This isn't our usual fare over here on SF&F Reviews, but it was such a powerful, interesting read that I thought we'd talk about it.
The Secret Barrister: Stories of the Law and How It’s Broken
is a book based on the blog by the eponymous (and anonymous) Secret Barrister.
It explores every aspect of the system of law in Britain, from arrest through
trial and sentencing, and explores the
roles of key actors in that system, such as solicitors, judges, magistrates, barristers,
police officers et al., as well as organisations like the CPS. If you’ve ever
wanted to know key differences between US and UK law when switching between Law
& Order reruns and episodes of Broadchurch, this is the book for you. If
you’ve ever wanted to know how the British justice system works – or if it
works at all – this is also the book for you.
Full disclosure: This book made me very, very angry, which I
suspect is one of its goals. It’s difficult to read about the system of justice
failing and being failed as comprehensively as the text presents it and not get angry. The text forensically
dissects every aspect of British justice, and while it’s willing to say where
things are done well, it’s also incredibly scathing where things are not. And
it turns out that there are quite a few cases where that’s the case.
But why does this work? Why do the stories here have such an
impact? I think part of it is the style.
This isn’t an impenetrable legal
textbook, filled with scattered Latin phrases and a load of assumed knowledge.
It’s in a chatty vernacular breezy and accessible to anyone, even – or perhaps
especially – those of us with no legal training. That accessibility is a
triumph; I imagine making the state of law and justice to the layman is a difficult
thing to achieve. But it’s backed up by a passion in the words, an enthusiasm
and sense of care which is evident in the prose even as it erupts off of the
page. The author wants the reader to understand the system, to be sure – but that’s
only part of the goal. Another part is that they understand why that system is
important, and what the issues with it are.
In that, the text is a magnificent success. Its explorations
of the system are erudite, the slings and arrows it hurls at that system precise
as well as heavily barbed. There’s a sense here passing from author to reader
that the British have one of the greatest justice systems in the world, if only
we’d look after it properly. The personal stories – of cases abandoned or
perversely decided due to spending cuts, of triumphs of law over common-sense,
of everyday chaos wrought by those trying their best in an overloaded,
underfunded world – give a sense of the immediate, and wrap the larger legal
perspective up in something unafraid to show the consequences of that
perspective on actual people.
This is an elegant, eloquent book, which serves as both a
primer for understanding a system which sits in the background for the entirety
of most people’s lives, but also carries a fiery passion and indignation at the
way in which that system is being slowly dismembered, or failed by lack of
funding, and a similar enthusiasm for its successes in spite of those
flaws. There’s an energy thrumming
through the pages, an inherent decency and sense of urgency which makes each
page at once a refreshingly intelligent exploration of complex problems, and a
hard shot of cunning crafted sizzling rhetoric about how those problems are
being ignored.
Should you read it? If you’ve ever wanted to know how the
justice system works, in theory and in harder, grimier reality, yes. If you
want to see the sparkle of an institution with potential, and the stark anger
at the way in which that potential is wasted, yes. If you want to see how we
can and should change things for the better, then yes. It’s an absolute
barn-stormer of a book, one which will benefit multiple reasons, and inspire
anger and hope in equal measure. Find a copy, buy a copy, read a copy. If
nothing else, it’s likely to make you think, and that is some high praise
indeed.
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