Dean W. Jobb

I've had a weakness for thieves like Robin Hood, Alexander Mundy, and John Robie since I was a teenager, and Jobb's book is about a real-life "second story" man named Arthur Barry. Surviving a tough childhood, Barry served with distinction as a medic during World War I, but when he came home, he couldn't find a job. His good looks and charm soon took him into the world of jewel theft.

Barry melted easily into high society, even taking the Prince of Wales out on a night on the town during the show more prince's visit. (He also burgled one of the women in the royal party.)

Barry believed that the use of violence was the mark of an amateur, and he also stated: "I only robbed the rich. If a woman can carry around a necklace worth $750,000, she knows where her next meal is coming from."

A Gentleman and a Thief was a fascinating look at not only the man himself, but the time period as well. (I also picked up some tips on burglar-proofing the house.) show less

Thank you to Algonquin Books and Netgalley for the ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Victorian true crime is one of my favorite literary niches, and those who love it should be completely engrossed by The Case of the Murderous Dr. Cream. Non-linear narratives almost never work for me, but the way that this true crime saga unfolded was quite clever, and I was never lost or confused. I think if the book had began when Cream was born, I would have become bored before he even show more made it to medical school.

The research for this book that Dean Jobb conducted in three countries is very impressive and detailed enough to flesh out the book well. I was endlessly horrified, not by the poisonings themselves (which were gruesome) but by how the good doctor kept getting away with it for so many years as the bodies piled up. Also deeply satisfying: the ideas that Jobb teases from the historical evidence about Dr. Cream's mental state, religious upbringing, and other factors that may have contributed to turning him into a serial killer. The reader is invited to psychoanalyze Cream at her leisure, and armchair psychology of serial killers can be entertaining (at least it is for me). The state of medicine during the 19th century, with the doctor as a sort of all-powerful godlike figure definitely had a part to play in Cream's murderous mayhem, as did lax drug regulations and the ugly male takeover of midwifery (many of his victims, the evidence indicates, may have been seeking abortions when they consulted this evil doctor).

I was waving the book in the air more than once saying "listen to the women! Why don't they listen to the women!" but of course doctors still disregard the claims of women even today. What if he had gone around poisoning men, regardless of social standing and reputation? He'd have never gotten out of prison for Serial Killings Round Two. show less

In 2025 America, with golden White House ballrooms, stagnant wages, and ever increasing inflation, it feels as though we're living in an era that combines the wealth disparity of the 1920's with the poverty stricken desperation of the 1930's. That's what makes the life story of anti-hero Arthur Barry, New York's "Prince of Thieves", such a cathartic read.

In this book feels like a window into how Barry saw himself; suave, intelligent, loyal, mostly non-violent, and honorable. It's hard to show more dislike a protagonist who even his own victims said was soft and caring. The second half of the book is, in my opinion, the most enthralling. The devotion that he has for his wife, his kindness and attempts as reform make for a sympathetic hero. show less

Very well researched and told with enough Detail to read like a story. The way the Dr. repeatedly gets away with things due to his superior social and economic status versus the status of his victims and witnesses would seem like an indictment of England, Canada and the US in Victorian times, if anything had changed since then. Instead, it’s a reminder of problems that still exist