Jan Bondeson
Author of Buried Alive: The Terrifying History of Our Most Primal Fear
About the Author
Jan Bondeson, M.D., also holds a Ph.D. in experimental medicine. He is the author of "A Cabinet of Medical Curiosities" & other works. (Bowker Author Biography)
Works by Jan Bondeson
The Great Pretenders: The True Stories Behind Famous Historical Mysteries (2004) 156 copies, 3 reviews
Freaks: The Pig-Faced Lady of Manchester Square and Other Medical Marvels (2000) 62 copies, 1 review
Strange Victoriana: Tales of the Curious, the Weird and the Uncanny from Our Victorians Ancestors (2016) 25 copies, 1 review
Associated Works
Fortean Times 105 — Contributor — 2 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Birthdate
- 1962-12-17
- Gender
- male
- Occupations
- rheumatologist
- Organizations
- Kennedy Institute of Rheumatology, London
- Short biography
- Bondeson attended medical school at Lund University, Sweden, and qualified in 1988. He became a specialist in rheumatology and internal medicine, and defended his PhD thesis in 1996. He was awarded several scholarships to continue his scientific career at the renowned Kennedy Institute of Rheumatology in London. He became a pioneer of the experimental use of adenoviral gene transfer to study intracellular signalling, and investigate the regulation of important cytokines and matrix metalloproteinases. In 2000, he was promoted to become senior lecturer and consultant rheumatologist at Cardiff University, doing a mixture of clinical work, teaching and research. Here, his research has concentrated on the role of synovial macrophages in osteoarthritis, and regulation of degradative enzymes in this disease. Bondeson has more than seventy publications in refereed scientific journals, and continuing research grant support from Arthritis Research UK.
Bondeson has also written a series of books in the areas of the history of medicine and zoology, and some studies about curious historical episodes. His Cabinet of Medical Curiosities was published in 1997. His book Buried Alive, a historical study of the signs of death, and the risk of being prematurely buried by mistake, was supported by a scholarship from the Wellcome Trust. The London Monster tells the story of a Welsh artificial flower maker who was convicted (or perhaps rather framed) for a series of stabbings of London women between 1788 and 1790. The Great Pretenders (2003) is a study of historical cases of disputed identity, like the Lost Dauphin of France, Kaspar Hauser and the Tichborne Claimant. Queen Victoria’s Stalker (2010), tells the story of Edward 'the Boy' Jones, a weird teenager who became obsessed with the youthful Queen Victoria, and broke into Buckingham Palace to stalk her. After stealing the Queen's underclothes and spying on her in her dressing room, he was kidnapped by government agents and forced to serve in the Royal Navy for more than five years without charge or trial.
In 2011, Bondeson published Amazing Dogs, a cabinet of canine curiosities about the cultural history of dogs. The most newsworthy chapter in this book dealt with the German fascination with allegedly super-intelligent dogs: the so-called 'New Animal Psychology' movement believed that if they were trained to communicate using a sign language, the dogs could become the intellectual equals of their owners. Remarkably, these beliefs were shared by some of the Nazis, who made experiments to create superdogs loyal to the Nazi Herrenvolk. The same year, Bondeson published Greyfriars Bobby, the Most Faithful Dog in the World, a thorough biography of Greyfriars Bobby, a Scottish Skye Terrier who supposedly kept vigil over his master's grave for 14 years. Original sources, and newly discovered illustrations, are made use of to re-interpret the story of Greyfriars Bobby completely, and to describe the pan-European myth of the 'Dog on the Master's Grave' and the many other graveyard or cemetery dogs at large in Victorian times. In 2012, he published Those Amazing Newfoundland Dogs, a full-length cultural history of Newfoundlands, with a profusion of old illustrations. In 2013, he published The True History of Jack the Ripper, a 1905 novel about Jack the Ripper that was written by Guy Logan.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jan_Bond... - Nationality
- Sweden
- Birthplace
- Sweden
- Places of residence
- London, England, UK
- Associated Place (for map)
- England, UK
Members
Reviews
A Cabinet of Medical Curiosities: A Compendium of the Odd, the Bizarre, and the Unexpected by Jan Bondeson
A Cabinet of Medical Curiosities is proof there were whackos long before Facebook. Author Jan Bondeson cites Anomalies and Curiosities of Medicine as an inspiration, but rather than taking the encyclopedic approach of that book concentrates on a few topics: spontaneous human combustion; bosom serpents; lousy disease; giants; premature burial; Mary Toft and her rabbits; maternal impressions; tailed people; anatomical specimens from the Hunterian Museum; and Julia Pastrana, the Ape Woman. His show more approach is neither simple listing or skeptical debunking (since most of the cases he discusses are self-debunking); instead he investigates the history of the phenomena.
