Bruce Goldfarb

I read this book to meet a few book challenges in different groups I follow. I am so glad I found it again. I was intrigued when it was first published in 2020, but let it slip down my list until this month. The story of Frances Glessner Lee is told from birth-1878 to death-1962 so that we see the arc of her life and her ambition. Her determination to contribute to the new science of legal medicine was inspiring. The author takes us through so many of her frustrations and disappointments as show more she attempts to work outside the inner circle of male centric educational and law enforcement entities. She is most known for her Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death, dioramas that were used to teach investigative forensic techniques. Her skill in crafting miniatures grew out of a lifelong hobby of creating elaborate displays in diminutive scale. I found this book illuminating and worthy of my time to get to know this unsung woman in forensic science history. show less

The “18 Tiny Deaths” of the title is a reference to the impossibly detailed dioramas created in the mid-twentieth century by wealthy American socialite Frances Glessner Lee. These little rooms—also known as the Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death—are fascinating recreations of suspicious deaths, intended for use in teaching forensics and crime scene investigation to police officers. Lee hoped that learning how to pay attention to even the smallest detail would help investigators show more which bit of evidence was the one which would lead them to the correct conclusion, and which was the red herring.

There is a lesson there which I do wish Bruce Goldfarb had paid a little more attention to in 18 Tiny Deaths: The untold story of Frances Glessner Lee and the invention of modern forensics. I'd seen photographs of some of the Nutshell Studies before I read this book, and I wanted to know more about them: how they were created, how they were used, what they might tell us how police investigations work and perhaps if they had inspired any crime fiction. Instead, they don't really appear until three-quarters of the way through the book, the majority of which is dedicated to a birth-to-death biography of Lee and the doings of her wealthy family. I'm not saying that Lee's background is irrelevant—it goes some way to explaining how and why she could do what she did—but I am saying that knowing about the architect who designed the house that her father built, or how the book club operated by her mother, or the doings of her brother on his spring break from college are irrelevant.

And Frances Glessner Lee is, I'm sorry to say, not that interesting a character. She didn't start her work on the dioramas until she was in her 50s or 60s, and her life before that point was the kind of privileged dullness that comes from having inherited wealth and never having to work a day in your life. I didn't come away from this book thinking she was as central to the development of the field of forensics as the subtitle would have you think. An interested amateur, yes, but one with no formal education (she didn't even have a high school diploma) whose primary contribution came from using money and influence to get other people to do what she wanted. As someone who's seen firsthand how disruptive and self-centered donors can be in higher education, I side-eyed a lot of how Goldfarb framed Lee's interactions with Harvard. He clearly sees her as a passionate activist; I saw her as a micromanaging busy-body, like a Lady Catherine de Bourgh who's developed a side interest in solving murders. "Had I learned how to practice medicine," you can almost hear her say, "I would have been a true proficient." (There is also the presumption here that the story of the development of modern forensics in the U.S. is the story of what happens at Harvard, and I just don't think that can be true.)

There is a story to tell about the 18 Tiny Deaths—Attic, Dark Bathroom, Parsonage Parlor, and the rest—but I don't think this is it. show less

Quite an interesting history of the development of professional forensic science at Harvard University. The creation of a legal medicine department and the leadership of Frances Glessner Lee in making it happen was fascinating. It did leave me with rather a bad taste in my mouth about Harvard, who neglected to pay the prof in the department for years, and fought Lee all the time until she threatened to take away her huge bequests.
Still, Lee soldiered on.
The 18 tiny deaths are those depicted show more in dioramas for students- made to exacting specifications almost to an absurd level by Lee (and thousands of dollars). While one is impressed by her enthusiasm, it is patently obvious she would have gotten nowhere without the family millions.
This is also obvious from the fact that non-medical, non-legal, non-professional coroners are still in charge of investigating suspicious deaths in many many states. Political appointees instead are given the right to evaluate the dead, because, hey, how could that process ever be unfair, bigoted, or subject to fraud? Except that it has been for years.
This is an important read, both for the shocking realization that these political coroners still exist(some of what they have done in the past is detailed in this book), and for the slightly opened window on a remarkable woman’s life. I yearned for more about her. show less

I first learned about Frances Glessner Lee and her Nutshell Studies through a miniatures group I was following. Unfortunately, the post didn't include a lot of information, but it did leave me fascinated with the idea of the Nutshell Studies, tiny meticulously constructed crime scenes. When I stumbled across this book, I knew I wanted to read it.

Less of this was focused directly on Lee and her Nutshell Studies than I expected, although it was mostly still an interesting read.

The slowest show more part, for me, was the portion focused on Lee's parents and childhood - there were really only a handful of details here and there that were important for understanding later moments. I became much more interested when Goldfarb shifted to the state of death investigation in the United States in the late 19th and early 20th century. A large chunk of the book was necessarily devoted to the career of George Burgess Magrath, Suffolk County Medical Examiner and a deeply influential person in Lee's life. It was Magrath who impressed upon Lee the value of the medical examiner system over the coroner system, leading her to spend years and a great deal of money trying to establish a strong forensic science department at Harvard.

If all that was needed was money, effort, and sheer force of will, Lee probably could have accomplished anything. As it was, even she struggled to get buy-in for a lot of her plans (Harvard pretty much only humored her for her money and the possibility of getting more of it after she died), although she ended up doing a lot for homicide training for United States police officers.

It took about half the book before the Nutshell Studies were finally mentioned in any real detail. Although I was a bit disappointed that there were no pictures (I need to see about getting a copy of Corinne May Botz's The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death), I enjoyed learning more about the work and planning that went into the miniature scenes. I hadn't realized quite how much detail they included.

(Original review posted on A Library Girl's Familiar Diversions.) show less