Ed. Note: If, on the basis of that title, you can correctly guess the exact topic of today’s post, please award yourself 50 bonus points.

‘How fortunate you are!’ declare the imaginary friends whom I invent from time to time to illustrate some aspect or other of this blog. ‘Every week, you get to write about anything you want!’

The truth, of course, is rather less idyllic. There are certainly weeks when I both know what I want to write about and know more or less what I want to say about it. However, most weeks fall into one of two categories. Either there is really only one topic I can write on, like it or not. In fairness, I am capable of ignoring whole herds of elephants in the room if I feel I have nothing to add that is both on the original side of the trite/ground-breaking spectrum and on the amusing side of the dull-as-ditchwater/scintillating spectrum, so the concept of having no choice is more or less alien to me.

Or (picking up the ‘either’ of the last paragraph after an inordinate time), I can’t think of anything to write about. Those are the weeks when I lock myself in the office, fire up the laptop, and wait for inspiration to spark through my index fingers. When it fails to do so, I churn something out, offer it up at the altar of Bernice, my high-critic, and pray that she will judge it more favourably than I do.

This week, unusually, is one when, for me, in my particular situation, there really is only one topic. You see, four weeks ago, I urged you to go to the cinema to see Harold Fry. Then three weeks ago, I offered a pocket review of the film and urged you to see it again. I did also, in the interests of full disclosure, reveal that my cousin was a producer of the film. We would, I hope, all agree that we have a duty to promote the pet projects of family members we are fond of, especially if we actually think those projects are very worthwhile, as, in the case of Harold Fry, I do.

Which brings me to this week’s topic. You see, in a rash of cousinly creativity, Bernice’s cousin (who is, incidentally, both her first cousin and her second cousin – but that’s a story for another post) published a book eight months ago. I didn’t actually get around to reading it until last week, and now domestic harmony dictates that I must dedicate a post to singing its praises.

Which makes it sound as though this week’s post comes to you out of a sense of duty. It will sound even more so if I admit to you that this is a book that, if I were not married to the author’s cousin, I would never have picked out from a bookshop’s shelves or ordered online. It is so not within my fields of interest.

One day, in the 1960s, a friend and I took the Central Line Tube from Gants Hill to St Pauls to spend a few hours in the public galleries of the Old Bailey watching a murder trial. I have a strong memory of a lot of seasoned wood panelling and a judge looking splendid in scarlet robe and white wig. I have, however, no memory whatsoever of the details of the case. That day represents, to be honest, the birth and death of my interest in the internal workings of the English and Welsh justice system.

Today’s challenge, then, is to persuade you, (who don’t, to be honest, count for very much in this particular equation) and, more importantly, the book’s author (who, to be honest, I see only very rarely), and, most importantly, the book’s author’s first – and second – cousin (who I wake up next to every day) that this book genuinely gripped me from Page 1 and did not let me go until I had finished reading the Acknowledgements page.

The time has come, I think, to get to the actual meat of this week’s post.

Her Honour Wendy Joseph QC (and to think that Bernice’s family thought she was doing well by marrying the son of a delicatessen!) retired as a High Court judge just over a year ago. Six months later, her book Unlawful Killings, subtitled Life, Love and Murder: Trials at the Old Bailey, was published.

Just in case that mouthful is not sending you rushing to order the book, let me stress. This is an absorbing, moving, thrilling and delightful read.

To categorise the book is not straightforward. It is, on the one hand, a layman’s guide to the (sometimes arcane) workings of a trial for murder under the English and Welsh justice system. Written, as it is, from the perspective of the judge presiding over the proceedings, it gives considerable insight into the function and, perhaps more importantly, the thoughts and feelings of said judge. It is, I think, fair to say that the spotlight, particularly in fictional accounts of trials, is more commonly focussed on the lawyers for the defence and prosecution, on the defendant and on the jury. The perspective of the judge is never less than fascinating.

Those arcane workings make, in themselves, very interesting reading. However, the challenge facing anyone attempting to explain them is to show how fascinating they are, because there is a very real danger of making any account seem dry, abstract, bookish and academic. Wendy (now that she has retired I feel more comfortable referring to her as my cousin by marriage, rather than as ‘My Lady’) finds a very clever hook to hang this exposition on, and thereby establishes, in her first chapter, both her very great sympathy for her fellow human beings and her light and delightful sense of humour, which both leavens and spices the entire book.

The next six chapters unpack the convoluted stories of six trials for murder (fictional constructs each drawing elements from Wendy’s personal courtroom experience and each cleverly designed to illustrate particular aspects of the application of the law). Each one of these chapters could provide the material for a gripping murder courtroom drama novel; taken together, they hint at the flexibility, the range, the complexity and the underlying principles of the law in this area.

Anyone who emerges from these six chapters with less than total admiration for the subtle act of presiding that is the function of a High Court judge needs to read the chapters again for homework. There is no doubt that, for anyone with a conscience and a belief in the legal system, being a High Court judge is an almost religious calling and a supreme responsibility.

As we are sucked effortlessly into the gripping and compassionate narrative of each of these cases, we gradually begin to comprehend the robustness and soundness of the structure of the law. I certainly found myself, at the end of those six chapters, hoping that, if I ever do get around to committing murder, or, on the other hand, being murdered, the murderer (whether myself or someone else) will have the case heard at the Old Bailey, by a judge as wise as Wendy.

The final chapter of the book reflects generally on the success or otherwise of the English legal system in coping with murder. Her conclusion may not be earth-shattering, but it is all the more noteworthy both because it carries the authority of her decades of experience and because it suggests that the courts are failing, and cannot reasonably be expected not to fail, in addressing the societal problems that murder poses. She points out that murder only too often is committed because of the particular circumstances of a personal history, and prevention must be better than failing to cure. She calls for more to be done in educating citizens, from childhood, both to recognise the value of the social contract that lies at the very heart of civilisation and to be aware of the consequences of their personal actions. I can do no better than quote her final sentences.

‘…for all potential offenders who pause, think, change their minds, we save them the waste of their lives, we save victims a world of grief, we save society a huge financial cost, we make a better and happier life for everyone. What’s not to like in that?’

And what’s not to like in this?

Ed Note: If any other of my cousins, by birth or by marriage, is planning on publishing a book, releasing a film, staging a play, mounting an art exhibition, or anything similar, could I prevail on you to hold off for a couple of months? I don’t want to overdo the cultural review theme on the blog. Thanks!