Going through the offerings of more than 30 university presses for the fall and winter publishing, I kept an eye out for two things. The first was anything of possible interest to readers who don’t come across university press books very often, or ever. Or, to put it another way, the general reader.
From time to time it has pointed out that "the general reader" is a cultural fiction; no such species actually exists, except, perhaps, as a marketing category. And this is true, to a point. We are all, ultimately, specific readers, reading our specific books. Yet quite a few more readers, with a wider range of backgrounds, will be drawn to The Letters of Leonard Bernstein (Yale University Press, Oct.) than to a monograph on West Side Story. (And yes, there is one.)
My other goal was to identify trends or patterns emerging from catalog to catalog. Most proved fairly obvious and come as no surprise – any topic making the front page of the newspaper long enough is taken on eventually. But in a couple of cases, interesting or odd connections among books occurred to me after a third or fourth tour of the listings.
So without further ado, here’s my selection of fall and winter books from American university presses -- compiled by means of hunchwork and caffeine. It won’t be exhaustive. It might get kaleidoscopic. But there’s something here for everyone.
Let’s start with a few forthcoming volumes on “the higher learning in America,” to borrow the title of a book by Thornstein Veblen that the author originally planned to subtitle “A Study in Total Depravity.” However critical he may be of the institution, former Harvard University president Derek Bok probably won’t be that stringent in Higher Education in America (Princeton University Press, Aug.) – a work almost 500 pages long and covering, the publisher says, “the entire system, public and private, from community colleges and small liberal arts colleges to great universities with their research programs and their medical, law, and business schools.”
Jerry Jacobs takes a cold, hard look at a boundary-erasing buzzword with In Defense of Disciplines: Interdisciplinarity and Specialization in the Research University (University of Chicago Press, Oct.). More in the nature of a career guide is Frank Furstenberg’s Behind the Academic Curtain: How to Find Success and Happiness With a Ph.D. (Chicago, Sept.). Please remember: that’s “with,” not “despite.” Postgraduate life would be less like Waiting for Godot if the institution follows the lead of a volume edited by Keith Hoeller called Equality for Contingent Faculty: Overcoming the Two-Tier System (Vanderbilt University Press, Jan.)
Among the titles recalling the scholarly worlds of yesteryear -- erudition unplugged! -- are forthcoming translations of Jürgen Leonhardt’s Latin: Story of a World Language (Harvard University Press, Nov.) and Arlette Farge's The Allure of the Archives (Yale, Sept.) The Library: A World History (Chicago, Nov.) brings together James W. P. Campbell’s knowledge of the history of architecture and Will Pryce’s photography “to tell the story of library architecture around the world and through time in a single volume, from ancient Mesopotamia to modern China and from the beginnings of the written word to the present day.”
Seeking to navigate the passage between dead-tree and new-media cultures we have Comparative Textual Media: Transforming the Humanities in the Postprint Era (University of Minnesota Press, Jan.), a collection of papers edited by N. Katherine Hayles and Jessica Pressman, which argues "for seeing print as a medium along with the scroll, electronic literature, and computer games." A cluster of titles will consider the effect of digitality on personality, though possibly it's the other way around.
Anna Poletti and Julie Rak's edited collection Identity Technologies: Constructing the Self Online (University of Wisconsin Press, Jan.) sounds as if it must overlap somewhat with Howard Gardner and Katie Davis's The App Generation: How Today’s Youth Navigate Identity, Intimacy, and Imagination in a Digital World (Yale, Oct.) and Alice E. Marwick's Status Update: Celebrity, Publicity, and Branding in the Social Media Age (Yale, Nov.) Beyond celebrity, publicity, and branding, we seemingly have sainthood in view with Brett T. Robinson's Appletopia: Media Technology and the Religious Imagination of Steve Jobs (Baylor University Press, Aug.).
