For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb and the Murder that Shocked Chicago

In the author's notes of For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb and the Murder that Shocked Chicago, Simon Baatz writes, "I have attempted, therefore, to tell this story in a literary style. It is a narrative history that aims to recapture the drama of the events that it describes."

In this, Baatz  resoundingly succeeeds.

Which is no small feat given the extensive attention he pays to the underlying (and largely ignored) story stemming from infamous murder of young Robert "Bobby" Franks: the beginnings of the nature versus nurture debate in criminal psychology.

Baatz found himself fascinated by the dichotomy presented by the dazzling Clarence Darrow, Leopold and Loeb's defense attorney (yes, that Darrow, of the "Scopes monkey trial" fame) and Robert Crowe.

Darrow is a "determinist" of sorts, going on a philosophical journey throughout his career that shapes his ultimate belief that crime is the result of a person's environment and biological functions beyond their control.

Crowe, on the other hand, believes that every crime is a conscience act that the only prevention for crime is deterence fostered by harsh sentencing.

Darrow is as passionately opposed to the death penalty as Crowe is for it, and so a clash of legal titans begins.

It's pretty heady stuff, and one imagines that even the hordes of curious masses that had to be cleared out of the hallway and from blocking the street in front of the criminal court building may have found the academic research presented as evidence by the attorneys tedious in the hot, humid courtroom the summer of the trial.

Yet Baatz takes the reader through it-- and the rest of the trial -- fairly quickly, with a deft touch for paraphrasing and quote selection.

Using everything from trial transcripts, Leopold's autobiography and hundreds of newspaper accounts, Baatz  gives in-depth explanations of Darrow and Crowe, the historical climate in which they worked and enough social, political and media context to frame their respective decisions and strategies well.


And that's just the second half of the book, which is no less well-written or captivating than the first half, which breathes so much life into the catchphrase "Leopold and Loeb" that the reader truly feels as though they've gotten to know the two young men.


Long before the "Courtroom" section of the book, Baatz applies the same skill for using meticulous research to tell a compelling story in walking the reader through Leopold and Loeb's lives and the times during which they lived.

After reading this book, those names will never be a two-dimensional alliterative reference to famous criminals again.

Again, Baatz gives enough explanation for the reader to fell comfortable within the historical framework but not so much as to wander off into interesting -- though ultimately irrelevant -- historical asides.

This is a book I found riveting as a reporter, former law student and lover of the true crime genre. It can be enjoyed on many levels and is even accented with arresting photographs of everyone involved during various points of the saga.

"My approach to writing this book reflects a contemporary concern of professional historians that their work should reach a wider audience," Baatz writes in the same notes.

It is hard to imagine how this book could fail to do, as everyone from a casual reader to a forensic psychologist would find at least one section in the book well-written and worthwhile.

Why They Kill: The Discoveries of a Maverick Criminologist by Richard Rhodes

If you are fascinated by crime and criminals, this is a great book to read. It centers around Lonnie Athens, who pioneered the concept of violentization--the idea that anyone, regardless of upbringing, socio-economic status, or psychiatric standing could become a violent criminal if exposed to four parts of a basic process. 


Although the author at times seems a bit gushing over Athens, it is a fascinating read. Some parts, such as the phantom community thesis, could use better explication. 


But if you're not a CJ major, this is a great book that will introduce you to the kind of theory you can knaw over in your mind while standing in line at the grocery store.

True Crime: An American Anthology compiled by Harold Schechter

In the interest of full disclosure, this was also the first book purchase I made when I realized that I really did love true crime.  


This book was an excellent companion in waiting rooms, doctor's offices, Workman's Comp appointments, and while I sat waiting for faxes and doctor's phone calls as my husband recovered from a traumatic brain injury (and several other broken bones as well). Which is to say it is an absorbing book you will want to bring everywhere and is perfect for doing so. 


But I doubt that's what made me love this book. It really is a well thought out anthology. From Lincoln's musings on a murderer he defended and Mark Twain's essay on the saloon owners and general lawlessness of early Nevada, to the raging yellow journalism of Damon Runyan's court coverage and the cold analysis of an F.B.I. profiler of the Son of Sam, this book truly has it all; it is a veritable kaleidoscope of true crime. 


