It opens like this:
Sometimes life is better than fiction. Is there any novelist who could have got this extraordinary story so perfectly right, inventing it: the violence at the heart of it, the suspense, the succession of revelations, the passions so raw and inchoate that they have a mythic force? And then there's the grand sweep of the narrative, beginning in the bleak poverty of an obscure cottage in the Forest of Dean, acted out finally on the national stage.
The rest is certainly also worth your time, and the review also features a wonderful photo of part of the crowd gathered outside the Gloucester Shire Hall upon Beatrice Pace's acquittal.
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