I picked this up a few weeks ago without any knowledge of the movie that was released recently.
PROBABLE SPOILERS FOR ANYONE PLANNING TO WATCH THE MOVIE
The book tells the story of Bronson’s (real name Michael Gordon Peterson) life from unremarkable working class beginnings and childhood, through his capture, sentencing for armed robbery and admittance to prison (where he attracts the label “Britain’s most dangerous prisoner” and assumes the name Bronson [1]) up to a hastily written final chapter in which he gets married (whilst incarcerated) in 2004 [2]. In between Bronson is released from prison twice, only to end up back there within months for criminal damage/attempted armed robbery (which he pleads innocent toward). In total he has spent twenty-five of twenty-nine years behind bars. Most of those are for offences committed inside prison (criminal damage, grievous bodily harm, false imprisonment, blackmail and threatening to kill). Three rooftop protests, five hostage-takings and myriad brutal assaults (for a variety of reasons ranging from self-defence to looking at him askance) including one strangulation of a paedophile which required a crash team to restart his heart, and an atrocious stabbing of a man who had the temerity to make a pass at him. For these reasons he has remained for the majority of his life sentence in solitary confinement (including the infamous “Hannibal Lector” cage within a cage at Wakefield prison where he currently resides), for his own protection and that everyone else.
“Chaz”, as his fellow inmates call him (on those rare occasions when they get to see him), is a complex man. At the heart of his problems are a near absolute rejection of authority (early in the book he laments his brother leaving him to join the army, which he would like to have joined if it didn’t involve taking orders) and a flashpoint temper that provokes seemingly uncontrollable and potentially lethal acts of violence. Attempting to offer some kind of an explanation he suggests that witnessing the violent birth of his brother at a young age left an indelible impression on his character. It’s a dubious cause – for the reader and the writer, who dangles it before you like a baited hook and then drops all mention of it in the remaining three-hundred pages.
The majority of the autobiography is taken up with Bronson’s experiences in countless prisons (twenty years) and hospitals for the criminally insane (nine years) which read like an endlessly repeating set of programming instructions:
1.Arrive drugged and in a straight jacket.
2.Enter solitary confinement;
3.Meet prison governor: attack him? [yes – GOTO 7./no]
4.Pace cell for a month and perform one million push-/sit-ups: shipped out to another prison? [yes – GOTO 7./no – REPEAT or GOTO 5.];
5.Granted opportunity to prove himself on the prison wing.
6.Become upset for some trivial reason and beat/garrotte/stab someone within an inch of his life/take someone hostage/conduct rooftop protest whilst inflicting a million dollars worth of damage.
7.Enter solitary confinement.
8.Shipped out to another prison.
For each prison Bronson spends time talking about the conditions, regime, food, governor and the rare screws (prison guards) who he has time for (ones that don’t take “liberties” – whatever they might be). He also discusses his fellow inmates, their crimes, behaviour and the relationship that he shares with them. At times these tales assume an aura of weird seductiveness and you could be forgiven for thinking he’s talking about a friend from his local boozer and not a man with multiple convictions for particularly horrific acts of murder. He venerates the Kray twins (two vicious London mobsters, now deceased) to the point of sainthood for the acts of kindness and support they offered him as well as their many charitable works. Other lags are evaluated to these criteria, as well as their toughness, intransigence toward the prison authorities, willingness not to rat, accomplishments in the gym etc. And then there are the bleaker stories of suicides, insanity and despair. His account of one inmate who goes to visit his teenage son’s cell only to discover him hanging from the window grille froze my heart.
Bronson’s nine years in Rampton and Broadmoor (prison hospitals for the criminally insane) during the eighties left me wondering what purpose those facilities served other than keeping psychopaths off the streets. The conditions were barely above what you’d expect to find in a Victorian asylum and treatment consisted of huge quantities of psychotropic drugs that turned human beings into zombies or (if you were particularly unlucky) ECT. Certainly no attempts at counselling or rehabilitation.
