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The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death by Corinne May Botz (1-Oct-2004) Hardcover
The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death offers readers an extraordinary glimpse into the mind of a master criminal investigator. Frances Glessner Lee, a wealthy grandmother, founded the Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard in 1936 and was later appointed captain in the New Hampshire police. In the 1940s and 1950s she built dollhouse crime scenes based on real cases in order to train detectives to assess visual evidence. Still used in forensic training today, the eighteen Nutshell dioramas, on a scale of 1:12, display an astounding level of pencils write, window shades move, whistles blow, and clues to the crimes are revealed to those who study the scenes carefully. Corinne May Botz's lush color photographs lure viewers into every crevice of Frances Lee's models and breathe life into these deadly miniatures, which present the dark side of domestic life, unveiling tales of prostitution, alcoholism, and adultery. The accompanying line drawings, specially prepared for this volume, highlight the noteworthy forensic evidence in each case. Botz's introductory essay, which draws on archival research and interviews with Lee's family and police colleagues, presents a captivating portrait of Lee.
Unknown Binding
First published September 28, 2004
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About the author
Corinne May Botz
3 books6 followersCorinne Botz is a visual artist and educator based in New York whose practice encompasses photography, writing, and filmmaking. A sustained focus on space, gender and the body, particularly relating to women’s experiences, is central to her practice. Her published books combining photography and writing include The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death (Monacelli Press, 2004) and Haunted Houses (Random House/Monacelli Press, 2010).
Botz’s photographs have been internationally exhibited at such institutions as the Brooklyn Museum; Museum of Contemporary Photography, Chicago, Illinois; Wurttembergischer Kunstverein, Stuttgart, Germany; De Appel, Amsterdam; and Turner Contemporary, Margate, UK. She has had solo exhibitions at Benrubi Gallery and Bellwether Gallery in New York City; Hemphill Fine Arts in Washington D.C. and RedLine Gallery in Denver, Colorado. Her work has been reviewed in publications such as The NewYork Times, Foam Magazine, Bookforum, Art Papers, Modern Painters, Washington Post, The Boston Globe, The Village Voice, Exit, Slate, Time: Lightbox and Ciel Variable.
Botz earned her BFA from Maryland Institute, College of Art and her MFA from Milton Avery School of the Arts, Bard College. She is the recipient of residencies at Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture; Atlantic Center for the Arts; Akademie Schloss Solitude and Lower Manhattan Cultural Council. She has received grants from New York Foundation for the Arts and the Jerome Foundation. Botz is on the faculty of International Center of Photography and John Jay College of Criminal Justice (CUNY).
Botz’s photographs have been internationally exhibited at such institutions as the Brooklyn Museum; Museum of Contemporary Photography, Chicago, Illinois; Wurttembergischer Kunstverein, Stuttgart, Germany; De Appel, Amsterdam; and Turner Contemporary, Margate, UK. She has had solo exhibitions at Benrubi Gallery and Bellwether Gallery in New York City; Hemphill Fine Arts in Washington D.C. and RedLine Gallery in Denver, Colorado. Her work has been reviewed in publications such as The NewYork Times, Foam Magazine, Bookforum, Art Papers, Modern Painters, Washington Post, The Boston Globe, The Village Voice, Exit, Slate, Time: Lightbox and Ciel Variable.
Botz earned her BFA from Maryland Institute, College of Art and her MFA from Milton Avery School of the Arts, Bard College. She is the recipient of residencies at Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture; Atlantic Center for the Arts; Akademie Schloss Solitude and Lower Manhattan Cultural Council. She has received grants from New York Foundation for the Arts and the Jerome Foundation. Botz is on the faculty of International Center of Photography and John Jay College of Criminal Justice (CUNY).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 112 reviews
April 6, 2008
This one was a vast disappointment. The photography of the minature panoramas was at once top notch, beautiful intricate details, and also quite lacking, as the minatures were rarely-to-never seen in whole, so that their size could be gauged, and so that they could be appreciated for what they were. It reminded me of porn that focuses on genitalia, rather than people.
Moreover, the author spent way too much time quoting this and that, and the quotes were hardly ever pertinent to the material. It was not unlike the nerd who constantly interposes quotes into conversations solely for the purpose of looking well read and intelligent, rather than for any relevancy. One murder takes place in a red room, and in noting that, the author talks about the red room dreams in Twin Peaks, a H. G. Wells story, and then goes into a long "red room" sequence from Jane Eyre. None of these add anything to the text.
And the "detective" portion was likewise ludicrous. One that sticks out in my head is a diorama of Parsonage Parlor, wherein the female victim was wearing red and white clothes. In the detective portion, much is made of red and white being symbolic of innocence destroyed. Yes, yes it is, in poetic fiction. But I can just see myself as a rookie detective standing next to an old pro, pointing down to this victim and say, "Hmmm, red and white clothing. That's symbolic of innocence destroyed."
No. No, it's not. It's symbolic of the clothes she happened to be wearing when she was murdered.
