WHAT motivates a writer to consign words to page? By what method do they arrive at their chosen subject matter? Is the writer more or less a voyeur than those who read their scribblings? The latest controversial release from north London publishers Nemesis begs such questions of its authoress Sondra London.

Knockin’ on Joe is an illustrated collection of writings by and about condemned men on death row in America. The accounts of abuse and corruption within the prison system, together with the shocking, often amoral writings of the prisoners, meant that London had to take her manuscript to her namesake city before she could find a press prepared to take on her work uncensored. Her salacious approach to her subject matter doubtless had as much as anything to do with her difficulty in getting published.

Most of the killers were keen to write – indeed Schaefer’s feverishly scribed accounts of his atrocities were used to convict him – some going out of their way to get in touch with London once they heard what she was doing. It makes you ask whether these men deserve to have their perverted egos satisfied through publication: it also makes the reader scrutinize their own conscience for a justification in reading this book.

Well, mine was a review copy.

BLOOD LUST

London relates in the book how she lost her virginity to a ‘very well-mannered Catholic boy … a gentle, sensitive and enthusiastic lover’. Eight years later, she sees his face again, this time in a newspaper under the headline ‘Six dead, 28 May Be’.

His name is Gerard John Schaefer and his contributions to this anthology are by far the most nauseating: ‘Nigger Jack’ takes you right the way through what happens to a woman’s anatomy when she ‘rides the lightning’ in the electric chair, from the viewpoint of a male to whom the execution is as foreplay: after the final twitch, he gets to clean – and fuck – the women’s corpses.

This tale is so cold – no, clammy – in its use of language that ‘Naked Lunch’ reads like ‘Noddy Finds Sixpence’ by comparison. Read it, if you must, with a kitten purring on your lap and a very large brandy to hand.

KILLER PASSION

Disturbingly, London writes of Schaefer with a strange tenderness, relishing their past amorous involvement. She waxes lyrical over Danny Rolling, a man convicted of raping, murdering and horrifically mutilating five women: a man she went on to fall in love with.

London offers as fascinating an insight into herself – and the other murderer-groupies who get turned on by killers like others do by movie stars – as she does into the minds of the convicted men.

Only slightly more disturbing than her own grim obsession is the portrayal of the paying public who witness state executions in Florida. Dressed in their Sunday finery, the same faces show up again and again. Both murderer and spectator share one belief: life is cheap, death is fun.

Christians to the lions, anyone?

Mind you, I think there are one or two lessons to be learnt from the Florida State penitentiary system.

BIRCH ’EM

In these days of privatisation, when even the National Health Service is expected to turn in a profit for Gawd’s sake, could we not apply a similar logic to the treatment of youth offenders? They cost a fortune in terms of social workers and care institutions, and all they do is get worse. It is time for the voice of reason to be heard: why not re-introduce birching? In public. To paying audiences. You’re there ahead of me, I know it.

Deterrent and punishment and all that aside, I can think of plenty of people who would happily pay to see a young rascal getting his boyish buttocks thrashed a fetching shade of rosy pink. For that matter, I can think of more than a few who would enthusiastically bid for the pleasure of wielding the instrument of correction over their naughty little botties.

Of course, there would be protests. Mostly from connoisseurs of that most aristocratic of lewd delicacies, incensed that common criminals should be made recipients of such erotic delights, and not them. It would create a greater furore than the controversial race track for joy-riders or the holidays abroad for delinquents for which the tax payer currently foots the bill.

Hang on though just a cotton pickin’ minute … judges, priests and their ilk could pay to dress up as naughty schoolboys to enjoy the humiliation of being punished in public, thus generating yet more much needed revenue! Brilliant or what? Who knows, this could even provide the Tories with a viable alternative to yet another tax hike at the next budget.

I must go now. Sod this journalism lark. A brilliant political career awaits. Bottoms up!