Without the Moon - Cathi Unsworth

‘Blitz spirit’ has entered the folklore of modern Britain, a touchstone for politicians and commentators keen to reminisce about national unity in the face of terrible danger and privation. As with all myths, though, the story is more complicated than it first appears. Although there was no major breakdown of the social order, there was still a significant increase in criminality on the Home Front: the crime rate rose by 57% between 1939 and 1945. Much of this crime was petty, relating to the thriving black market, but there were also significant outbreaks of looting, and even darker incidents taking place under cover of the blackout.

Cathi Unsworth’s fifth novel delves into an obscure part of London’s wartime history, the case of the so-called Blackout Ripper. As in the excellent Bad Penny Blues, which fictionalised the ‘Jack the Stripper’ murders, Without the Moon deals with factual events, in this case the murder of four women (and attempted murder of two more) between Sunday 9^th February and Friday 14^th February 1942 by George Cummins, an RAF pilot.

The wartime setting at first seems like a departure from Unsworth’s usual youth culture themes, a move into the patrician, fireside atmosphere of ‘classic crimes’ as narrated by authors like Edgar Lustgarten and Robert Whittington-Egan, but her approach feels fresh and vibrant despite the presence of familiar figures like the venerable pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury amongst the cast. There are classic noir tropes here, most notably in the figure of DCI Edward Greenaway, the heavy-lidded detective tasked with solving the murders, but much of Without the Moon focusses on the London demi-monde, populated by spiritualists, prostitutes, gangsters and showmen. Refreshingly, and typically for Unsworth, the women are at the heart of the story rather than the killer himself: an ‘ordinary, almost pleasant-looking man’ who rarely speaks throughout the novel.

Like Colin MacInnes or Jake Arnott, Unsworth is at home in the hidden sections of London life, and vividly recreates the worlds of the sex workers and gangsters who used the blackout conditions to their advantage (as one character notes, the blackout is ‘God’s gift to the graft. No more lights blazing all night long, everything nicely tucked away behind the curtains’). This is not a monochrome world though; there are pockets of frantic activity in among the gloom, and the mixing of social classes, nationalities and ethnic groups in the wartime city leads to the development of a thriving counterculture. The popularity of jazz and swing is nodded to in Unsworth’s chapter headings, which take their names from big band songs by the likes of Benny Goodman. These worlds all have their hidden codes (a lesbian character is referred to as a ‘well of loneliness’) which blend and cross-pollinate as the characters mix.

If there is a drawback with drawing on reality, it is that the hunt for the killer lacks a certain tension; this is no Agatha Christie story, with an entire cast of suspects. Still, Unsworth is able to weave in a set of intriguing subplots, which make Without the Moon more interesting than the traditional serial killer novel. Unsworth is always entertaining, an author with a genuine feel for youth culture and a sharp eye for detail, who is able to bring fresh perspectives to her subject matter. Without the Moon is another fine piece of noir writing which should appeal to anyone with an interest in London’s history.