“I was determined to be both pretty and fierce, as Mother had said I could be. Just because I was interested in a man’s job didn’t mean I had to give up being girly. Who defined those roles anyhow?”
Stalking Jack the Ripper
by Karri Maniscalco
So, what happens when a book isn’t your jam? You can go on an indefinite hiatus, look up the ending on wikipedia then rid yourself of it, or you solider on. I soldiered on with this book because of an agreement I made with a group of friends across the country. We planned to each take turns reading and annotating the same copy of a book, and then mail it to the next person, much like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, which I might have preferred to read for this exercise. Stalking Jack the Ripper was the book we voted on non-unanimously. And guess whose opinion was the first to grace the pages. Please forgive me my friends. I love you all, but I hate this book.
This book is a historical fiction about Jack the Ripper from the perspective of a young woman with an uncommon career interest. Audrey Rose was born into privilege, but instead of focusing on her social status, she spends her time apprenticing in her uncle’s forensic practice. She sews both fabric and bodies! At the start of the story, her main interest is working with cadavers to learn about the human body and hone her skills in autopsy, but that quickly spirals into a new obsession when women are being mutilated to death in the streets of London by an unknown perpetrator. Audrey’s uncle is tasked with analyzing the victims’ bodies, and his student Tomas, a dashing young fellow (wink wink), and Audrey become rouge detectives in order to take down Jack the Ripper before any more blood is shed.
My favorite aspect of this book was the forensics, but that was quickly overshadowed by the mystery plot. A lot of people love mysteries and might also enjoy this one. I enjoy a good mystery, but, for me, this wasn’t it. And to add insult to injury, this book had almost every one of my bookish pet peeves and least favorite tropes. Often with historical fiction there is a sometimes-forced emphasis on feminism because the author wants their heroine to come across as empowered despite what may have been accurate to the time period. I appreciate that this author acknowledged the gender inequality that was present, but it was so excessive that it became almost preachy. Characters would put down Audrey and her incompetence as a woman every chance they got, and Audrey responded like a 21st century woman reenacting:
“What is a man's soul made of that a woman's is not?”
“I’d like to remind each man who held such poor opinions of a woman that their beloved mothers were, in fact, women.”
“Pretend I am as capable as a man? Please, sir, do not value me so little!”
“I needed no man to empower me.”
“I’d like to see you carry on with a corset digging its bones into your rib cage,” I said, returning the favor and eyeing his clothing. “And manage a skirt still covering most of your breeches and whipping around your thighs in this wind.”
“Wield your assets like a blade, Cousin. No man has invented a corset for our brains. Let them think they rule the world. It’s a queen who sits on that throne. Never forget that.”
Gender equality is crucial to fight for, but personally I have had enough strifes in my modern life that I don’t care to read about more misogyny and how every historical fiction heroine hated their skirts.
Furthermore, I found the characters unlikable. Thomas was so condescending at the start of the book that the book could never convince me that he was a romantic hero, and Audrey was so reckless, shortsighted, and unbelievable as a real person that rooting against her felt like the natural thing to do. Here are some examples. Audrey would dash off into the night alone to search for a man killing women who are alone at night! Audrey would interrogate people about the mystery, and when she finally got them talking, she would zone out and stop listening. Her interviewees had to ask her if she was listening! She was a good scientist and a terrible detective. And (spoiler here) her efforts didn’t save anyone. The mystery didn’t lead anywhere. It was filled to the brim with red herrings there for dramatics, and the ending was a complete circus. A bad circus.
I won’t disparage anyone who finds something in this book they enjoy. It simply wasn’t my jam, and that’s okay. The author did write well and constructed a drama-filled mystery adventure based off of real documents about Jack the Ripper. The creativity and prose were there, and I applaud her for it. Now to make myself a peanut butter sandwich and forget this book forever.