CrimProf Blog

Crim Book Recommendations

There are of course many books about the criminal law, some of which are fascinating and some of which … aren’t. Here’s are some that I enjoy, where I focus on those I’ve most often used in teaching seminars or that I most often recommend to students. (Thus, extremely scholarly books aren’t here, no matter how brilliant.) Feel free to share any comments or additions, including additions highlighting your own work, in the comments.

Steve Bogira’s Courtroom 302 gives a wonderful sense of the day-to-day realities of an American criminal courtroom. Even as some of the specifics are becoming more dated, the book remains a gem.

John Grisham’s The Innocent Man deftly describes the false conviction and (effectively) systematic torture of Ron Williamson. Grisham of course also has novels that address such matters, including The Confession; few of his later works compare to his early writing, however, and all of his fiction tends to be more fun read than inspiring insight into our systems of criminal justice.

Possibly the best single volume on false convictions is Michael Morton’s Getting Life. Simply amazing.

Some of those false convictions of course result from eyewitness identification, for which Ronald Cotton and Jennifer Thompson-Cannino’s Picking Cotton remains a groundbreaking and redemptive work. Tom Wells & Richard Leo’s The Wrong Guys is a harrowing tale of false confessions. And Shaka Senghor’s Writing My Wrongs provides an inside look at the drug trade that can transform young kids into killers, from which some—including the author—fortunately manage to transform back again.

Anyone wanting to understand the injustice of our criminal justice system couldn’t do better than beginning with Bryan Stevenson’s Just Mercy. It is powerful, inspiring, and deeply troubling. A convincing account of the system’s systemic racial injustice is also found in Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow, and Mark Godsey brilliantly chronicles the journey from prosecutor to innocence lawyer in Blind Justice. The three make a powerful trifecta.

No list would be complete without Anythony Lewis’ Gideon’s Trumpet. Merely as a read it is not as terrific as other books, but it remains a classic. Another classic is certainly Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, and this one absolutely stands the test of time—an amazingly detailed chronicle of senseless bloodshed. Another is Edward Bennett Williams’ One Man’s Freedom; written in 1962, many of his particular examples are dated, but his general ‘defense of criminal defense’ remains as strong as ever.

And now we have a ‘modern classic’ describing the incredible attempts of Jonathan Rapping to reform public defense: Gideon’s Promise. As is most often the case, it’s even better than the movie (Gideon’s Army). Roy Black’s Black’s Law for the most part holds up well, and would be another good read for any potential criminal defense attorney.

There aren’t too many books chronicling the work of a diligent prosecutor, making Steven J. Phillips’s No Heroes, No Villains a worthy read. Although arguably he makes the prosecution somewhat more difficult than it might have been under a different theory, it presents a fascinating question of how to apply the rules of criminal homicide to a tragic crime. Also noteworthy is Vince Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter, as well as Bennett Gershman’s Prosecution Stories. The latter is sure to spark some classroom debate as it takes positions on charging decisions and other matters on which reasonable minds will disagree.

Students interested in the life of a judge might benefit from Frederick Block’s Disrobed. Some portions are certainly more effective than others, but it is a fairly unique accounting. Of course, they could also turn to Milton Hirsch’s fictional The Shadow of Justice.

Students interested in the workings of a criminal jury might enjoy D. Graham Burnett’s A Trial by Jury or crimprof Andrew Ferguson’s Why Jury Duty Matters.

Students interested in policing might begin with David Simon’s Homicide or Jill Leovy’s Ghettoside. The latter is a bit ‘much’ for me, and I don’t buy her conclusion in strong form, but it’s certainly worth a read.

Deviating for a moment from the criminal law—since we are all teachers—Ken Bain’s What the Best College Teachers Do does a brilliant job of assessing what makes for the best of our profession. (But as a warning, the other books in the ‘series’ are not nearly so good.)

In that same vein, students who plan to practice in a law firm might appreciate the wisdom of Mark Herrmann’s The Curmudgeon’s Guide to Practicing Law.

For something truly different, consider Mark Essig’s Edison & The Electric Chair. Would Thomas Edison promote electrocution by alternating current merely to gain support for his own supplies of direct current? Yes, he would.

Guest Post: Kolber on Punishment for the Greater Good

The following post was written by our colleague Adam Kolber about his new book, Punishment for the Greater Good, which is available here (discount code ALAUTHC4) or through request from a library. (He also has a four-minute animated book teaser.) I am very pleased to highlight his work; if you have written a book and would like the same, please let me know!

More than ten million people are incarcerated around the world, even though punishment theorists have struggled for centuries to morally justify incarceration and other punishment practices. Efforts so far are incomplete, referencing parts of theories that have yet to be fleshed out. What can we say about the justification of incarceration today?

Retributivists claim that people deserve punishment because of their wrongdoing. Punishment can be morally justified, they say, provided it is proportional to wrongdoing. Consequentialists, by contrast, claim that if punishments like incarceration are justified, they are justified because they lead to good consequences, such as crime prevention and offender rehabilitation, that more than make up for the suffering and other bad consequences they inevitably cause. In my new book, Punishment for the Greater Good (Oxford University Press), I argue that a “pure consequentialist” approach (one that denies the value of deserved punishment) is better than the “standard retributivist” approach (which justifies punishment based on moral desert) if we seek to address incarceration in the here and now.

In the book, I identify several problems with standard retributivism. Here, I’ll mention one: Standard retributivists make proportional punishment central to their view but haven’t successfully explained how to determine when a punishment is proportional. They suffer from what I call the quantum problem: In order to actually punish someone, you need to justify some quantum of punishment. Retributivists haven’t done that, and I don’t see how they ever will.

