"It was the eyes they noticed first. The seven survivors of his frenzied attacks had all told police of his 'crazy stare', which had been reproduced in thousands of photo-fit posters during the six-year hunt for the killer they called the Yorkshire Ripper. Now, in Court Number One at the Old Bailey, the full force of that evil stare can be felt by the jury, the lawyers, the court clerks, and the judge himself."

And so starts the first chapter of this disturbing book. This is the very paragraph that caught my attention in a cold unfeeling bookshop, being nudged as people tried to pass in the too-narrow isles. I couldn't say why I picked it up, but it was morbid curiosity that made me read the first few lines. And it was that same morbid curiosity that made me take the book home.

It stayed on my bookshelf for over two years, untouched. I'd bought it, yet I wasn't sure I wanted to read it. I knew about the murders. I even knew some of the victims' names, though I should have been too young to remember. I knew what to expect, I suppose, and it was the expectation that was the problem. Did I really want to find out how, when, and more importantly why? Was there really going to be any explanation that would make me feel any better about what happened? The simple answer to that is no.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that yes, I did read it in the end. Do I regret it? No, not one bit. And that's what surprises me about it. I was disgusted with the contents of this book. Actually no, that's not it. I was disgusted at the words of the monster, which are contained within this book, yet I don't regret reading it. Maybe it's because now, I feel even more justified in my loathing toward this person.

Barbara Jones is the author. She was determined to meet him and talk, especially as he'd never spoken to a journalist before. Peter Sutcliffe wanted his life story written down for all to see, so that the world could see that he wasn't an evil monster. Apparently, he thought he deserved sympathy and understanding. Strike you as odd? Well, of course it does. But think about it. This is a mentally ill man who simply believed he was carrying out the orders of God, having no control over his actions.

Barbara Jones then embarked on her journey of discovery. She'd already known his wife, Sonia, and between herself and Sutcliffe, they came up with an alias for Barbara to visit him in Broadmoor. What follows is nearly 400 pages of feeling disgust, sickness, sadness, anger, contempt, hatred...

I suppose you could say as I felt all of this, something in this book must have worked. And I'd have to agree with you. You see, it's not that I hated it; on the contrary, I was fascinated. I could hardly put it down. It's the disbelief with the constant cries from Sutcliffe that he wasn't to blame. It's the apparent lack of conscience from both Sutcliffe and his wife. It's everything.

This book follows the relationship between Barbara and Sonia, even at one point going on holiday together. The author wrote in her diary on this vacation, detailing some of the things that served as a vivid reminder of how maddening Sonia could be, and of how well she came to know her.

This isn't a book about Peter Sutcliffe alone. This tells of Sonia's nature, too. There are times you feel that she believes his victims deserved everything that happened to them. Sonia apparently showed not even a hint of compassion. She believed the families of the victims, and the survivors themselves, to be of lower intelligence than she was. So much lower, in fact, that her belief was that they couldn't be capable of any real understanding or emotion.

She sees the claims for compensation from the victims and their families as being "blind consuming vengeance". She could be right, but is this not a right of these people whose lives have been destroyed? You would think so, but she simply sees them as "would-be money grabbers". She believes that her husband is serving his sentence for the crimes he committed, and that should be enough for anyone. Whether she believes he should be there or not, I'll leave it up to you to decide.

Sonia, it seemed, even planned to help her husband escape. The details of the plan are laid out here, too, as well as some background information into her life. It may not surprise you to find that Sonia herself had in the past been treated for mental illness, too. It didn't surprise me, but served as an explanation as to her devotion to this man.

One of the early chapters skims over Sutcliffe's life as a youngster. He had friends at school, truanted at times the same as most children. He was a talented artist even at an early age, without tutoring. From all accounts he was an ordinary child.

It seems the voices started whilst working his job in a cemetery, taken in the year his Grandmother died so he could tend her grave. Co-workers told of his strange, sinister behaviour and his ghoulish sense of humour. Some of the pranks he played, some of his actions during his time there, in hindsight, could be seen to be the start of his illness.

The details of the murders and attacks on these women are given throughout the book. In a lot of cases, told in the matter of fact way that Sutcliffe did during the trial. Maybe it's this that makes it that bit more horrific, because there's no feeling there. There's no remorse, no accountability. He is blameless in his own eyes. Because of this, it seemed to make me feel even more disgusted than I would have had I been told the details by other means - a newspaper report, for example.

The text contains information about the police hunt for him, including his arrest in 1981, the events leading up to the arrest, even comparisons of the hoax letters and tapes with letters from Jack the Ripper.

The book also contains photos of Sutcliffe and his many victims, as well as Sonia. It shows us some of his artwork, including his interpretation of the Mona Lisa and a passport photo of the author. Sutcliffe gives them both intense, watchful eyes, not apparent in the originals. Even the photos of Sutcliffe himself have those same intense eyes. I'd seen the photos once and knew I didn't need to see them again.

There are a couple of pictures of him talking to one of the patients in the women's wing of Broadmoor. He has a "special smile" for her, being one of his favourite girlfriends. Despite what he's done, it seems Sutcliffe is a favourite with the ladies. Women were known to travel miles to visit him, staying at boarding houses close to the hospital so they could spend the whole day, or more, with him.

It's such details as this that constantly disgusted me as I read, not just the details of his horrendous crimes. It's human nature that kept me reading to the end; not believing that a woman could love her husband so much that she could see no wrong in him, being amazed that women outside in the real world could be attracted to such a cold killer, the never ending claims to the author that he wasn't to blame.

This is a book that will make you feel sick to your core, yet one that, to me at least, was 'unputdownable'. It should be said that it does contain details of the murders, and they're in no way embellished for effect. They don't need to be.

Barbara Jones will take you inside the mind of a killer and his wife without trying to sensationalise anything. Neither are places you will want to stay for long, but chances are you won't be able to help yourself.

It's that morbid fascination which follows us. It seems that no matter how horrendous someone's actions are we want to know what lies beneath. What made them do it?

The answer is in the title, yet the whole book holds the key. I would tell you to read this book, but I believe this is something very difficult to judge for someone else. I felt all the emotions we're expected to feel when we're told these sorts of details and given this frank an insight into the world of a murderer. I'm sure you will too, should you decide this is something you need to know about.

Rating 4/5

Blake Publishing
ISBN 1-85782-065-7

Quote taken from "Voices From An Evil God", by Barbara Jones.

Copyright © K Wakeman