Hallie Rubenhold

Most people would probably recognise the name "Jack the Ripper" and be able to describe the broad outlines of the crimes attributed to him, but far, far fewer would be able to name any of the women murdered in Whitechapel in 1888, or say anything about them beyond the fact that they were prostitutes.

In The Five, Hallie Rubenhold attempts to remedy this. Rubenhold explores the lives of the so-called "five canonical victims"—Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine show more Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly—and uses them as a lens through which to explore the lives of working class women in Victorian London and the misogyny (and frankly shoddy research) which has permeated the historiography of the Ripper murders. Rubenhold spends little time discussing the murderer(s) and even less on the specifics of these women's brutal deaths. She wants the reader to appreciate the humanity of these women, and in this I think she succeeds. (Though I wish there had been less of the "X must have thought Y" tactic throughout the book; it generally irritates me.)

I found the epilogue one of the more powerful parts of the book, particularly when Rubenhold pulls quotations from some "Ripperologist" works to illustrate just much misogyny has distorted perceptions of the murders. Modern authors have ranked the attractiveness of the victims, called them "gin-soaked drabs", "moribund, drunken trug-moldies", and women who were fortunate enough to be "intimate" with "one of the most famous men on earth." Nichols, Chapman, Stride, Eddowes and Kelly were people. Why does it seem that popular fascination—even sympathy—seems to lie with their murderer(s)? I wish that Rubenhold had dug into the victims' afterlives as much as their lives.

(While "Jack the Ripper" is not centered in The Five, I finished the book more inclined to believe that he never existed outside of journalists' fantasies—but as with so much about the cases, we will never know the truth.) show less

A fantastic piece of research, drawing together the details of the lives of five ordinary, all-too-typical working class women who, were it not for the terrible circumstances of their deaths at the hands of one of history’s most notorious killers, would have remained completely anonymous and lost to history.

Fascinating, even if you have no interest whatsoever in the … what can I call it, without being rude: “mythology”? …obsession? … of Jack the Ripper. This is a window into the show more downward spiral of the lives of five very different women of Victorian London, who illustrate all too painfully how most working class people of that era lived on the edge of an abyss, and how one life crisis -- illness, loss of employment, death of a parent or spouse, collapse of a relationship – could plunge them headlong into destitution, homelessness, and a life in the shadows, beyond the respectability and minimal comforts they had worked so hard to enjoy.

Sound familiar? What was just as shocking as the tragedies of these five women was how familiar it all seemed. They say that every American is only one serious illness away from bankruptcy. (And having experienced the American medical system, and the scam they call health insurance, I believe it.) Britain has a better safety net, with the NHS, but homelessness and sleeping rough, reliance on foodbanks and the existence of sub-par housing (Grenfell Tower, anyone?) is a blight on the whole country, not just the big cities. There was nothing quaint or historical about Rubenhold’s descriptions of pathetic figures, roaming the streets at all hours of the night, trying to beg, borrow or steal the price of a flea-infested bed in one of the doss houses in the East End of London, until they finally collapse in a doorway from exhaustion and cold, and probably a drink to dull the pain. Wearing every article of clothing they possess, pockets stuffed with the broken bits and pieces that either remind them of the lives they once had, or might come in useful, or might be pawned for a few coppers. That could be … that is … now.

In addition to that, Rubenhold’s main thesis, that four of the five were not prostitutes is important, and necessary, and if some reviewers seem to have become tired of her “banging on about it,” … well, all I can say is … y’know, tough. After 130 years, it is something that really needed to be said – the police and media and “respectable” public of 1888 took one look at the location of the murders, the degraded living conditions of the five victims, and their gender and gleefully declared PROSTITUTES. No better than they should be. Probably flouncing around in revealing outfits, tempting poor honest boys. Deserved whatever they got.