Retributivists can’t just rely on their intuitions about proportionality. In an 1883 case, a Native American, named Crow Dog, killed another Native American. Through a tribal justice process, he was required to deliver $600, eight horses, and a blanket as restitution to the victim’s family. The U.S. thought the punishment inadequate and sought the death penalty. Two criminal legal systems came up with radically different solutions. If retributivists use their intuitions to assume that any particular amount of incarceration is justified for even a serious crime like homicide, then they haven’t justified incarceration; they have simply assumed what they need to prove (and what carceral abolitionists can properly demand of them).

Some scholars say that we just haven’t figured out proportionality yet. But while this is never a satisfying response, it is particularly inadequate when we look at punishment, as I do in the book, from a here-and-now perspective. We can’t incarcerate someone today based on a promise to deliver an adequate theory of punishment sometime in the future. Nevertheless, thousands of law review articles and legal cases simply assume that proportional punishment is a sufficiently clear and coherent concept to use when we lock people up.

Consequentialists, by contrast, don’t give proportionality a primary role. They seek to punish when doing so has net benefits. Since both crime victims and incarcerated perpetrators suffer, consequentialists generally seek to reduce total crime-related suffering. While many people overestimate the ability of incarceration to prevent crime (especially its marginal deterrence), there is little doubt that it deters an enormous amount of crime in an absolute sense and prevents the most dangerous offenders from regularly harming others. When incarceration is not a good tool for public safety, consequentialists oppose it and seek better tools. They don’t make people suffer just for the sake of past bad conduct.

Many find consequentialist punishment unappealing because it could lead, under some imaginable circumstances, to the punishment of the innocent, contrary to a firm deontological constraint that prohibits knowingly punishing in excess of desert. But reasonable retributivists will also punish the innocent, at least under sufficiently catastrophic conditions, as I argue in chapter 4 of the book: the dispute largely comes down to setting the threshold at which punishment of the innocent is permissible, and consequentialists plausibly have the better end of the dispute.

Even if we could perfectly assess proportionality, retributivist proportionality is unappealingly counterintuitive. Consider two equally blameworthy offenders named Sensitive and Insensitive. They are alike in all pertinent respects except for the amount they suffer in prison. Sensitive suffers tremendously, while Insensitive suffers too but manages to cope and make good friends. If these equally blameworthy offenders spend the same three years in prison, I claim that they have not been punished equally in any sense that matters from a moral perspective. Moreover, if Insensitive’s sentence was proportional, then retributivists need to explain what justifies the additional suffering we knowingly impose on Sensitive.

We could try to punish in ways that take sensitivities into account. But doing so leads to counterintuitive results as well. Suppose Sensitive suffers so much because, prior to prison, he lived a life of luxury. Few would welcome punishing Sensitive for a shorter duration (or in better conditions) to accommodate his wealth-induced sensitivity. Nevertheless, it’s hard to see why retributivists can knowingly make Sensitive suffer more than Insensitive when they are equally blameworthy. Consequentialists must take suffering into account too. But they’re not specifically committed to proportional punishment and so needn’t reach the particular counterintuitive results retributivists face here.

The affirmative case for consequentialism arises, at least in part, from its comparative completeness. Armed with a way of valuing what is good and bad, pure consequentialism is quite complete. While debates about how to value consequences rages on, standard retributivists face nearly-identical challenges. In order to measure wrongdoing, for example, most retributivists consider the amount of harm an offender caused. Such measurements require them to decide whether to treat harms as bad experiences, dissatisfied preferences, or something else entirely. Since I conduct a comparative analysis of pure consequentialism and standard retributivism, I spend the better part of a chapter arguing that, if anything, pure consequentialism raises more manageable questions about value than standard retributivism does because pure consequentialists don’t assign intrinsic value to moral desert and needn’t wrestle with its associated mysteries.

Once consequentialists have determined the value of various consequences and their best probabilistic assessment of relevant empirical facts, they can tell us how to behave in a wide variety of circumstances. Importantly, they can say quite a bit about whether an instance or practice of incarceration is likely better or worse from a moral perspective than some alternative. The empirical issues are extraordinarily complicated, but at least we know how to address them. (If a patient must choose between two forms of cancer treatment and the scientific evidence is conflicting, we can still do our best to pick one using relatively well-agreed upon methods of analysis.) With numerous choices, we may not know which option will lead to the greatest good, but we can often make choices for the greater good. It’s hard to ask for more in the here and now.

Imagine a car race with two competitors. If one car is missing too many parts to start, even its shabby competitor is superior. Similarly, if standard retributivism is too incomplete to yield verdicts about incarceration, then pure consequentialism is superior in the here and now, even if it has its own blemishes. Hence, my claim in the book is one of superiority, not adequacy. I claim that pure consequentialism is superior to standard retributivism, not that pure consequentialism is necessarily an adequate theory to adopt in the here and now. An adequacy claim would require a much deeper defense of consequentialism than I provide in a relatively short book and would require us to look at many other approaches to punishment than the two I focus on. Still, to the extent that I address popular forms of consequentialism and retributivism, if I succeed in arguing that pure consequentialism is superior to standard retributivism, I have provided you with at least some reason to increase your confidence in pure consequentialism’s adequacy as an approach to punishment in the here and now.

This post is adapted from a longer version at Marcus Arvan’s “New Work in Philosophy” substack.

Walsh on Eyewitness Identifications after Perry v. New Hampshire

Dana Walsh has posted Eyewitness Identifications after Perry v. New Hampshire: A Call for Greater State Involvement in Ensuring Fundamental Fairness (Boston College Law Review, Forthcoming) on SSRN. Here is the abstract:

This Note addresses the future eyewitness identifications after the 2012 Supreme Court decision Perry v. New Hampshire and calls on states to take greater action to ensure reliability of eyewitness identifications at trial.