All of these irrelevant asides fairly destroyed any pretense of actual detective work, and the book is greatly lessened for that.
Moreover, the author spent way too much time quoting this and that, and the quotes were hardly ever pertinent to the material. It was not unlike the nerd who constantly interposes quotes into conversations solely for the purpose of looking well read and intelligent, rather than for any relevancy. One murder takes place in a red room, and in noting that, the author talks about the red room dreams in Twin Peaks, a H. G. Wells story, and then goes into a long "red room" sequence from Jane Eyre. None of these add anything to the text.
And the "detective" portion was likewise ludicrous. One that sticks out in my head is a diorama of Parsonage Parlor, wherein the female victim was wearing red and white clothes. In the detective portion, much is made of red and white being symbolic of innocence destroyed. Yes, yes it is, in poetic fiction. But I can just see myself as a rookie detective standing next to an old pro, pointing down to this victim and say, "Hmmm, red and white clothing. That's symbolic of innocence destroyed."
No. No, it's not. It's symbolic of the clothes she happened to be wearing when she was murdered.
All of these irrelevant asides fairly destroyed any pretense of actual detective work, and the book is greatly lessened for that.
May 3, 2008
When we lived in DC for a few months we heard of this amazing museum of miniatures, open by appointment only, in the Office of the Medical Examiner in the murder capital of the U.S., Baltimore. David Byrne had mentioned it as one of his 10 favorite things in his hometown of Baltimore and when we went, with a special appointment weeks in advance, his name was just three before ours in the guestbook. The 25 or so diaoramas were made in exacting miniature by a Mother Jones looking bespectacled grandmotherly woman, a forensic scientist at Harvard. She even knit nylon stockings with thread like spider webs on two straight pins for several of them, and each is a scene of a murder, with all the clues scattered across the perfectly rendered 1940s noir-esque environment. And as an act of absolute love of her field, two of the dioramas were arson scenes so after making them with such care, she burned them as carefully, leaving the clues about for her students to decipher. The dioramas languished in a closet at Harvard before Baltimore purchased them and began using them for international conferences on forensics they host annually. The rooms were installed, with the help of a team of conservators from the Baltimore Museum---armed with tiny vacuum cleaners and dusters---in glassed-in cases in a small room adjoining the Med Examiners office. When we were there, back in 2002, I hoped someone would photograph them, as so many people would enjoy seeing them. Each room had a placard with the bare facts that the police were given, and viewers were challenged to solve the crimes based on the visible evidence they could see. What a rare combination of precision and care up against malevolence and sadness. The photographer who produced this book expertly captures all of it, and I highly recommend it to artists and anyone interested in mysteries and crime.
February 17, 2009
A big disappointment. It's photographs of meticulous miniature scenes, made by a woman who was a forensics professor to train detectives. So the very idea of that is rather cool, but that's about it. They took a quirky interesting thing and attempted to spin it into something dep and profound. The photos show the level of detail but are more artsy than revealing. They don't give any sense of scale and many things mentioned in the text aren't shown.
Then, there's the text which reads like a gender studies book from the 70s, about how the closed window may represent the female victim's circumscribed life, stuff like that. The descriptions of the rooms throw in quotes from all over the place that sound hip but don't seem to actually have anything to do with the scene. There are also a lot of editing errors, like referring to a location as "the premise" instead of "the premises". In one of the crime scenes there's a picture of an elk over the fireplace, and the text goes on about how there's a picture of a moose and what is the significance of a picture of the largest mammal in North America? Well, NONE, because it isn't a moose, it's an elk.
Most annoying of all, since most the rooms are still being used to train detectives, the solutions to the problems aren't included. It's like reading a mystery with the last chapter torn out.
We got this book as a gift, but if I'd seen it I certainly would have rushed to buy it because of its oddball/cool/true crime qualities. But actually reading it revealed its deficiencies.
Then, there's the text which reads like a gender studies book from the 70s, about how the closed window may represent the female victim's circumscribed life, stuff like that. The descriptions of the rooms throw in quotes from all over the place that sound hip but don't seem to actually have anything to do with the scene. There are also a lot of editing errors, like referring to a location as "the premise" instead of "the premises". In one of the crime scenes there's a picture of an elk over the fireplace, and the text goes on about how there's a picture of a moose and what is the significance of a picture of the largest mammal in North America? Well, NONE, because it isn't a moose, it's an elk.
Most annoying of all, since most the rooms are still being used to train detectives, the solutions to the problems aren't included. It's like reading a mystery with the last chapter torn out.
We got this book as a gift, but if I'd seen it I certainly would have rushed to buy it because of its oddball/cool/true crime qualities. But actually reading it revealed its deficiencies.
