Abstract
Almost 10 years ago, Jeff Ferrell wrote an article for Crime Media Culture entitled “For a ruthless cultural criticism of everything existing” (Ferrell, 2007). The title, which borrowed from Marx’s (1972) “For a ruthless criticism of everything existing”, was a bit of a misnomer: the article was really an ardent defense of cultural criminology and a cogent retort to Hall and Winlow’s (2007) article in the same issue, “Cultural criminology and primitive accumulation: A formal introduction for two strangers who should really become more intimate.”
Had Ferrell not drawn on Marx, Matthews might have: his prosaically titled Realist Criminology really is a ruthless criticism of everything existing—everything existing in criminology, that is. Arguably, the book is not even about realist criminology—at least, not the type of realist criminology for which Matthews is so well-known (e.g. Matthews and Young, 1986, 1992; Young and Matthews, 1992), and a point to which Lea (2015) alludes in his review of Realist Criminology. Rather, Realist Criminology is a brilliantly acerbic critique of recent developments in criminology; anodyne it is not. Readers should buckle up: it is a bumpy but exciting ride.
Chapter 1, “The successes and failures of modern criminology,” offers readers a “brief and somewhat caricatured history of criminology” (p. 26). Matthews traces the development of criminology over the past 40 years in an effort to reveal and respond to recent claims of criminology’s increasingly social and political irrelevance. As one might expect, Matthews is critical of both administrative and liberal criminologies: while administrative criminology is interested in policy formation, its theoretical and methodological limitations render it unable to perform this task effectively, while liberal criminology attempts to theorise criminological issues in an apparently radical manner but is conspicuously light on policy formation. (p. 26)
According to Matthews, the challenge, thus, is to develop a criminology that is critical, theoretically coherent, and policy relevant. This is no small task, but Matthews endeavors to set us on our way.
In Chapter 2, “A framework of analysis,” Matthews offers a guide for avoiding some of the pitfalls that have plagued both positivist and idealist forms of criminology. Drawing on the theoretical and methodological insights of critical realists, such as Margaret Archer, Roy Bhaskar, and Andrew Sayer, Matthews tackles such weighty issues as “the significance of social class,” “crime as social construction,” “the structure and agency debate,” and “working in and against the state.”
Chapter 2’s focus on theory is followed by Chapter 3, “The problem of method,” where we bear witness to Matthews’ trenchancy. Matthews dismisses “cookbook criminology” before turning to “the lure of empiricism” (he is especially critical of Loïc Wacquant to the point where one almost feels sorry for him), the difficulties of identifying causal processes, and Jock Young’s (2004) notion of “voodoo criminology.” After a mild section on ethnography, Matthews offers a reasonable blueprint for “doing realist criminology.”
In Chapter 4, “Rational choice, routine activities and situational crime prevention,” Matthews addresses the role of rational decision-making in administrative and conservative criminologists’ efforts to reduce or prevent crime. Matthews is in full stride here, contending that “this apparently no-nonsense, hard-hitting approach is full of unresolved issues and uncertainties, which … seriously detract from its claim to provide a rigorous and coherent theoretical approach to crime” (p. 75). While Matthews questions the utility of rational choice and routine activities theories—as well as whether they can be properly considered theories—he softens somewhat at the end of the chapter, acknowledging their currency in academic criminology and suggesting ways that they might serve as “useful heuristic strategy[ies]” (p. 93). Nevertheless, his identification of the weaknesses of rational choice and routine activities may leave those skeptical of the approaches—especially cultural criminologists—laughing and cheering. Such snickering would be premature, however, for cultural criminology serves as Matthews’ punching bag or whipping boy in Chapter 5.
In Chapter 5, “From cultural criminology to cultural realism,” Matthews considers the contributions of cultural criminology, offering a polite nod to its attention to the cultural aspects of crime and punishment. But if Muhammad Ali floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee, then Matthews stings like a bee and punches like the “big beast” that Winlow (2015) claims he is in his review of Realist Criminology. Matthews lambasts cultural criminology for failing to appreciate the victims of crime and the role of public opinion and social norms. On the issue of graffiti, which has occupied a prominent place in cultural criminological scholarship, Matthews observes: there is little recognition of the opposition which large sections of the public express in response to having neighbourhoods defaced with unsightly ‘tags’ which they see as a blight on the urban landscape, particularly in run-down inner-city neighbourhoods. The vast majority of graffiti ‘artists’ are not Banksys or King Rollos, nor are they engaged in producing colourful and decorative street art or murals. Rather, they operate in the mistaken belief that writing their initials in oversized letters is visually attractive and aesthetically appealing. (p. 98)
Such a smarting jab is followed by cutting blows: much of [cultural criminology’s] work on crime and deviance, particularly in its earlier manifestation, reverts to a ‘left idealism’ that romanticises the deviant while failing to provide a detailed examination of the operation of control agencies. Like much liberal criminology, it is governed by anti-statism and anti-correctionalism that push it towards an oppositional and abolitionist stance, which in turn undermines its ability to engage in the reduction of crime and social suffering. (p. 115)
Having beaten up cultural criminology in Chapter 5, Matthews turns to “the myth of punitiveness” in Chapter 6 and Jonathan Simon’s Governing Through Crime (2007) in Chapter 7. Matthews’ critique of Simon is particularly incisive. Simon’s basic thesis is that law and order have become such a prominent feature of social and political life that they now form a pivotal part of state strategy for governing civil society—a phenomenon that has created a “culture of fear and control” and a “less democratic and more racially polarised” America (Simon, 2007: 6). Whereas Matthews challenges Simon’s claims, asserting, for example, that “crime control and victimisation reduction have played a significant role in encouraging public interest and participation in the public process (p. 144, emphasis added), Matthews’ overall rhetorical approach in this chapter is a bit different than in previous parts of Realist Criminology, and he uses the final pages of the chapter to identify developments during and since the writing of Governing Through Crime to suggest that social, political, and legal regulation has taken a different direction to the one Simon describes. These developments include: (a) the changing social and political significance of crime; (b) the shift towards “pre-crime” and security; (c) heightened attention to anti-social behavior, incivilities, and disorder; (d) a growing focus on regulating health and lifestyle; and (e) changes in the nature of state control in an increasingly globalizing world.
Matthews does not make many friends with Realist Criminology. But then, that is not his goal. Rather, Realist Criminology serves as somewhat of an antithesis to Robert Agnew’s (2011) Toward a Unified Criminology: Integrating Assumptions about Crime, People, and Society. Whereas Agnew attempts to make peace between and bring together different criminologists and criminologies—to repair the perceived fragmentation in criminology and to disprove accusations of the discipline’s failure—Matthews seeks to separate the curds from the whey. Realist Criminology is heavy on the diatribe—at times as delightful as it is insightful, at other times beleaguering. Readers would do well to treat Matthews’ book as Matthews has treated criminology: slice and splice what is useful, discard the rest. The end result may be a leaner and more lithe criminology.