Which brings me to the thorny question of what does society do with a person like Bronson? It’s a difficult question. Imprisoning someone in solitary confinement for twenty-five years is nothing short of barbaric. But how else can you treat someone who seems incapable of spending a week in human company (inside or outside of prison) without catastrophic consequences?
Bronson is an enigma. At times he demonstrates a deep understanding of his own failings. His artwork and poetry have won him numerous awards and he has raised tens of thousands of dollars for charitable causes through prodigious physical feats (he holds several records for various exercises in the gym). He claims that if he had discovered art earlier he might have changed. Perhaps this is so. But the fact remains that when provoked – and the list of potential provocations seems endless – he is an extremely dangerous individual capable of hideous brutality. He argues that his hostage takings have never resulted in “serious” injury to the hostage. But he neglects to mention the mental anguish these poor people (some of whom were civilians) went through and may continue to for the rest of their lives (this is particularly galling as he consistently berates the judicial system for the mental suffering it has inflicted upon him).
Perhaps it’s a neurological issue? Research has shown that damage to, or the dysfunction of, certain areas of the brain can result in all kinds of strange behaviour which manages to bypass those regions responsible for what is termed “free will". But this argument may well be torpedoed by Bronson's claim that since writing the book he has abstained from violence completely (although he has remained in solitary confinement since 1999). Why now and not ten or twenty years ago?
He is currently awaiting a decision to overturn his life sentence and grant him parole. I suspect his hopes will be dashed.
After reading the book I’m eager to watch the Hardy/Winding Refn movie. It’ll be interesting to see their take on Bronson. I should have gone last week, but there was no time. Perhaps I’ll have to wait for the DVD release.
[1] Bronson claims he assumed the name in order to join an unlicensed tournament (bare knuckle stuff) without ever seeing a single Bronson movie.
[2] His marriage to Saira Rehman was short lived. Soon after being granted a divorce she wrote two books about their marriage which are less than complimentary.
PROBABLE SPOILERS FOR ANYONE PLANNING TO WATCH THE MOVIE
The book tells the story of Bronson’s (real name Michael Gordon Peterson) life from unremarkable working class beginnings and childhood, through his capture, sentencing for armed robbery and admittance to prison (where he attracts the label “Britain’s most dangerous prisoner” and assumes the name Bronson [1]) up to a hastily written final chapter in which he gets married (whilst incarcerated) in 2004 [2]. In between Bronson is released from prison twice, only to end up back there within months for criminal damage/attempted armed robbery (which he pleads innocent toward). In total he has spent twenty-five of twenty-nine years behind bars. Most of those are for offences committed inside prison (criminal damage, grievous bodily harm, false imprisonment, blackmail and threatening to kill). Three rooftop protests, five hostage-takings and myriad brutal assaults (for a variety of reasons ranging from self-defence to looking at him askance) including one strangulation of a paedophile which required a crash team to restart his heart, and an atrocious stabbing of a man who had the temerity to make a pass at him. For these reasons he has remained for the majority of his life sentence in solitary confinement (including the infamous “Hannibal Lector” cage within a cage at Wakefield prison where he currently resides), for his own protection and that everyone else.
“Chaz”, as his fellow inmates call him (on those rare occasions when they get to see him), is a complex man. At the heart of his problems are a near absolute rejection of authority (early in the book he laments his brother leaving him to join the army, which he would like to have joined if it didn’t involve taking orders) and a flashpoint temper that provokes seemingly uncontrollable and potentially lethal acts of violence. Attempting to offer some kind of an explanation he suggests that witnessing the violent birth of his brother at a young age left an indelible impression on his character. It’s a dubious cause – for the reader and the writer, who dangles it before you like a baited hook and then drops all mention of it in the remaining three-hundred pages.