And they were wrong. One of the murdered women was a professional sex-worker, and probably would have made no bones about it. (Interestingly, she was the final victim, whose murder MO was very different from the previous four. Which makes me wonder …) The other four were middle-aged women from a variety of respectable, working poor backgrounds, whose lives had been torn apart by alcohol, the death of loved ones, and the breakdown of family ties. At they times of their deaths they were partnered up with men they would have described as regular common-law, if often unreliable, relationships. Not … prostitutes.

And (again, an example of history depressingly repeating itself) like the Yorkshire Ripper of the 1970s, the assumptions that the police, media and public jumped to in 1888 probably tainted the investigation of the murders, and the hunt for the identity of Jack the Ripper. Rubenhold makes a very convincing case that, far from targeting “ladies of the night” (with all of the sexist baggage of over-made up hotties, wearing scanty outfits and winking seductively under gaslight streetlamps), the Ripper was probably attacking vulnerable women, who were semi-comatose from drink in doorways and down dark alleys.

(It seems that there has always been some debate in “Ripperology research” … can you believe there is such a thing? … as to whether one of the five, Elizabeth Stride, was really a victim of the Ripper, because the circumstances of her death were slightly different from the first three. But Rubenhold introduces some information about the final victim, Mary Jane Kelly -- whose death, as I said above, was very different from the MO of the other four – which suggests to me, at least, that her murder might not have been the work of Ripper either, but instead have been a copycat killing, in revenge for crossing a human trafficking network. Again, that is scarily modern.

I’ve said a lot more about this than I really meant to, but I think it has gotten under my skin – and that’s a very good thing for a book, I hope you will agree. Rubenhold’s research is amazing. Her writing is very readable. The subject – taking the spotlight from the homicidal maniac, and refocusing it on the victims, and their lives, rather than their gruesome deaths – in other words, giving them back their dignity, and their humanity -- is important.

HIGHLY recommended. show less

The fibers that have clung to and defined the shape of Polly, Annie, Elisabeth,
Kate, and Mary Jane’s stories are the values of the Victorian world. They are male, authoritarian, and middle class. They were formed at a time when women had no voice, and few rights, and the poor were considered lazy and degenerate: to have been both of these things was one of the worst possible combinations.

Jack the Ripper murdered five London women in 1888, but was never identified or caught, and his show more gruesome story has fascinated people ever since. But the victims were summarily dismissed as “just prostitutes,” as if that were sufficient reason for them to lose their lives. The Five sets out to redress this wrong by piecing together public records, disparate news accounts, and other sources to tell the life stories of each victim. Hallie Rubenhold spends absolutely zero time on the details of each murder or the murderer himself. Instead, she tells us about the family each victim was born into, her adult life, and the circumstances which led to living in the Whitechapel area where the murders occurred. More often than not, the women's lives took a turn for the worse as the result of a marriage gone bad, widowhood, or being orphaned while still unmarried. A woman alone or with dependents would have found it nearly impossible to survive; there was no way for her to earn a living. In these circumstances it was imperative they become attached to another man who would provide for them, but decisions made in desperation rarely had positive outcomes. Add homelessness and alcohol to the mix and all hope of stability was lost. The five victims inevitably found themselves walking the streets of London, not as prostitutes but simply in search of one night’s food and shelter. When they ended up sleeping rough in a dark alleyway, their lives were even more at risk.

The low value placed on women’s lives means that sometimes details are scarce, and Rubenhold’s research often strayed into adjacent spaces in order to paint a picture of how the victim might have lived. The author is very clear about when she is reporting facts about the victim, and when she is connecting dots to reach a plausible conclusion. While the victims’ stories are sad, I was also left feeling angry at a society that placed women at such disadvantage, and often continues to do so today. show less

a heartbreaking and humanizing foray into social history that uses mid-to-late Victorian society as a lens to explore the lives — not deaths — of the five women whose violent murders in 1888 Whitechapel would spark widespread fascination with the underbelly of London. i could not put this book down; Rubenhold’s accessible and engaging writing encompasses everything that makes both women’s history and social history so pertinent to contemporary society. loved it