Digital technology itself continues on course for apotheosis -- omnipresent and pretty nearly omniscient, it hasn't become omnipotent yet, but just you wait. In the meantime, The Intelligent Web: Search, Smart Algorithms, and Big Data (Oxford University Press, Jan.) by Gautam Shroff sounds fascinating and, frankly, scary: a treatment of algorithms that "operate on the vast and growing amount of data on the Web, sifting, selecting, comparing, aggregating, correcting; following simple but powerful rules to decide what matters." The days of thinking of the Internet as some kind of Wild West anarchist frontier have given way to The Global War for Internet Governance (Yale, Jan.), according to Laura DeNardis's study of "the inner power structure already in place within the architectures and institutions of Internet governance." I'm not sure if that argument confirms or undermines military science scholar Thomas Rid's assessment that Cyber War Will Not Take Place(Oxford, Sept.).
Whatever may happen in the quest for artificial intelligence, the human kind retains its mysteries. A Natural History of Human Thinking (Harvard, Feb.) by Michael Tomasello will pull together the evidence for his fairly well-known thesis that we made our evolutionary leap as a species thanks to the survival value of cooperation and empathy. In his Philosophy of Dreams (Yale, Oct.), Christoph Türcke advances the theory that "both civilization and mental processes are the results of a compulsion to repeat early traumas, one to which hallucination, imagination, mind, spirit, and God all developed in response."
Joyce Davidson and Michael Orsini's edited collection Worlds of Autism: Across the Spectrum of Neurological Difference (Minnesota, Nov.) takes issue with the usual conception of autism as a disorder, "instead situating autism within an abilities framework that respects the complex personhood of individuals with autism." Anyone interested in that volume will also want to look for The Arachnean and Other Texts (Minnesota, Oct.), the first English translation of writings by the French psychiatrist and filmmaker Fernand Deligny, who worked with autistic children.
Political Emotions: Why Love Matters for Justice (Harvard, Oct.) is the latest in a series of works by the philosopher Martha C. Nussbaum exploring how affect and public life interact. That question will also to be pursued, from their own disciplinary perspective, by the contributors to Doing Emotions History, edited by Susan Matt and Peter N. Stearns (University of Illinois, Jan.). A number of Nussbaum's recent studies have concerned negative affect -- emotions such as shame and disgust, which push or pull away from social contact -- so her readers may be relieved to think about love for a while. But for those who haven't had their fill of it, there's Valerie Curtis's The Science Behind Revulsion; Don’t Look, Don’t Touch, Don’t Eat (Chicago, Oct.).
There's power and big money to be had from exploiting forms of negative affect, as Jeffrey M. Berry and Sarah Sobieraj will explore in The Outrage Industry: Political Opinion Media and the New Incivility (Oxford, Jan.) -- and on that note, let me invite you back next time, when we'll look ahead to some titles bound to incite as well as stimulate.
Clifford Lynch recently wrote a piece in which he describes the broken promises to libraries surrounding the introduction of e-books. Instead of a cornucopia of books that would be available at lower prices than print and with various new features enabled by digital technology, we have a peculiar situation where many publishers are refusing to sell books to libraries at all, and often when they do indeed sell them, the books are priced higher than their print counterparts and with various new usage restrictions imposed upon them. So the promises of e-books for libraries remain unfulfilled.
Putting aside the question of who made those promises and how they proposed to hold themselves accountable for their fulfillment, Lynch’s comments lead me to wonder if the advent of e-books has been a good or bad thing for university press publishing, a segment in which I have long had a special interest. On balance I would have to say that as dramatic as the introduction of e-books to the academic sector has been, by and large the fortunes of the press world are not appreciably better than they were four years ago -- or six years ago, to begin the count with the launch of the Amazon Kindle, with apologies to Ronald Reagan and his famous (if misleading) four-year formulation. Indeed, university presses seem to be operating under snugger strategic conditions than even a few years ago. E-books haven’t made all that much difference.
Before saying another word, I must make the qualifying remark that there is great diversity among university presses and that generalizations inevitably introduce distortions. The university presses at Cambridge and Oxford are as large as many commercial firms, possess a global footprint, and manage a broad product portfolio. American presses range from under $1 million in revenue to tens of millions; some publish journals while others do not; and some, despite their small size, are healthily profitable. My comments here put Oxford and Cambridge to the side and talk of the other presses in the aggregate -- that is, there may have been winners and losers among them, but what have their fortunes been as a whole?
