It's difficult to really know where to start with this book. A supposed killer near the end of his days wanting the world to know who really did commit the "Whitechapel Murders" as though he needed to get it off his chest. Saddly it's not, in my opinon, James Carnac. His recollections about the murders are to say the least so watered down that they leave the reader wondering if the book had been written for children. This is supposed to be written by a "serial killer" who laughed at a world when they couldn't catch him from slaughtering women? And yet here he is with a pique of conscience in not wanting to offend the reader! I don't think so. One other thing that caught my attention was that at the back of the book the publisher has copied the original manuscript. Now I'm not an expert by any stretch of the imagination but, it looks too well laid out, with double spaces at the beginning of each sentence, and a five space gap at the start of each paragraph. Still maybe he was an educated killer with connections in the industry who showed him the way?