For example, spontaneous human combustion was once as well accepted as, say, smallpox (and still is in some circles). Bondeson comes up with numerous cases besides the repeatedly cited “urban legend” ones, and notes some doctors were still expressing belief in SHC until the late 19th century. He does some informal statistics, noting that most reported victims are obese female alcoholics – but acknowledges that some were otherwise. (The alcoholic connection may have skewed the data; temperance movements were fond of describing SHC as an end result of imbibing, and were successful to extent that some drunks were very careful to pass out on their backs with their mouths open, so that flames would exhale harmlessly rather than exploding from within). Bondeson doesn’t commit himself firmly, but notes that the “wick effect” probably explains most SHC; drunken victim passed out while smoking or falls unconscious into an ignition source. Her clothes catch fire and begin to burn into the skin, melting and fueling from human body fat. The next day somebody discovers the remains. Bondeson provides a picture of one victim; it’s disturbing.
“Bosom serpents” (sometimes frogs or salamanders instead of reptiles) were believed to crawl into a victim’s mouth, or get imbibed as eggs in water. Once there they grew and caused no end of distress. The most popular treatment was to lure the serpent to the victim’s mouth, then grab it and kill it. Once again Bondeson cites numerous old sources that take this perfectly seriously; he also notes the bosom serpents have updated their act: in a case he personally investigated in a mental hospital, the patient not only had a snake in her gastrointestinal tract, it had somehow got ahold of a small computer and was playing video games in there. She allowed Bondeson to listen to the game noises with a stethoscope. There’s a 16th century woodcut of a patient vomiting various herptiles; it’s disturbing.
The “lousy disease” was a staple end for various tyrants, persecutors, etc.: they became infested with vermin that consumed them from within. The Biblical Herod Agrippa was a supposed example. Bondeson notes over time the affliction changed from unidentified vermin to specifically “lice”; tumors formed on the patients skin that emitted a stream of tiny insects when lanced. He describes a possible explanation here; there is a described species of mite, Harpyrhynchus tabescentium, which forms nodules under the skin of birds and which is sometimes fatal; the catch is at the time Bondeson was writing there were no specimens of the mite available and it was believed to be extinct. Some googling discloses the mites still seem to be around; most of the recent references are in German. There are few pictures available; they’re disturbing.
Like the lousy disease, giants are also Biblically attested; Goliath of Gath, Og of Bashan, and the unnamed giants of Genesis are the examples. Many medieval collectors had giant bones, which eventually turned out to be from something else. I’ve actually seen the infamous Cardiff Giant; it’s in a museum in Cooperstown, NY (not the Baseball Hall of Fame; wrong kind of Giant). It was disturbing.
Premature burial was an obsession from Victorian times; various sorts of coffins intended to prevent it were available, with devices connected to the deceased intended to alert the outside world if the funeral had been rushed; there were also “waiting mortuaries” where the body was left for a week or so to verify it was dead (none of these ever had a successful revival). Bondeson notes hysterical estimates of up to 1000 premature burials annually, and posits that exhumations finding that the body had moved after death were responsible. There are still stories now and then in the sensational literature, and Bondeson notes a “safety coffin” was still available in the 1970s; it included a food locker, oxygen supply, air tubes, chemical toilet, alarm bell, radio transmitter, and cassette player. That actually sounds more comfortable than my house, which is disturbing.