University presses have a complex business model, unique in the university world as far as I know, that combines earned revenue with various forms of funding that is not derived from the market place. The earned revenue of these publishers is something of a three-legged stool: books, journals and services. Services can take many forms, but the largest service by far is in the distribution of physical goods on behalf of other, smaller presses. Let’s dig into the earned revenue one leg at a time, putting books last.
1. Services. A number of presses distribute books on behalf of other academic publishers, both domestic and international. Historically this has been a good business, as distribution is a game of scale and a small press has anything but scale. This service lowers the cost of distribution to the small-press client (that is, in comparison to having to provide this service for themselves) and provides a profit for the larger press providing the service.
Unfortunately, this activity is now under stress. Sales of printed books are not growing and in many instances are declining. This leads to excess capacity at warehouses and slow-moving inventory (partially offset by the introduction of digital SRP -- short-run printing). On top of this is the entrance into the sector of commercial players, who change the competitive landscape. It is difficult to be optimistic about the long-term prospects for this service.
Presses are also seeking to provide other services, especially digital services, but this will be a steep hill to climb. The problem here is that the competition is everywhere. Do you want to provide print-on-demand services for third parties? Well, you and a dozen other outfits. How about digital asset management, where the provider warehouses digital files that can be accessed and manipulated by clients? Well, you and two dozen other outfits. We needn’t get into file conversion, the creation of ebook apps, or pretty much anything digital. The competition is too keen.
Some presses attempt to provide publishing services to other departments within their institutions. This is a good idea (there is no point in having 20 different people trying to figure out how to convert a PDF to an EPUB file), but the scale is small. Overall, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that income from third-party services will not be an ensured source of funding for presses in the future. And this problem has intensified over the past 4 years–or 6–as print books migrate to digital formats.
2. Journals. Journal publishing over all is a very good business for certain large publishers, and it is still a good business for many university presses. By my estimate, the American presses, taken together, publish about 200 journals; adding Oxford and Cambridge to the mix would add perhaps 600 more. This is out of a universe of approximately 25,000. There is a clear hierarchy in journals publishing. The commercial firms Elsevier, Springer, and John Wiley sit at the top, followed by such firms as Taylor & Francis, Wolters Kluwer, and Sage and the major not-for-profits (e.g., ACS) — and of course Oxford and Cambridge. Below that group are many university presses and professional societies (e.g., AIP, APS). Smaller still are many other professional societies, which may have a tiny portfolio of journals.
The problem for university presses is that the journals business is all about scale and the one thing the presses do not have is scale. Scale permits a publisher to establish a global footprint, to invest in technology, to pay large guarantees to attract professional societies to the roster, and to market the publications into every corner of the marketplace. The journals market is not growing as rapidly as it once did outside of a few notable Gold OA publishers (e.g., PLoS), which in turn has put even greater pressure on publishers to achieve a greater and greater scale, the better to dominate academic library budgets and squeeze out the publications of smaller firms (which are likely in turn to sell out to the larger publishers, thereby increasing the latter publishers’ scale still further, a cycle that is vicious or virtuous depending on which side of the table you sit on).
The race for scale has resulted in the larger publishers poaching the journals formerly handled by many university presses. Thus we have seen a collection of anthropology journals leave the Unviversity of California Press for John Wiley, and Elsevier come bidding for a journal formerly managed by Chicago. Even Oxford is big enough to act as a poacher, sometimes bidding for the publications handled by the smaller presses. Thus the journals segment for university presses (always excepting Oxford and Cambridge) is a less reliable source of income today than it was even a few years ago. Barring a bold new strategy for journals, it is difficult to make a case for growth for any but the largest publishers.
3. Books. What university presses mostly do is publish books. They publish outstanding books and they publish them well. While the book segment is still primarily a print business (about 90 percent), electronic revenue is growing rapidly. There are no presses to my knowledge that are not now publishing ebooks. This is a growth segment, and the presses are understandably proud of it.
