Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly. History remembers them as bodies, Hallie Rubenhold remembers them as people – as women.

Learning about Jack the Ripper at school was probably one of the most interesting modules I studied, and I’m certain was instrumental in my current interest in true crime. It also involved a school trip to The London Dungeon, although I am certain that part was instrumental in my “being scared of absolutely fucking everything” phase, which is still ongoing.

Considering how famous these cases are, I was so shocked that it’s 2020 and I learned from this book, not countless documentaries, textbooks, TV adaptations or true crime podcasts, this book… that the victims of Jack the Ripper WERE NOT NECESSARILY PROSTITUTES. It was almost so ingrained in the story that you forget that the version that we know is the version handed to us by a corrupt/inept (delete as appropriate) early police force, sensationalist journalism, mass hysteria and centuries of male-centred history.

Another surprise to me was that, despite the infamy that the story has brought Whitechapel and the grisly guided tours that profit from the fate of these women, the five did not spend the majority of their lives in that area. It was actually quite painful to realise that where I’ve worked and studied over the years I was unintentionally walking in the footsteps of someone who met their fate at the hands of an infamous killer who the world will never rest trying to identify.

That is the reason I loved this book so much. It identifies those women as more than just victims. Hallie takes the spotlight away from the cause of the suffering and gives voice to those who have had theirs taken away by history.