April 22, 2020
The backstory to these photographs and essays, of a series of hyper-detailed crime scene models created by an eccentric heiress-turned-doctor named Frances Glessner Lee, is explored with fantastic detail and nuance -- in a different book, Rachel Monroe's Savage Appetites. The essays herein are much less interesting, and the explanatory notes accompanying each model often contain filler material like generic quotes on human psychology. (By the end I was just skimming -- I really don't care that Botz believes that a painting of a moose represents "scrutiny and attention to detail" in "Native American symbolism.") Lee's work is morbid and compelling no matter what, but what I wanted after reading Monroe's book was to really get a chance to look at them. I'm sure they're a challenge to photograph, but Botz's pictures do what feels like an incomplete job. In some cases you don't get a needed wide shot, so it's hard to see how the details fit together.
Even more frustrating, the solutions to only five of the cases are presented here. We're told this is because the models are still used as a teaching tool, but come on! It's extra annoying due to the fact that even the explained solutions seem like they would need additional outside information beyond what's provided by the models.
I came to this book wanting to know more about a topic that Monroe brilliantly introduced and raised my curiosity about, and came away from it feeling like I understood Lee and her work less than I did before.
Even more frustrating, the solutions to only five of the cases are presented here. We're told this is because the models are still used as a teaching tool, but come on! It's extra annoying due to the fact that even the explained solutions seem like they would need additional outside information beyond what's provided by the models.
I came to this book wanting to know more about a topic that Monroe brilliantly introduced and raised my curiosity about, and came away from it feeling like I understood Lee and her work less than I did before.
March 9, 2025
In 1936, Frances Glessner Lee co-founded the Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard, aiming to established more rigid requirements for examinations of crime scenes and victims. Lee was also named a captain at the New Hampshire police department where she was in charge of education of the officers. To achieve this, she built 25 miniature dollhouse crime scenes at 1:12 scale, filled with detailed corpses and minute evidence.
The goal, Lee claims, wasn't to solve the scenes, but rather to learn to observe the correct information and ask the right questions. This means that the scenes themselves aren't always definitive, and—in some cases—unsolvable. The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death captures photographs of the surviving dioramas with a brief biography of Lee to lead the way.
Ultimately, The Nutshell Studies seems to want to do one thing (provide thought-provoking artistic photographs of the studies) while also trying to do another (allow for more detailed close-ups of these fragile, macabre little scenes). And while Botz mostly succeeds at the ~art of it all, it does a disservice to the latter. There are several scenes that are incomplete, with the detail-focused photographs neglecting significant elements of the whole. For some scenes, there are no macro photographs at all, which makes understanding the larger image impossible. It's truly a frustrating experience.
A secondary frustration was the reliance on literary and psychological allusions that don't seem to have any relevancy to the "case", as it were. This is likely another attempt to explore the artistic elements of creator mentality (especially as Botz heavily leans on the idea that Lee created miniatures because it was a very direct path from the sphere of the feminine that Lee was trapped within), but because these quotes are seemingly at random it's ultimately more messy than interesting or engaging.
While I'm glad I was able to pursue a copy (as I will likely never see the nutshell studies in person), I'm ultimately disappointed in what is missing from this book.
The goal, Lee claims, wasn't to solve the scenes, but rather to learn to observe the correct information and ask the right questions. This means that the scenes themselves aren't always definitive, and—in some cases—unsolvable. The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death captures photographs of the surviving dioramas with a brief biography of Lee to lead the way.
Ultimately, The Nutshell Studies seems to want to do one thing (provide thought-provoking artistic photographs of the studies) while also trying to do another (allow for more detailed close-ups of these fragile, macabre little scenes). And while Botz mostly succeeds at the ~art of it all, it does a disservice to the latter. There are several scenes that are incomplete, with the detail-focused photographs neglecting significant elements of the whole. For some scenes, there are no macro photographs at all, which makes understanding the larger image impossible. It's truly a frustrating experience.
A secondary frustration was the reliance on literary and psychological allusions that don't seem to have any relevancy to the "case", as it were. This is likely another attempt to explore the artistic elements of creator mentality (especially as Botz heavily leans on the idea that Lee created miniatures because it was a very direct path from the sphere of the feminine that Lee was trapped within), but because these quotes are seemingly at random it's ultimately more messy than interesting or engaging.
While I'm glad I was able to pursue a copy (as I will likely never see the nutshell studies in person), I'm ultimately disappointed in what is missing from this book.
July 8, 2020
In 1931, at the age of fifty-three, Frances Glessner Lee gave an endowment to Harvard to establish a Department of Legal Medicine, what we would today call forensic science. In the 1940s, with the help of the family carpenter (she came from $$$), she began building what she called The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death, intricate dioramas that depict suspicious deaths. The potential crime scenes were built precisely to scale and even included working doors and lights. Throughout the 1940s and 1950s Lee hosted a series of week-long seminars for homicide detectives and prosecutors that used these Nutshells as part of the curriculum.