Unfortunately, the book business, whether for print or digital works, is a tough one, especially in a segment where some titles may sell as few as 300 copies and a sale of 10,000 copies is a matter of astonishment. The fixed costs of book publishing are simply too high for the small market for scholarly books, and the introduction of ebooks does nothing to whittle away at those fixed costs. Many presses lose money on the sale of books, which in turn puts more pressure to find revenue in the already challenged segments of journals and services.
Another problem for the presses’ foray into ebooks is the dominance of Amazon, which exacts a significant toll from the presses for distribution. Amazon gets more powerful every day and the demands made on tiny scholarly publishers are becoming strident. A dollar taken from the operating margin of a university press is handed over to the shareholders of Amazon, a trend that shows no sign of slowing down. While exceptional editorial talent always finds a way to punch its way through a hostile distribution environment, not all editorial work is exceptional and the energy behind every punch has a cost. Ebooks, in other words, are a good and necessary move for the university press world, but they are not likely by themselves to provide financial stability.
And so all three legs of the three-legged stool are rickety, making the prospects for university press publishing not particularly bright. On the other hand, the prospects are not bleak; the presses continue to earn the bulk of their income from the marketplace (over 90 percent of press budgets are covered by earned income). This contradicts the prevailing narrative, which suggests that university press publishing is doomed, that the presses are losing tons of money, and that only a radical overhaul of the business model can “save” university press publishing. This very point was made to me by a university librarian, who noted that her institution’s press had lost several hundred thousand dollars in the prior year. Good lord, what are we to do? But contrast this with the librarian’s own budget, which entailed a cost to the university of over $30 million. People, some perspective, please! This bringd us back to the point that presses are set up as subsidized profit centers, whereas most university functions are set up as cost centers. Which is the bigger burden to the parent institution, the small subsidy of a profit center or the large budget of a cost center?
Using a yardstick of 4 years -- or 6, or 10 -- we would have to say that the presses’ overall situation has gotten tighter; and we would conclude that the “promise” of e-books (though here again I have to ask who is making these promises) has not meaningfully changed the fortunes of the university press world. This is because electronics are not a strategy; electronics are an enabling technology that has to be put in service to a strategy. If we want to meet Clifford Lynch’s challenge, let’s stand up in front of the whiteboard and do some serious thinking.
As the Obama administration works on a policy to provide free access to taxpayer-funded research, publishers and universities advance competing plans for archives -- but some scholars say a government archive is the way to go.
Coalitions of librarians and colleges and universities filed friend of the court briefs Tuesday supporting the HathiTrust in a lawsuit in which authors' groups charge that the digital repository is violating their copyright in making some of their works freely available. The briefs were filed with the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit, which is considering an appeal of a federal judge's ruling last October that sided overwhelmingly with the trust and the universities (Michigan, California and Wisconsin, and Indiana) that created it. In their brief urging the Second Circuit to uphold the lower court, the American Library Association, the Association of College and Research Libraries, and the Association of Research Libraries argue that a ruling for the Authors' Guild and the others challenging the HathiTrust would "prevent libraries from performing some of their most basic functions, from film preservation to Internet access." And the brief filed by the American Council on Education, several other major groups of college presidents, and Educause vigorously defends the doctrine of "fair use" that they say the plaintiffs challenging HathiTrust would undermine.
The Authors Guild is scheduled to reply to these briefs within a month.
Scholars and others are protesting a forthcoming journal, Porn Studies, from Routledge. "While we agree that pornography and porn culture demand and deserve more critical attention, as a group of academics, activists, anti-violence experts, health professionals, and educators, we are deeply concerned about the journal’s intention and focus and about its editorial board, which is uniformly pro-porn," says a petition signed by hundreds. "Routledge is in a position of authority, and framing the editorial 'experts' on porn as pro-porn under the auspices of neutrality (which is what the journal title does) further fosters the normalization of porn and misrepresents the academic, political and ideological debates about the issue."
Times Higher Education asked editors of the journal about their reaction to the criticism, and the editors responded that they had been "especially pleased to have so many messages from academics welcoming the journal" and "delighted that we have been able to include the foremost scholars in this area on our board, and we are continuing to invite others so that we have a really good spread of academics across disciplines."