Mary Toft is a perfect example of why your first task in any investigation is refuting the null hypothesis. Mrs. Toft was a English farm women from the early 18th century who repeatedly gave birth to rabbits. She was inspected by various medical professionals, who argued over possible theories: Mrs. Toft was a witch; had had carnal knowledge of a male rabbit; had a female rabbit living in her reproductive tract; or was a sort of “wererabbit”. (Mrs. Toft’s own explanation – see “maternal impressions” below – was that she had had a strong yearning for rabbit stew during pregnancy). Even the delivery of skinned rabbits didn’t cause people to go for the obvious explanation; instead Mrs. Toft was postulated to have uterine contractions strong enough to flay a rabbit. Eventually, of course, Mrs. Toft turned out to have a secret pocket under her skirts and was buying rabbits from dealers (which I learned were called “warreners”). Contemporary pamphleteers had a field day ridiculing the medical profession; some of these are actually available still, I’ll have to check them out regardless of how disturbing they might be.
The belief that something a pregnant woman saw or experienced could be transmitted to the unborn child was the “maternal impression” theory; for example, if she saw a crippled man the child would be born crippled; if she had an unfulfilled taste for strawberries the child would have a red birthmark, etc. Bondeson notes that some husbands went to great effort to prevent events of this sort, ensuring that their pregnant wives were only exposed to pleasant impressions. Nevertheless, accidents happened; when a lady with a white husband gave birth to a black child, medical professionals testified it was because there was a painting of a black man in her bedroom. I can think of another explanation, as disturbing as it might be.
It was firmly believed that tailed people lived in many remote parts of the world; Bondeson provides numerous examples of such claims. He notes there are some actual explanations; a hairy nevus near the base of the spine can be large enough to vaguely resemble a tail, and (although it never contains vertebrae) there are cases where the caudal filament fails to resorb; he provides a picture of a newborn baby with a three-inch caudal filament tail. It’s disturbing.
The Hunterian Museum was founded by pioneer anatomist. Its prime specimens included the Irish Giant, Charles Byrne, who was seven feet ten inches tall. There are various conflicting stories about how Byrne’s skeleton ended up in Hunter’s museum; the more sensational ones involve recovery by divers after burial at sea but it seems like more conventional grave robbing was more likely. The Two-Headed Boy of Bengal was acquired by an East India Company agent after his death by cobra bite at age four. The heads are joined at the top, with the second at right angles to the first. The parasitic head could move its eye independently although they didn’t respond to light. Alas, the little Bengali boy’s name isn’t known. The last museum exhibit Bondeson discusses is the Sicilian Fairy, Caroline Crachami. Miss Crachami was 19 ½ inches tall and weighed five pounds when she was measured in 1824 (the maternal impression theory figures here as well; supposedly Miss Crachami’s mother was frightened by a monkey when she was five months pregnant). Bondeson notes Caroline Crachami was eventually explained as osteodysplastic primordial dwarfism, but also notes people with this condition are usually profoundly mentally and physically disabled while visitors to Caroline Crachami testified she conversed intelligently on a variety of subjects and could walk without assistance; Bondeson therefore suggests her condition, whatever it was, was unique. Her skeleton is on display next to Charles Byrne’s; the juxtaposition is disturbing.
Bondeson’s final case is Julia Pastrana, a Mexican Indian with profuse hair and a “simian” face. Although her life story is sad and interesting enough – her showman manager legally married her and she and her baby died in childbirth – her postmortem adventures make up most of the story. She and her baby were embalmed and passed around as sideshow exhibits in various carnivals and circuses from her death in 1860 until they were stolen from a fairground in 1979. It was thought the remains had been destroyed, but in 1990 they turned up in a hospital museum in Oslo, Norway. They are still there, but not on exhibit and only available for qualified scientific study. Bondeson has actually seen them; he speculates she had an extremely rare genetic disease, congenital hypertrichosis and gingival hyperplasia; Bondeson notes that the disease has varying degrees of penetration and Julia Pastrana’s is the most severe case known. Numerous pictures of Julia and her corpse are available, all pretty disturbing.