Corinne May Botz's book almost gives Frances Glessner Lee and her fascinating creations the detailed attention they deserve. Richard B. Woodward's introduction is sloppy and inaccurate and an absolute mystery as to why it was included, but Botz's essay on Frances Glessner Lee is excellent. It's a detailed biography that includes interviews with her family members, but it's also a critical look at FGL's creations through an art theory lens. The essay has painstaking citations, which are included at the end. Don't be like me and go looking for them at the back of the book because there are spoilers back there. Though, admittedly, not many. Only five of the nineteen studies have had their solutions released to the public. The majority don't have answers. So don't go into this thinking you're going to sleuth out the solutions. These scenes aren't mysteries to be solved, but rather a collection of clues to gather and questions to ask. Which is exactly how FGL wanted it. These Nutshells were meant to help train investigators to critically examine crime scenes. The last thing Lee wanted was people to go around thinking there were any easy answers. Her studies were based on real murders, suicides, and accidental deaths, and it's not immediately clear which is which.
Botz's photography is extremely intriguing and brings out the exquisite detail in Lee's models, but sometimes the moody shadows make it too dark to make out fine details, or it's not always clear what angle a photograph was taken from, and so it's difficult to ascertain where it belongs in the physical scene. Occasionally, in her final observations of each scene, Botz will reference a detail that isn't available in any of the photographs, which is a further frustration. But I only complain because I wanted to see everything. The models are incredibly detailed, and I wanted to stick my whole head in there and stare. Botz includes multiple photographs for each Nutshell, starting with a long shot, and then a series of close ups, but multiple times I wanted another angle, another close up. At the end of each study there are often sketches of the scene that highlight certain elements worthy of further investigation, along with some dippy explanations of how investigators approach crime scenes. If you're at all familiar with mysteries or true crime or police procedurals, much of this analysis will seem very basic. Of course they're going to collect the victim's clothes or dig through the trash! Instead, tell me why that window is open!! And why the police didn't find it noteworthy!!! It killed me that it wasn't covered in the text. I'm still mad about it, and I read this book six months ago.
Recommended if you like unsolved mysteries and/or crafty miniature work with a dark side. At one point Botz calls the studies "murder dollhouses," which is completely appropriate, though of course Frances Glessner Lee probably would have hated it.
Contains: Scenes of simulated death, including fake blood and wounds, and child harm/death; ableist language in Woodward's introduction (crazy, paranoids, madmen). Honestly, just skip Woodward entirely.
Corinne May Botz's book almost gives Frances Glessner Lee and her fascinating creations the detailed attention they deserve. Richard B. Woodward's introduction is sloppy and inaccurate and an absolute mystery as to why it was included, but Botz's essay on Frances Glessner Lee is excellent. It's a detailed biography that includes interviews with her family members, but it's also a critical look at FGL's creations through an art theory lens. The essay has painstaking citations, which are included at the end. Don't be like me and go looking for them at the back of the book because there are spoilers back there. Though, admittedly, not many. Only five of the nineteen studies have had their solutions released to the public. The majority don't have answers. So don't go into this thinking you're going to sleuth out the solutions. These scenes aren't mysteries to be solved, but rather a collection of clues to gather and questions to ask. Which is exactly how FGL wanted it. These Nutshells were meant to help train investigators to critically examine crime scenes. The last thing Lee wanted was people to go around thinking there were any easy answers. Her studies were based on real murders, suicides, and accidental deaths, and it's not immediately clear which is which.
Botz's photography is extremely intriguing and brings out the exquisite detail in Lee's models, but sometimes the moody shadows make it too dark to make out fine details, or it's not always clear what angle a photograph was taken from, and so it's difficult to ascertain where it belongs in the physical scene. Occasionally, in her final observations of each scene, Botz will reference a detail that isn't available in any of the photographs, which is a further frustration. But I only complain because I wanted to see everything. The models are incredibly detailed, and I wanted to stick my whole head in there and stare. Botz includes multiple photographs for each Nutshell, starting with a long shot, and then a series of close ups, but multiple times I wanted another angle, another close up. At the end of each study there are often sketches of the scene that highlight certain elements worthy of further investigation, along with some dippy explanations of how investigators approach crime scenes. If you're at all familiar with mysteries or true crime or police procedurals, much of this analysis will seem very basic. Of course they're going to collect the victim's clothes or dig through the trash! Instead, tell me why that window is open!! And why the police didn't find it noteworthy!!! It killed me that it wasn't covered in the text. I'm still mad about it, and I read this book six months ago.
Recommended if you like unsolved mysteries and/or crafty miniature work with a dark side. At one point Botz calls the studies "murder dollhouses," which is completely appropriate, though of course Frances Glessner Lee probably would have hated it.
Contains: Scenes of simulated death, including fake blood and wounds, and child harm/death; ableist language in Woodward's introduction (crazy, paranoids, madmen). Honestly, just skip Woodward entirely.