Standing in line at the drugstore a couple of weeks ago, I spied on the magazine rack nearby this month’s issue of National Geographic – conspicuous as one of the few titles without a celebrity on the cover. Instead it showed a photograph of an infant beneath a headline saying "This Baby Will Live to Be 120."
The editors must have expected disbelief, because there was a footnote to the headline insisting that the claim was not hype: "New science could lead to very long lives." When was the last time you saw a footnote in a popular periodical, on the cover, no less? It seemed worth a look, particularly after the septuagenarian in front of me had opened complex, in-depth negotiations with the pharmacist.
The headline, one learns from a comment on the table of contents, alludes to a traditional Jewish birthday wish or blessing: "May you live to be 120." This was the age that Moses was said to have reached when he died. The same figure appears -- not so coincidentally perhaps – at an important moment in the book of Genesis. Before sending the Flood, Jehovah announces that man’s lifespan will henceforth peak at 120 years. (I take it there was a grandfather clause for Noah. When the waters recede, he lives another 350 years.)
The cap on longevity, like the deluge itself, is ultimately mankind’s own fault, given our tendency to impose too much on the Almighty’s patience and good humor. He declares in about so many words that there is a limit to how much He must endure from any single one of us. Various translations make the point more or less forcefully, but that’s the gist of it. Even 120 years proved too generous an offer – one quietly retracted later, it seems. Hence the Psalmist’s lament:
“The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.”
Nursing homes are full of people who passed the fourscore marker a while ago. If you visit such places very often, as I have lately, “May you live to be 120” probably sounds more like a curse than a blessing. Not even a funeral obliges more awareness of mortal frailty. There is more to life than staving off death. The prospect of being stranded somewhere in between for 30 or 40 years is enough to make an atheist believe in hell.
Meanwhile, in science…. The medical and biological research surveyed in that NatGeoarticle promises to do more than drag out the flesh’s “labor and sorrow” a lot longer. The baby on the magazine cover will live his or her allotted span of six score decades with an alert mind, in a reasonably healthy body. Our genetic inheritance plays a huge but not absolutely determinate role in how long we live. In the wake of the mapping of genome, it could be possible to tinker with the mechanisms that accelerate or delay the aging process. It may not be the elixir of youth, but close enough.
Besides treating the same research in greater depth, Ted Anton’s The Longevity Seekers: Science, Business, and the Fountain of Youth (University of Chicago Press) emphasizes how profound a change longevity research has already wrought. It means no longer taking for granted the status of aging as an inescapable, biologically hardwired, and fundamentally irreversible process of general decline. Challenging the stereotypes and prejudices about the elderly has been a difficult process, but longevity engineering would transform the whole terrain of what aging itself entails.
Anton, a professor of English at DePaul University, tells the story in two grand phases. The first bears some resemblance to James Watson’s memoir The Double Helix, which recounts the twists and turns of laboratory research in the struggle to determine the structure of DNA – work for which he and Francis Crick received a Nobel Prize in medicine in 1962. Watson’s book is particularly memorable for revealing science as an enterprise in which personalities and ambitions clash as much as theories ever do. (And with far more rancor as Watson himself demonstrated in the book’s vicious and petty treatment of Rosalind Franklin, a crystallographer whose contribution he downplayed as much as possible.)
A practitioner of long-form journalism rather than a longevity researcher, Anton writes about conflicts in the field with some detachment, even while remaining aware that the discoveries may change life in ways we can’t yet picture. The initial phase of the research he describes consisted largely of experiments with yeast cells and microscopic worms conducted in the 1990s. Both are short-lived, meaning that the impact of biochemical adjustments to their genetic “thermostats” for longevity would register quickly.
During the second phase of Anton’s narrative, lab research involved more complex organisms. But that that was not the most important development. The public began hearing news flashes that scientists had discovered that the key to a longer life was, say, restricted caloric intake, or a chemical called resveratrol found in red wine. Findings presented in scientific journals were reported on morning news programs, or endorsed on Oprah, within days or even hours of publication. Hypotheses became hype overnight.