Well illustrated and referenced; written for an intelligent lay person. The historical research is extremely well done; Bondeson has uncovered many obscure references. He expresses pity for his subjects; nevertheless the book will appeal to the morbidly curious. And to the disturbed. show less
For example, spontaneous human combustion was once as well accepted as, say, smallpox (and still is in some circles). Bondeson comes up with numerous cases besides the repeatedly cited “urban legend” ones, and notes some doctors were still expressing belief in SHC until the late 19th century. He does some informal statistics, noting that most reported victims are obese female alcoholics – but acknowledges that some were otherwise. (The alcoholic connection may have skewed the data; temperance movements were fond of describing SHC as an end result of imbibing, and were successful to extent that some drunks were very careful to pass out on their backs with their mouths open, so that flames would exhale harmlessly rather than exploding from within). Bondeson doesn’t commit himself firmly, but notes that the “wick effect” probably explains most SHC; drunken victim passed out while smoking or falls unconscious into an ignition source. Her clothes catch fire and begin to burn into the skin, melting and fueling from human body fat. The next day somebody discovers the remains. Bondeson provides a picture of one victim; it’s disturbing.
“Bosom serpents” (sometimes frogs or salamanders instead of reptiles) were believed to crawl into a victim’s mouth, or get imbibed as eggs in water. Once there they grew and caused no end of distress. The most popular treatment was to lure the serpent to the victim’s mouth, then grab it and kill it. Once again Bondeson cites numerous old sources that take this perfectly seriously; he also notes the bosom serpents have updated their act: in a case he personally investigated in a mental hospital, the patient not only had a snake in her gastrointestinal tract, it had somehow got ahold of a small computer and was playing video games in there. She allowed Bondeson to listen to the game noises with a stethoscope. There’s a 16th century woodcut of a patient vomiting various herptiles; it’s disturbing.
The “lousy disease” was a staple end for various tyrants, persecutors, etc.: they became infested with vermin that consumed them from within. The Biblical Herod Agrippa was a supposed example. Bondeson notes over time the affliction changed from unidentified vermin to specifically “lice”; tumors formed on the patients skin that emitted a stream of tiny insects when lanced. He describes a possible explanation here; there is a described species of mite, Harpyrhynchus tabescentium, which forms nodules under the skin of birds and which is sometimes fatal; the catch is at the time Bondeson was writing there were no specimens of the mite available and it was believed to be extinct. Some googling discloses the mites still seem to be around; most of the recent references are in German. There are few pictures available; they’re disturbing.
Like the lousy disease, giants are also Biblically attested; Goliath of Gath, Og of Bashan, and the unnamed giants of Genesis are the examples. Many medieval collectors had giant bones, which eventually turned out to be from something else. I’ve actually seen the infamous Cardiff Giant; it’s in a museum in Cooperstown, NY (not the Baseball Hall of Fame; wrong kind of Giant). It was disturbing.
Premature burial was an obsession from Victorian times; various sorts of coffins intended to prevent it were available, with devices connected to the deceased intended to alert the outside world if the funeral had been rushed; there were also “waiting mortuaries” where the body was left for a week or so to verify it was dead (none of these ever had a successful revival). Bondeson notes hysterical estimates of up to 1000 premature burials annually, and posits that exhumations finding that the body had moved after death were responsible. There are still stories now and then in the sensational literature, and Bondeson notes a “safety coffin” was still available in the 1970s; it included a food locker, oxygen supply, air tubes, chemical toilet, alarm bell, radio transmitter, and cassette player. That actually sounds more comfortable than my house, which is disturbing.
Mary Toft is a perfect example of why your first task in any investigation is refuting the null hypothesis. Mrs. Toft was a English farm women from the early 18th century who repeatedly gave birth to rabbits. She was inspected by various medical professionals, who argued over possible theories: Mrs. Toft was a witch; had had carnal knowledge of a male rabbit; had a female rabbit living in her reproductive tract; or was a sort of “wererabbit”. (Mrs. Toft’s own explanation – see “maternal impressions” below – was that she had had a strong yearning for rabbit stew during pregnancy). Even the delivery of skinned rabbits didn’t cause people to go for the obvious explanation; instead Mrs. Toft was postulated to have uterine contractions strong enough to flay a rabbit. Eventually, of course, Mrs. Toft turned out to have a secret pocket under her skirts and was buying rabbits from dealers (which I learned were called “warreners”). Contemporary pamphleteers had a field day ridiculing the medical profession; some of these are actually available still, I’ll have to check them out regardless of how disturbing they might be.