March 22, 2012
I had to read this book after watching the documentary "Of Dolls and Murder" about Frances Glessner Lee's miniature crime scenes, and I'm glad I did the interlibrary loan option rather than spending money on it. On the plus side, it does cover all 18 surviving Nutshell Studies but Botz's coverage is haphazard, ranging from serious suggestions for forensic analysis to attempts at random symbology. (E.g., she highlights the print hanging over the bed in the Red Bedroom scene as "Moose Painting. According to Native American symbolism, the moose represents scrutiny and attention to detail." Um...no, that's a print of Landseer's stag "Monarch of the Glen" and not even a moose....And why don't you tell us more about the dead woman in the closet instead of rambling on about Jane Eyre?) Although the focus of the book is her photographs of each Nutshell, they are sometimes frustratingly artsy as well.
If you are going to spend money, buy the "Of Dolls and Murder" DVD http://www.ofdollsandmurder.com/ and just get this book through your local library afterwards. And I have no affiliation with the folks who made the documentary. Just found out about it through the Retronaut http://www.retronaut.co/2011/08/nutsh...
If you are going to spend money, buy the "Of Dolls and Murder" DVD http://www.ofdollsandmurder.com/ and just get this book through your local library afterwards. And I have no affiliation with the folks who made the documentary. Just found out about it through the Retronaut http://www.retronaut.co/2011/08/nutsh...
November 18, 2012
The 4 star rating is for the Nutshell models themselves, not the accompanying text.
February 11, 2023
Frances Glessner Lee was an heiress born in 1878 in Chicago, raised with all that a monied daughter in those years would have: charming skill sets like painting miniatures, needlepoint, sewing. Also raised without independence, self-determination and any chance at an education beyond what she'd need to be a wife and mother. She got married. She had 2 children. She got divorced. She moved away from her parents (but not the leash made of the money) and started making miniature dioramas. And she discovered a keen interest in criminal investigation. She has been called the mother of forensic science.
This book is photographed and written by Corinne Botz. She is a superb photographer and an advanced degree fine artist. I can't find any evidence that she has any background in psychology, psychiatry or human behavior analysis of any kind. The detailed biography of Frances Glessner Lee gets the facts down, but when Ms Botz enters the world of why, it goes quite odd. Embarrassingly so. Glessner Lee was creating study guides. Someone more qualified than a fine artist needs to meddle in motivation. Was she murdering domestic life? Ask Freud.
The photographs of the Nutshells are artistic (read, vignetted, soft focus, close up detail), so if you're looking to examine the scenes in toto, look elsewhere. Each scene has a synopsis at the back half, with a diagram of set pieces, but little to do with the crime itself. The miniatures are used to teach crime scene investigation and forensic science, but we don't get to follow along.
The introduction by Richard Woodward is awful. Dismissive, snooty and disrespectful; making short shrift of the contribution to forensic science Glessner Lee made. Neither a photographer nor artist, or a fan of either artform, he doesn't belong here.
I watched Of Dolls and Murder, written and directed by Susan Marks. A much better take on the effectiveness of what Frances Glessner Lee brought to awaken the study of forensic science, and launching the discipline of medical examiner. Before her, coroners were political appointees with no training and little experience.
This book is photographed and written by Corinne Botz. She is a superb photographer and an advanced degree fine artist. I can't find any evidence that she has any background in psychology, psychiatry or human behavior analysis of any kind. The detailed biography of Frances Glessner Lee gets the facts down, but when Ms Botz enters the world of why, it goes quite odd. Embarrassingly so. Glessner Lee was creating study guides. Someone more qualified than a fine artist needs to meddle in motivation. Was she murdering domestic life? Ask Freud.
The photographs of the Nutshells are artistic (read, vignetted, soft focus, close up detail), so if you're looking to examine the scenes in toto, look elsewhere. Each scene has a synopsis at the back half, with a diagram of set pieces, but little to do with the crime itself. The miniatures are used to teach crime scene investigation and forensic science, but we don't get to follow along.
The introduction by Richard Woodward is awful. Dismissive, snooty and disrespectful; making short shrift of the contribution to forensic science Glessner Lee made. Neither a photographer nor artist, or a fan of either artform, he doesn't belong here.
I watched Of Dolls and Murder, written and directed by Susan Marks. A much better take on the effectiveness of what Frances Glessner Lee brought to awaken the study of forensic science, and launching the discipline of medical examiner. Before her, coroners were political appointees with no training and little experience.
May 8, 2025
they don't make old ladies like frances glessner no mo
January 26, 2010
This book is amazing. Though the content is likely a bit morbid for most to consider it a coffee table book, had I coffee table, it would definitely be prominently displayed on mine. The book discusses the career of Frances Glessner Lee, a woman Corinne May Botz describes as: "brilliant, witty, and, by some accounts, impossible woman. She gave you what she thought you should have, rather than what you might actually want. She had a wonderful sense of humor about everything and everyone, excluding herself. The police adored and regarded her as their patron saint, her family was more reticent about applauding her and her hired help was scared to death of her."