This generated enthusiasm (more for drinking red wine than restricting calories, if memory serves) as well as additional confidence that biotechnological breakthroughs were on the way. Everybody in longevity research, or almost everybody, started a company and ran around looking for venture capital. Models, evidence, and ideas turned proprietary information -- with the hurry to get one’s findings into professional journals looking more and more like the rush to issue a press release.
So far, no pharmaceutical has arrived on the market to boost our lifespans as dramatically as the worm and yeast cells in the laboratory worms. “The dustbin of medical breakthroughs,” Anton reminds us, “bears the label ‘It Worked in Mice.’ ” On the other hand, the research has been a boon to the cosmetics industry.
As it is, we’re nowhere near ready to deal with the cumulative effect of all the life-extending medical developments from the past few decades. The number of centenarians in the world “is expected to increase tenfold between 2010 and 2050,” the author notes, “and the number of older poor, the majority of them women,” is predicted “to go from 342 million today to 1.2 billion by that same year.”
But progress is ruthless about doing things on its own terms. Biotech is still in its infancy, and its future course -- much less its side effects -- is beyond imagining. The baby on the magazine cover might well live to see the first centenarian win an Olympic medal. I wish that prospect were more cheering than it is.
Around 50 serial killers are active in the United States at any given time, according to the retired Federal Bureau of Investigation agent John Douglas, who wrote some of the standard monographs on violent crime, as well as any number of true-crime paperbacks. The figure sounds remarkably low, given serial killers’ ubiquitous and nearly mythological status in the American imagination over the past couple of decades. As a movie reviewer once pointed out, they must be the most overrepresented demographic in contemporary popular culture.
You could probably find 50 of them right this minute, just by turning on the TV. The fictionalized serial killer is now a stereotype, albeit one constructed mainly of idiosyncrasies. He practices bizarre private rituals full of psychosexual significance (murder itself being one of the rituals) and is known to the public by a pseudonym, as was his symbolic ancestor Jack the Ripper. His motives are oblique at best. On the one hand, he is in the grip of obsessions and compulsions; on the other, the killings often embody a degree of creativity, however mis-channeled or diseased. He is a kind of deranged artist or malignant demigod, turning inner chaos into violent order.
In real life, of course, there have been plenty of sloppy, impulsive, and totally unimaginative serial killers, but they, evidently, are not nearly so entertaining. When one shows up on screen at all, it is likely to be in a rural setting, where generations of inbreeding has erased all impulse control, with the victims ending up barbecued, or their skin and bones turned into clothing and household decoration.
In either version, we have an almost archetypal symbol of evil, more or less plausibly rendered in human form, with no supernatural explanation necessary or implied. At the same time, we should be wary of interpreting as too deeply meaningful the prevalence of a stock character who, most of the time, exists simply as a convenient device for setting the detective in motion -- or giving the horror-movie viewers someone to dread, perhaps while rooting for him at the same time.
Every so often, the archetype short-circuits and the plot device goes haywire, and you get something like “The Following,” a recent series on the Fox network. In it, Kevin Bacon plays a retired FBI agent whose mission is to fight a cult of aspiring serial killers led by a literature professor who is obsessed with gothic romanticism, or possibly it’s romantic Gothicism. The professor is “brilliant and charismatic, but psychotic,” as the Internet Movie Data Base helpfully explains, which in this context means he has a British accent. He sends his minions out to perform sundry Edgar Allan Poe-inspired atrocities. He also does some serial killing himself, as his schedule permits.
I see that the IMDB page for “The Following” states that there are now 300 serial killers active according to the FBI. Either the bureau was overlooking five-sixths of them until recently or the professor is a very good teacher.
An interpreter of compulsive homicide rather than instructor in it, Lisa Downing treats the contemporary fascination with serial killing as one element of a complex process of marking and policing social norms of sexuality and identity. The biographical note on the cover of The Subject of Murder: Gender, Exceptionality, and the Modern Killer (University of Chicago Press) indicates that Downing is a professor of French discourses of sexuality at the University of Birmingham, in the United Kingdom.