The belief that something a pregnant woman saw or experienced could be transmitted to the unborn child was the “maternal impression” theory; for example, if she saw a crippled man the child would be born crippled; if she had an unfulfilled taste for strawberries the child would have a red birthmark, etc. Bondeson notes that some husbands went to great effort to prevent events of this sort, ensuring that their pregnant wives were only exposed to pleasant impressions. Nevertheless, accidents happened; when a lady with a white husband gave birth to a black child, medical professionals testified it was because there was a painting of a black man in her bedroom. I can think of another explanation, as disturbing as it might be.
It was firmly believed that tailed people lived in many remote parts of the world; Bondeson provides numerous examples of such claims. He notes there are some actual explanations; a hairy nevus near the base of the spine can be large enough to vaguely resemble a tail, and (although it never contains vertebrae) there are cases where the caudal filament fails to resorb; he provides a picture of a newborn baby with a three-inch caudal filament tail. It’s disturbing.
The Hunterian Museum was founded by pioneer anatomist. Its prime specimens included the Irish Giant, Charles Byrne, who was seven feet ten inches tall. There are various conflicting stories about how Byrne’s skeleton ended up in Hunter’s museum; the more sensational ones involve recovery by divers after burial at sea but it seems like more conventional grave robbing was more likely. The Two-Headed Boy of Bengal was acquired by an East India Company agent after his death by cobra bite at age four. The heads are joined at the top, with the second at right angles to the first. The parasitic head could move its eye independently although they didn’t respond to light. Alas, the little Bengali boy’s name isn’t known. The last museum exhibit Bondeson discusses is the Sicilian Fairy, Caroline Crachami. Miss Crachami was 19 ½ inches tall and weighed five pounds when she was measured in 1824 (the maternal impression theory figures here as well; supposedly Miss Crachami’s mother was frightened by a monkey when she was five months pregnant). Bondeson notes Caroline Crachami was eventually explained as osteodysplastic primordial dwarfism, but also notes people with this condition are usually profoundly mentally and physically disabled while visitors to Caroline Crachami testified she conversed intelligently on a variety of subjects and could walk without assistance; Bondeson therefore suggests her condition, whatever it was, was unique. Her skeleton is on display next to Charles Byrne’s; the juxtaposition is disturbing.
Bondeson’s final case is Julia Pastrana, a Mexican Indian with profuse hair and a “simian” face. Although her life story is sad and interesting enough – her showman manager legally married her and she and her baby died in childbirth – her postmortem adventures make up most of the story. She and her baby were embalmed and passed around as sideshow exhibits in various carnivals and circuses from her death in 1860 until they were stolen from a fairground in 1979. It was thought the remains had been destroyed, but in 1990 they turned up in a hospital museum in Oslo, Norway. They are still there, but not on exhibit and only available for qualified scientific study. Bondeson has actually seen them; he speculates she had an extremely rare genetic disease, congenital hypertrichosis and gingival hyperplasia; Bondeson notes that the disease has varying degrees of penetration and Julia Pastrana’s is the most severe case known. Numerous pictures of Julia and her corpse are available, all pretty disturbing.
Well illustrated and referenced; written for an intelligent lay person. The historical research is extremely well done; Bondeson has uncovered many obscure references. He expresses pity for his subjects; nevertheless the book will appeal to the morbidly curious. And to the disturbed. show less
"The London Monster" by Jan Bondeson is about a serial slasher, who from 1788 to 1790, attacked female pedestrians with sharpened objects. He would sneak up from behind to cut their thighs and buttocks through their dresses. He offer them a flower and stab them in the face with a hidden needle! Initially, the incidents are met with disbelief. A woman's "finer nerves" made her more liable to "delusions and hysterics" after all. But outrage grew as the Monster pursued those who were "pretty" show more and "respectable." Disgustingly, men make "appreciative comments" about the Monster's taste but then complain that they can't safely "approach" women in the streets without being accused! Then enters John Julius Angerstein who catalogues the attacks - rating the victims' looks btw- and offers a princely sum for the Monster's capture.Finally, after close to 50 victims! artificial flower maker Rhynwick Williams is arrested. Socialite Anne Porter, and her sister Sarah, are among several who ID the man. However, no such crime has ever been recorded before, resulting in a almost comedic two-trial case if not for the seriousness of the crime.
