17213020   I’ve started reading a new book, “Mayhem” by Sarah Pinborough.

Publisher’s Synopsis: “A new killer is stalking the streets of London’s East End. Though newspapers have dubbed him ‘the Torso Killer’, this murderer’s work is overshadowed by the hysteria surrounding Jack the Ripper’s Whitechapel crimes.

The victims are women too, but their dismembered bodies, wrapped in rags and tied up with string, are pulled out of the Thames – and the heads are missing. The murderer likes to keep them.

Mayhem is a masterwork of narrative suspense: a supernatural thriller set in a shadowy, gaslit London, where monsters stalk the cobbled streets and hide in plain sight.”

This is the kind of book I love – real life characters, real life setting, set in a fictional story. The book is based on a real life serial killer on the rampage in London at the same time as Jack the Ripper. The main character, Dr. Thomas Bond is the real life surgeon who worked the case.

I’m only a few chapters in but love it so far. This is a fictionalized version of those events of course, so the author has a great deal more leeway and freedom with her narrative. It’s dark and a little spooky, all the things I would expect from turn of the century London with killers on the loose.


The other day, while reading in the lunchroom at work, I overheard part of a conversation that – for a moment – made me feel like I was on another planet. There are two sides to our lunchroom; the quiet side where I sit with no TV, and the side with the TV. At another table, a group of youngish women were sitting, eating and talking. Out of nowhere I hear, “Well, I would so marry pasta. I would date pizza for sure, but pasta I would marry.”

I sat there and processed that sentence for a good minute or two, while the rest of their conversation went along in the same way. What food they would marry, which one they would date. I’m apparently so completely out of touch that I had no clue as to what any of that meant … and with that thought, I went back to reading.


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