense of a beginning and a middle and an end and had a very traditional sense of structure and closure and no doubt thought they were giving their readers exactly what they expected and wanted.
But, after dinner, after the London Broil and mashed potatoes and corn on the cob and fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate, I do know that I don't know very much about the actual scene of this diary's writing and production.
I thought I'd tell you that.
All the best,
--John |
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