Raised in an ultra-traditional, very wealthy family, Lee spent a good majority of her young life thwarted, though she was exposed to home decorating skills that would stand her in good stead when she began making the Nutshell Studies. Unable to attend college as she wanted, once her parents died, Lee started to come into her own, both metaphorically and literally, as she then had plenty of wealth to support her interests. She met a man by the name of George Magrath, a medical examiner who testified in criminal cases in New England. Magrath enthralled the young Lee, and it was through Magrath and his knowledge that Lee began to see what would become her life work. Read the rest of the review here: http://ireadoddbooks.com/?p=147
Raised in an ultra-traditional, very wealthy family, Lee spent a good majority of her young life thwarted, though she was exposed to home decorating skills that would stand her in good stead when she began making the Nutshell Studies. Unable to attend college as she wanted, once her parents died, Lee started to come into her own, both metaphorically and literally, as she then had plenty of wealth to support her interests. She met a man by the name of George Magrath, a medical examiner who testified in criminal cases in New England. Magrath enthralled the young Lee, and it was through Magrath and his knowledge that Lee began to see what would become her life work. Read the rest of the review here: http://ireadoddbooks.com/?p=147
January 13, 2018
Fascinating biographical history of Frances Glessner Lee and awesome photos of the Nutshells themselves. The dollhouse murder scenes are compelling, you could stare at them for hours. The author is clearly equally fascinated, but the introduction was written by a man who seems rather dismissive of the scientific work of the nutshells, suggesting that policemen who were invited to train with these dioramas of doom would have been confused (perhaps this is unintentional, but I found that even in the documentary Of Dolls and Murder, the male filmmakers seem vaguely to imply these scenes are outdated or somehow twee, unlike the female filmmakers and police officers who’ve trained with the Nutshells and found them valuable, sophisticated, etc.) It is as if some men don’t realize that they automatically assume this work is a meaningless hobby just because it was done by a woman - all these things which seem to me dismissive are focused just slightly away from the Nutshells and towards Lee herself. So although I wanted more pictures, more angles, more information, and loved the information about Lee herself, my enjoyment of the book was colored by male dismissiveness in the intro.
March 29, 2022
The first part of the book covers some basic biographical information about Frances Glessner Lee, but the majority of the book is dedicated to the nutshell studies. The bio is short- and truly focuses on Glessner Lee’s frustration to actually break free from the mold of “a woman’s place is the home”- and do something that really made her feel that she made a positive difference in the community. I know there is a whole crowd that will be up in arms about motherhood being whatever. But there are actually women out there that want to do more than just that… and at the time it was certainly hard for many women to do much. As for the nutshells, there is a great deal of photographer and you also get the information that was given to the police that challenged their investigative skills. You also get the author’s take on the various points that she felt were worth pointing out, using quotes etc… (Very feminist in flavor accenting the previous focus of Frances Glessner Lee trying to break out of the mold she had been kept in.)
The beauty of the book is truly its focus on the nutshell studies and some very nice photographs of Frances working on these items. They may seem quaint; but they really helped pave the way to get the police force and the legal system to look at a scene of death and to analyze the situation and preserve evidence. Sadly this book has gone out of print, so if you want one it will not be easy to find. If you want to know more on Frances Glessner Lee there is a recent book that focuses on her- and the nutshell studies effects called- 18 Tiny Deaths.
November 13, 2021
I enjoyed reading the foreword about Glessner's life and how she became involved with crime scene reconstructions, police, and founding Harvard's Department of Legal Medicine. I wish this part was a bit longer but I'm assuming there just wasn't that much information to give.
The photographs were fantastic. And the dioramas themselves were meticulously detailed. At first glance, they could have been actual crime scene photos.
I wish there was more information about how the police used these dioramas in training and what people who were accepted to these professional developments learned from observations. Did the police just humor her as a rich white lady who had no college education or police department contacts or did they find her contributions to their profession useful? These unanswered questions are going to make me wonder.
This is a book that would probably be interested to anyone who is interested in true crime.
The photographs were fantastic. And the dioramas themselves were meticulously detailed. At first glance, they could have been actual crime scene photos.
I wish there was more information about how the police used these dioramas in training and what people who were accepted to these professional developments learned from observations. Did the police just humor her as a rich white lady who had no college education or police department contacts or did they find her contributions to their profession useful? These unanswered questions are going to make me wonder.
This is a book that would probably be interested to anyone who is interested in true crime.
April 29, 2024
This is essential reading for forensic science/true crime fans. It documents Frances Glessner Lee's meticulously wrought "Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death." These are dioramas of violent deaths used to train police detectives on crime scene examination.
July 11, 2021
Incredibly interesting - not just the images of the nutshell studies themselves but the portrait drawn of Frances Lee, their creator.
September 6, 2021
Fascinating! I am sorry I missed seeing these miniature rooms when they were on display in DC. This book gives a taste of the real things.
June 21, 2014
Frances Glessner Lee was a woman who knew her mind from an early age. In 1878,she was born into wealth as the heiress to the International Harvester fortune and was determined not to be the typical female of the time. Denied college by her father, who believed ladies did not need an education, Frances was a life-long learner with attention to detail and manual skills.
