Showing posts with label prison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prison. Show all posts

The Only Living Witness: The True Story of Serial Sex Killer Ted Bundy Review

The Only Living Witness: The True Story of Serial Sex Killer Ted Bundy
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There is something about the purely evil entity known as the serial killer that fascinates us endlessly, even as it repels us. Do these individuals inhabit the same world the rest of us live in? What is it that drives one to relentlessly stalk and murder other human beings like a tiger hunting prey? And even tigers kill only to satisfy a physical hunger; what kind of hunger drives the likes of Ted Bundy? Power? Sadism? Something so hideous that a "normal" mind can't begin to fathom it? We wonder what it would be like to live inside the head of such a person, but at the same time we pull back: it probably wouldn't be very nice in there.
Hugh Aynesworth, an investigative reporter, and Stephen G. Michaud, a writer for Newsweek, have written an exhaustive, well documented account of Ted Bundy's rampage through four states that left at least thirty young women dead. They explore Bundy's life in detail from his problematic childhood to his college years, during which he developed his consummate skill as a con artist and pathological liar. He wasn't every teenage girl's dream, but he had his share of girlfriends; he came from a broken home but his mother clearly cared about him and tried to be a good parent. He didn't know his father, but neither did a million other boys who never went on to become serial murderers. So who or what made Bundy Bundy? Aynesworth and Michaud suggest that it doesn't matter, Bundy was Bundy, period, and as such, the blame and responsibility for his crimes rest with him alone.
We follow Bundy in this book from his first murder in Washington State, through subsequent homicides in Utah and Colorado, his sensational escape from custody by jumping out of a second floor window, and his flight to Florida, where in a single explosion of homicidal rage he bludgeoned two girls to death and severely battered three more after invading their sorority house, before his final murder of a 12 year old who disappeared from a junior high school. The last killing represented a chilling turn: was Bundy going after younger and younger prey? One wonders if he might not have abducted children from elementary schools before he was finally caught.
Like all psychopaths before him and those who will come after him, Bundy never had a shred of compassion or guilt in regard to any of his victims. When he related his crimes to Michaud and Aynesworth, he insisted on talking about himself in the third person, as if Bundy the killer was a separate entity unrelated to himself. Perhaps that's how he could live with himself during the four years his crime spree lasted: someone else was committing these murders, not him. However Bundy tried to rationalize, deny or explain away his actions, one gets through this excellent book emotionally drained, and feeling very grateful that he is no longer on this planet to remind us of the insanity he caused while he walked among us.

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Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead: The Frank Meeink Story as Told to Jody M. Roy, Ph.D. Review

Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead: The Frank Meeink Story as Told to Jody M. Roy, Ph.D.
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This book changed me. I have always wondered, "How can people be so hateful?" Nobody is born a racist. Frank spells it out in absolute honesty how to build an army of haters. Page 151 reads, "I didn't need to bother recruiting racists. All I did was befriend kids who were pissed off about being picked on day in and day out. I trusted them to pay me back with loyalty. I trusted that I could turn their humiliation into hate. All I had to do was redirect their rage until it came thundering back as racism." If you get nothing else out of this book, it is the need to be compassionate. Kids aren't the only ones picked on day in and day out. I am grateful to this author for being so brutally honest about his past and present. Frank Meeinks doesn't wrap this book up with a nice bow at the end...he is still working towards making his life better...one day at a time. And I'm absolutely a better person because of his journey.

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Running the Books: The Adventures of an Accidental Prison Librarian Review

Running the Books: The Adventures of an Accidental Prison Librarian
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This was not the book I expected.
I'm not totally sure what I expected, but I think it was something funny: something about a librarian hanging out with pimps and drug dealers, scattering literature across the infertile soil of a prison's worth of undereducated, life-hardened, embittered minds. I was looking for some uplift, here, something about how books can save even the toughest cases.
What I got instead was reality. Avi Steinberg, who falls into prison librarianhood mainly because he is avoiding the expectations of his strict Orthodox Jewish upbringing (Doctor or lawyer or rabbi, oh my!) but not making enough money as a freelance obituary writer (Another career I never really thought existed, though of course it does), does indeed hang out with pimps and drug dealers, but it isn't really funny. These are not the cartoonish pimps that floated through my mind, a cornucopia of platform shoes and ostrich feather hats and 70's jive lingo; these are actual hustlers, men who make their living off of the exploitation of women, men who are cold and calculating and violent no matter how charming they appear. And because they are human beings, they are also emotionally stunted victims themselves, sufferers of abuse and neglect and generational poverty; their less savory characteristics are simply their best defense against the world that surrounds them.
Although there is very little about the saving grace of literature and words and books, Steinberg does paint a vivid and touching portrait of the criminals he dealt with every day for the years he worked in Boston's South Bay prison, as well as a harsh and unflinching one. These people are complex, despite society's desire to affix simplistic labels and shove them into an appropriate drawer labeled "criminal" or "convict" or "scum." Some of them -- many of them -- are cruel and violent and dangerous, as evidenced by the encounters Steinberg has with them on the outside, once they have been released; two that he recounts in the book are a mugging, and a depressing encounter with a pimp and a hooker, both of whom he knew from the prison; Steinberg plays up to the pimp's ego before he realizes that by doing so he is encouraging the violent exploitation of the drug-addicted woman whom he knew and had friendly feelings towards. But there is also incredible sadness in these devastated lives; though there are no instances of the kind of violence usually depicted in Hollywood movies about prison life (another shallow prejudice broken by this book), there is certainly violence and turmoil, and many of the people Steinberg meets are dead before the book's last page.
What was most clear from reading this book is that Steinberg is an outstanding memoirist; he gives some wonderful background, on himself, his acquaintances within the prison, and prison itself, both the system and the specific institution he worked in. He has remarkable insight, leading me to pause frequently to consider a particular passage or idea; one of the most telling for me was the simple observation that American prison spending has multiplied even while spending on education, and on libraries, has fallen to almost nothing -- a trend that continues and accelerates in today's economy. And he is a great storyteller, able to bring the people and places to life. This was a great book, one that I think anyone would enjoy who had an interest in books or prison -- and I would wager that pretty much everyone has an interest in one or the other, if not both.
A small personal note: as a sometimes reluctant high school teacher, it was fascinating to me personally to read about Steinberg's experiences trying to teach a creative writing course as part of his librarian's duties, because the things he struggled with, and the mistakes that he made and the successes that he had, are very similar to my own experience. Not that I would compare high school students to criminals . . . but the reverse is actually a reasonable comparison; these criminals are in many ways like high school students, and it was very interesting to see.


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