It made me wish people still had the patience to read broadsheet stories on covering court, but reading those selections was the next best thing. I highly reccommend this for even non-true crime fans because it's worth reading even for those who want to see a tight, inclusive glimpse of the true crime genre from a purely literary history perspective.

Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders by Vince Bugliosi

Bugliosi takes the reader on a compelling, well-organized and fantastically written journey through the Manson trial.

He does an excellent job of describing events and facts objectively, perpetually qualifying observations and suspicions unearthed during the discovery process with any associated (or lack of) circumstantial evidence. He deftly avoids getting the reader bogged down in legal minutiae or terminology, explaining necessary legal aspects without becoming overly pedantic.

In this book, we get to know not only Manson and his three female co-defendants (chilling in their dedication to Manson) through excerpts of transcripted interviews and various anecdotes of law enforcement and others' experiences with them, but Bugliosi as well. He emerges, through the steady compilation of facts, interviews and legal strategy as a fierce and dedicated prosecutor with an almost, but not quite, overzealous moral streak. Somehow he accomplishes this without climbing up on a white house or being irritatingly heroic.

Bugliosi manages to present a case fastidiously and meticulously without ever letting the narrative get boring or drag on unnecessarily. This is one of the best true crime books I have ever read.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much: The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession by Allison Hoover Bartlett

Although the marketing department did an excellent job of making this seem like a wonderful story, begging to be told, for bibliophiles, collectors and true crime lovers alike, alas, it is anything but. After all, what could be missing in a story about a rare book thief with a hidden cache of books—worth at least hundreds of thousands of dollars—locked away in an unknown location? And even better, the author got to work with both the theif and the man who helped capture him! But alas…a good read is simply not be had.

Where to begin?

The most glaring flaw in the book is Allison Hoover Bartlett's immense ego, causing her to intrusively go on and on in inane personal vignettes that do absolutely nothing to add to the story of John Gilkey (the book theif) and Ken Sanders ("self-appointed" bibliodick, even though he is, in fact, appointed security chair by the ABAA--so where the "self-appointed" comes in, I"m not sure.).

Adding to this, she's not a reader. At all, despite her claims to be "obsesssed" with book collecting as a result of researching the book. Her "obsession," however, is clearly as superficial as she is. Nor is she a rare book collector (many of whom don't read, true, but do appreciate the comfort of being surrounded by books at least).

Consequently, she bores the reader with her attempts to "understand" collectors by purchasing $40.00 copies of first editions, blathering on about her personal books and what they mean to her (who cares? It's not about you, Allison), and makes herself seem like possibly the stupidest woman on Earth by constantly mentioning her struggle to "understand" Gilkey's motivation (not that she goes to a criminologist, psychologist, or anyone, really, who could help her with this).

Topping it all off, she claims to be fascinated by Gilkey but at the same time worries about her friends seeing them together (though she has no problem exploiting him for this book).

Which brings us to Gilkey: not a mastermind at all, just a petty criminal who ran an unoriginal credit card racket when that was still possible with a warmped, skewed sense of entitlement. He's not too much of a reader, either, though he does read during his sporadic stints in jail. He steals books to look smarter, but doesn't bother thinking through the fact that he'll never be able to display them. But even his obvious psychological difficulties are boring--at the end of the day, he just has a chip on his shoulder. His partner in crime is, of all people, his father, a relationship Bartlett does very little to explore. Bartlett keeps claiming Gilkey interesting, but does very little to show why.

Sanders is probably the most interesting person in the book, although even he comes across as an aged hippie who likes to run a rare book shop and (justifiably) takes pride in efforts to stop theft in the industry.

Bartlett's morals are reprehensible, and when Sanders is justifiably angry at her for taking Gilkey to a bookstore he's robbed from before, the idiot woman is actually surprised at Sanders' anger! The fact that Gilkey is depriving small business owners of tens of thousands of dollars of inventory--that often can't be insured--doesn't seem to cross the author's mind but once. She's clearly a spoiled, naive woman who has no journalistic integrity. She claims she "thought" she could be objective but couldn't help getting drawn in to the story--but she could have, and deliberately chose not to.

All that being said, it's not completely terribly written; the parts where Bartlett manages to get over herself for a few paragraphs are cohesive--if dry--enough. All tha same, I'm not sure this is the master crime Bartlett thought it was. It probably should've stayed a magazine article.