Frances became interested in forensic medicine when her brother brought home a friend from Harvard who was a medical student with an interest in solving crimes. Thus began her life-long devotion to law enforcement. Frances built the Nutshell Studies as a training aid for investigations in the 1930's-1950's. They are minutely detailed scenarios of crimes intended to give investigators a chance to learn how to reconstruct what happened from a crime site. Talk about CSI??! The Nutshells are more than a little creepy. and the photos here are exquisite. They are still being used today.
After you read the book, make sure you find "Of Dolls and Murder" at your local public library. It is an excellent documentary and will fascinate you.
Frances became interested in forensic medicine when her brother brought home a friend from Harvard who was a medical student with an interest in solving crimes. Thus began her life-long devotion to law enforcement. Frances built the Nutshell Studies as a training aid for investigations in the 1930's-1950's. They are minutely detailed scenarios of crimes intended to give investigators a chance to learn how to reconstruct what happened from a crime site. Talk about CSI??! The Nutshells are more than a little creepy. and the photos here are exquisite. They are still being used today.
After you read the book, make sure you find "Of Dolls and Murder" at your local public library. It is an excellent documentary and will fascinate you.
July 27, 2016
I saw the documentary Of Dolls and Murder which prompted pulling this book out from the closed stacks at the library. Frances Glessner Lee created minature dioramas of crime scenes in the 1930s and 40s to help train detectives on observation and how to think more like medical examiners. This author, Corinne May Botz, did amazing photographs of these Nutshell Studies. I am totally fascinated by a society lady, the heir to the International Harvester fortune, who after her parents died, she got divorced, and her children were grown, spent the latter half of her life focused on improving forensic science.
January 5, 2024
All two stars of this rating are for the diagrams of the nutshells, and the accompanying pictures. The forward was sadly dismissive of Glessner Lee’s accomplishments, and lacked any and all appreciation for her clever, multilayered approach to attempting cultural and institutional change. The book itself has some odd design choices, and doesn’t quite stick the landing as far as organizational uniformity.
The History Chicks podcast introduced me to Frances Glessner Lee, this book gave pictures to accompany their descriptions, and I’m hoping Bruce Goldfarb’s “18 Tiny Deaths” will provide the additional detail, rigor, and cultural context I am searching for.
The History Chicks podcast introduced me to Frances Glessner Lee, this book gave pictures to accompany their descriptions, and I’m hoping Bruce Goldfarb’s “18 Tiny Deaths” will provide the additional detail, rigor, and cultural context I am searching for.
November 23, 2009
a neat little look at what happens when an intelligent, creative woman is faced with the oppression of gender expections; creepy death scenes in miniature. don't be fooled by the macabre surface; much of the book is concerned with gendered modes of creative expression. still you don't have to be a feminist to appreciate the craft and ingenuity of the nutshell studies. ms. botz photos are great, and each "study" represents a unique mystery. only a handful of the solutions are revealed at the end, since they're still used today to help law enforcement agents sharpen their sleuthing skills.
January 15, 2016
A really interesting read about the creation of a series of death-scene tableaux used to train law enforcement in how to notice, interpret and preserve crime-scene evidence. The backstory is remarkable, as is the creator of the dioramas. Really worth a look.
October 13, 2014
One of the odder and more fascinating books I have seen lately.
April 19, 2015
The perfect coffin table book for the woman who has everything.
April 19, 2020
The wife’s body is tucked in the bed and the husband is on the floor beside it. Both are bloodied, as is their daughter, dead in her crib one room away. On the kitchen floor, there is a gun and a bloodstain.
Three-Room Dwelling, as it’s called, is a diorama of a death-scene, one of eighteen created by Frances Glessner Lee using dolls and dollhouse accessories. The dioramas are collectively known as The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death. This same-titled book by Corrine May Botz is an in- depth exploration of the Nutshells, which were built in the mid-to-late 1940’s and based on actual deaths, some that were clearly crimes and others that were far more ambiguous. Murder? Suicide? Accident?
Lee was born in 1878 to a wealthy Chicago family. She longed to go Harvard, but her father forbade it. Instead, at nineteen, she married an attorney, with whom she had three children. The couple later divorced.
The central relationship in Lee’s life was with a Harvard classmate of her brother’s, George Burgess Magrath, who often visited the Glessner family on school breaks. He and Lee formed a lifelong friendship that deserves its own movie. Purely platonic, it was based on a shared passion for forensics. Magrath became a medical examiner in Boston and Lee would become known as “The Mother of Forensic Science.”
Lee’s purpose in creating the Nutshells was to train investigators to notice the details of a death-scene, from the obvious, like blood spatter and body positioning, to the intimate. Cigarettes crushed in an ashtray, the tilt of a victim’s shoe, the spread of magazines beneath a lighted lamp.
To this day, the Nutshells are still used as investigative training tools, yet they have also come to be appreciated as works of art. Botz’s book is a testament to both these aspects of Lee’s work. It’s comprised of multi-angle photographs of the Nutshells, witness statements, and analyses of the evidence.