From that description, the profiler will surmise that Downing keeps theoretical company with Michel Foucault, and indeed, his conceptual fingerprints are all over the book. In her title, the word subject does not mean topic (per ordinary usage) or even the general philosophical sense of subjectivity as consciousness and agency. Rather, it has Foucault’s particular nuance of being “subject[ed] to someone else by control and dependence, and tied to his own identity by a conscience or self-knowledge.” In this sense, the “subject of murder” refers not (just) to the individual committing the act, but to all the institutions and interpretive frameworks that come together in identifying and defining the murder: law, psychiatry, penology, and ideas about male and female behavior with regard to sex and violence.
Downing’s first section consists of three chapters on cases from the 19th century, beginning with that of Pierre-François Lacenaire, a poet, criminal, and boulevardier executed for murder in 1836, and continuing with Marie Lafarge, a Frenchwoman convicted of ending an unhappy marriage in 1840 by feeding her husband rat poison. The third chapter, leaping across both decades and the Channel, takes up the case of Jack the Ripper – hardly the first instance of what the sexologist Richard von Krafft-Ebing would label Lustmörd (“lust murder”), but the one that would prove iconic. Each became a national and even international sensation, thanks in part to the writings of the killers, but also because other authors were inspired to comment on their cases.
The three main chapters in the second section, covering the 20th century, involve figures now routinely classified as serial killers (a category also retroactively applicable to the Ripper). The most notorious of them is Myra Hindley – at the time of her death a few years ago still one of the most hated women in England – who helped Ian Brady rape and murder a number of children and buried their bodies on the moors outside Manchester. The story of Dennis Nilsen, the British necrophile and serial killer, resembles that of Jeffrey Dahmer, although Nilsen was more prolific.
Downing’s treatment of Aileen Wuornos, a homeless prostitute who shot several clients, challenges the idea that she was a serial killer, given that the murders can be understood as revenge for the violence she endured from men, rather than as the work of a psychopath. A final chapter considers children who kill, and includes perhaps the most sinister photograph in the book: a surveillance camera image from a shopping mall showing two boys, about 10 years old, leading away a toddler who they then beat to death with rocks.
What we have here, to put it one way, is a variety of homicidal acts with very little in common, with few parallels even among the murders themselves, apart from a degree of celebrity (Lacenaire and Lafarge had their defenders) or public outrage. At another level, however, each murderous career is defined not just by the means and motives for killing, but by a surrounding matrix of attitudes about self-control and gender difference.
The whole “serial killer as artist” mythology that I mentioned at the start of this column is a case in point – a late flowering of the idea emerging in the 1830s: “Lacenaire wished his poetry, his crimes, and his own highly stylized self to be received by the world as the avid Romantic critic receives the artwork: appreciated or subject to disapproval only as beautiful objects, according to purely aesthetic criteria.”
Brady, the Moors murderer, rationalized his behavior in similar terms, fortified with passages from the Marquis de Sade and Nietzsche. Medical and criminological speculation over the decades made room for this sort of “subject of murder” by treating the behavior as the product of some kind of excess – an overcharged libido, perhaps, or a grandiose ego. But no such interpretation was ever offered for Hindley’s participation in the murders. I’m not sure how you would quantify visceral loathing, but as much of it as Brady inspired, Hindley provoked more of it.
“Female murderers are special,” according to Downing, “because they are seen to lack something that is perceived as essential to femininity….” A default or normative definition of the human equates it with the male (don’t blame the feminists for this interpretation, angry readers, but direct your ire to Aristotle). Hence “femaleness equates to something other to, and less than, maleness, but with culturally ascribed saving virtues such as a capacity for nurturing and an affinity with an ethics of care.”
Hindley not only used children's trust in her to lure them to her death, but showed no remorse during the trial; while Brady's crimes and demeanor were cold, hers were taken to be even more inhuman. Doubly so, in fact. But identifying and purging the monstrous, however strong the drive to do so may be, never brings the story to an end. There’s always another monster being born, or sitting in the audience.
Véronique Kiermer, executive editor of the Nature Publishing Group, says that there is more "sloppiness" than in the past in journal submissions, Times Higher Education reported. Kiermer made the remark in a speech at the World Conference on Research Integrity. Among the problems she said she is seeing more of are: missing control tests, poor use of images, flaws in experimental design and reporting, and problems with the use of statistics.