Overall a great study of such a disturbing and absurd episode in criminal history. The narrative doesn't stray, and it definitely kept my attention. There's potential for confusion with so many names involved, but Bondeson successfully navigates the reader through. However, there were noticeable flaws. Often poor word choices appeared as sexist. Bondeson described the Porter sisters as "vivacious" and lucky servant was "supposedly attacked" when emerging unarmed. He is also suspiciously harsh towards the Porters. Finally, second-to-last chapter: The Monster, Epidemic Hysteria, and Moral Panics, is total filler. Still recommend, but this subject definitely needs the Hallie Rubenhold treatment! show less
Overall a great study of such a disturbing and absurd episode in criminal history. The narrative doesn't stray, and it definitely kept my attention. There's potential for confusion with so many names involved, but Bondeson successfully navigates the reader through. However, there were noticeable flaws. Often poor word choices appeared as sexist. Bondeson described the Porter sisters as "vivacious" and lucky servant was "supposedly attacked" when emerging unarmed. He is also suspiciously harsh towards the Porters. Finally, second-to-last chapter: The Monster, Epidemic Hysteria, and Moral Panics, is total filler. Still recommend, but this subject definitely needs the Hallie Rubenhold treatment! show less
A Cabinet of Medical Curiosities: A Compendium of the Odd, the Bizarre, and the Unexpected by Jan Bondeson
This book was definitely entertaining, and the author is clearly writing about topics that fascinate him. The writing style made me a bit batty at times, as he presents the topic, gives a slew of examples, then describes how it was debunked or finally correctly explained. And then he starts all over again. Each segment cycles through at least twice, which made it hard to read (for me, at least.)
However, I enjoyed learning the etymology of "blowing smoke up one's ass", was amazed at how easy show more it was to pull one over on early physicians, and felt a bit embarrassed for America as we have historically clung to strange beliefs long beyond the rest of the world.
These stories also highlighted the extreme euro-centrism of most commonly discussed medical history. There was very little discussion of how other cultures dealt with these topics, other than being places where some of the more extreme "freaks" came from. Associating a birth defect found in, well, anyone who was not Caucasian was easily ascribed to their being closer to "beasts" and these genetic disorders were happily used to prove various unfounded racial beliefs.
You will, however, be happy to know that spontaneous human combustion has never been substantiated, nor does alcohol consumption increase the flammability of the body. Drink up, and wonder what beliefs we have now will be laughed at in another 100 years. show less
However, I enjoyed learning the etymology of "blowing smoke up one's ass", was amazed at how easy show more it was to pull one over on early physicians, and felt a bit embarrassed for America as we have historically clung to strange beliefs long beyond the rest of the world.
These stories also highlighted the extreme euro-centrism of most commonly discussed medical history. There was very little discussion of how other cultures dealt with these topics, other than being places where some of the more extreme "freaks" came from. Associating a birth defect found in, well, anyone who was not Caucasian was easily ascribed to their being closer to "beasts" and these genetic disorders were happily used to prove various unfounded racial beliefs.
You will, however, be happy to know that spontaneous human combustion has never been substantiated, nor does alcohol consumption increase the flammability of the body. Drink up, and wonder what beliefs we have now will be laughed at in another 100 years. show less
The first time I ever heard of Olof Palme was the news he had been murdered. I was a teenager on the other side of the world at the time so perhaps my ignorance of such an important world figure can be excused. What can't be excused is the extremely bungled response to the murder by the Swedish authorities. Where others see conspiracy I usually see incompetence but even I thought there was something fishy going on.
Bondeson, who in his day job is a world authority on gout, covers the show more assassination and its investigation, showing quite clearly why we're no closer to the truth about the case than the night Palme was shot dead. His thoughts about the case and a possible solution sound as good as any other, although I have to point that he made an absolute howler of an error when he refers to 1986 as a leap year. show less
Bondeson, who in his day job is a world authority on gout, covers the show more assassination and its investigation, showing quite clearly why we're no closer to the truth about the case than the night Palme was shot dead. His thoughts about the case and a possible solution sound as good as any other, although I have to point that he made an absolute howler of an error when he refers to 1986 as a leap year. show less
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