The majority of the autobiography is taken up with Bronson’s experiences in countless prisons (twenty years) and hospitals for the criminally insane (nine years) which read like an endlessly repeating set of programming instructions:
1.Arrive drugged and in a straight jacket.
2.Enter solitary confinement;
3.Meet prison governor: attack him? [yes – GOTO 7./no]
4.Pace cell for a month and perform one million push-/sit-ups: shipped out to another prison? [yes – GOTO 7./no – REPEAT or GOTO 5.];
5.Granted opportunity to prove himself on the prison wing.
6.Become upset for some trivial reason and beat/garrotte/stab someone within an inch of his life/take someone hostage/conduct rooftop protest whilst inflicting a million dollars worth of damage.
7.Enter solitary confinement.
8.Shipped out to another prison.
For each prison Bronson spends time talking about the conditions, regime, food, governor and the rare screws (prison guards) who he has time for (ones that don’t take “liberties” – whatever they might be). He also discusses his fellow inmates, their crimes, behaviour and the relationship that he shares with them. At times these tales assume an aura of weird seductiveness and you could be forgiven for thinking he’s talking about a friend from his local boozer and not a man with multiple convictions for particularly horrific acts of murder. He venerates the Kray twins (two vicious London mobsters, now deceased) to the point of sainthood for the acts of kindness and support they offered him as well as their many charitable works. Other lags are evaluated to these criteria, as well as their toughness, intransigence toward the prison authorities, willingness not to rat, accomplishments in the gym etc. And then there are the bleaker stories of suicides, insanity and despair. His account of one inmate who goes to visit his teenage son’s cell only to discover him hanging from the window grille froze my heart.
Bronson’s nine years in Rampton and Broadmoor (prison hospitals for the criminally insane) during the eighties left me wondering what purpose those facilities served other than keeping psychopaths off the streets. The conditions were barely above what you’d expect to find in a Victorian asylum and treatment consisted of huge quantities of psychotropic drugs that turned human beings into zombies or (if you were particularly unlucky) ECT. Certainly no attempts at counselling or rehabilitation.
Which brings me to the thorny question of what does society do with a person like Bronson? It’s a difficult question. Imprisoning someone in solitary confinement for twenty-five years is nothing short of barbaric. But how else can you treat someone who seems incapable of spending a week in human company (inside or outside of prison) without catastrophic consequences?
Bronson is an enigma. At times he demonstrates a deep understanding of his own failings. His artwork and poetry have won him numerous awards and he has raised tens of thousands of dollars for charitable causes through prodigious physical feats (he holds several records for various exercises in the gym). He claims that if he had discovered art earlier he might have changed. Perhaps this is so. But the fact remains that when provoked – and the list of potential provocations seems endless – he is an extremely dangerous individual capable of hideous brutality. He argues that his hostage takings have never resulted in “serious” injury to the hostage. But he neglects to mention the mental anguish these poor people (some of whom were civilians) went through and may continue to for the rest of their lives (this is particularly galling as he consistently berates the judicial system for the mental suffering it has inflicted upon him).
Perhaps it’s a neurological issue? Research has shown that damage to, or the dysfunction of, certain areas of the brain can result in all kinds of strange behaviour which manages to bypass those regions responsible for what is termed “free will". But this argument may well be torpedoed by Bronson's claim that since writing the book he has abstained from violence completely (although he has remained in solitary confinement since 1999). Why now and not ten or twenty years ago?
He is currently awaiting a decision to overturn his life sentence and grant him parole. I suspect his hopes will be dashed.
After reading the book I’m eager to watch the Hardy/Winding Refn movie. It’ll be interesting to see their take on Bronson. I should have gone last week, but there was no time. Perhaps I’ll have to wait for the DVD release.
[1] Bronson claims he assumed the name in order to join an unlicensed tournament (bare knuckle stuff) without ever seeing a single Bronson movie.
[2] His marriage to Saira Rehman was short lived. Soon after being granted a divorce she wrote two books about their marriage which are less than complimentary.