Opening this book is akin to stepping into a movie theater. The Nutshells are exquisitely lit so that they appear to be at once sepia and in color, a strange and riveting effect. The accompanying essays are striking, white text on black pages.
While there are solutions to the Nutshells, they are well-guarded. Lee culled her cases from newspapers, from conversations with police officers and certainly from George Magrath. In order to protect the integrity of the Nutshells and keep them viable for training, she changed names, dates, locations and other identifying detail so that they are composites of actual cases. This means investigators of the day couldn’t do a check of archived newspapers and you won’t find the solves with a quick google search (I’ve tried).
The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death are extraordinary exercises in observation. Most of the victims are women. Most died in their homes. Many were on the down-and-out. Every detail Lee chose to include about their lives is deliberate. Every clue to their deaths is a tell. To study the Nutshells is to put aside their artifice and absorb Lee’s lesson. Whoever the real people were, what happened to them—what really happened—does matter.
Three-Room Dwelling, as it’s called, is a diorama of a death-scene, one of eighteen created by Frances Glessner Lee using dolls and dollhouse accessories. The dioramas are collectively known as The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death. This same-titled book by Corrine May Botz is an in- depth exploration of the Nutshells, which were built in the mid-to-late 1940’s and based on actual deaths, some that were clearly crimes and others that were far more ambiguous. Murder? Suicide? Accident?
Lee was born in 1878 to a wealthy Chicago family. She longed to go Harvard, but her father forbade it. Instead, at nineteen, she married an attorney, with whom she had three children. The couple later divorced.
The central relationship in Lee’s life was with a Harvard classmate of her brother’s, George Burgess Magrath, who often visited the Glessner family on school breaks. He and Lee formed a lifelong friendship that deserves its own movie. Purely platonic, it was based on a shared passion for forensics. Magrath became a medical examiner in Boston and Lee would become known as “The Mother of Forensic Science.”
Lee’s purpose in creating the Nutshells was to train investigators to notice the details of a death-scene, from the obvious, like blood spatter and body positioning, to the intimate. Cigarettes crushed in an ashtray, the tilt of a victim’s shoe, the spread of magazines beneath a lighted lamp.
To this day, the Nutshells are still used as investigative training tools, yet they have also come to be appreciated as works of art. Botz’s book is a testament to both these aspects of Lee’s work. It’s comprised of multi-angle photographs of the Nutshells, witness statements, and analyses of the evidence.
Opening this book is akin to stepping into a movie theater. The Nutshells are exquisitely lit so that they appear to be at once sepia and in color, a strange and riveting effect. The accompanying essays are striking, white text on black pages.
While there are solutions to the Nutshells, they are well-guarded. Lee culled her cases from newspapers, from conversations with police officers and certainly from George Magrath. In order to protect the integrity of the Nutshells and keep them viable for training, she changed names, dates, locations and other identifying detail so that they are composites of actual cases. This means investigators of the day couldn’t do a check of archived newspapers and you won’t find the solves with a quick google search (I’ve tried).
The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death are extraordinary exercises in observation. Most of the victims are women. Most died in their homes. Many were on the down-and-out. Every detail Lee chose to include about their lives is deliberate. Every clue to their deaths is a tell. To study the Nutshells is to put aside their artifice and absorb Lee’s lesson. Whoever the real people were, what happened to them—what really happened—does matter.
July 6, 2022
This book is a beautifully produced work; it begins with the history of the Nutshell Studies and their creator, Frances Glessner Lee; the second half of the book is what we're here to see, several pages devoted to the murder dioramas themselves.
The dioramas are absolutely fascinating. There's something so transgressive about these murder dollhouses, the dolls lying strangled or bludgeoned or stabbed - in a couple of cases, they're burned or hanged - in an eerie representation of the original victim, in the original setting, down to the cigarettes in the ashtray, the blood spray on the faded wallpaper. Truly labors of obsessive craftmanship.
Each Nutshell lays out the details of how the victim was found, some statements taken at the time, along with pictures of the diorama from different angles, and finally an overlay with important clues (possibly) highlighted and described. In only three nutshells are we actually given the answer; these aren't puzzles, they're learning tools, to teach investigators how to look at a possible crime scene.
I'm less of a fan of the essays and writings, although they were curated and compiled with a lot of care; obviously a woman in a position of authority at this particular time, in this particular field, using dollhouses to construct reproductions of (usually) femicides, often in a domestic setting, is open to a LOT of interpretation.
But let me put on my pedant hat now. In the last study, one of the highlighted objects is a reproduction of a painting, and in the notes the writer makes some comments about the symbolism of the moose.
Unfortunately it's not a moose. It's a copy of a reasonably famous (very famous in its time) painting, The Monarch of the Glen. It's fine that the writer doesn't know that (I'm a little embarrassed that I know it, but it's practically shorthand when setting a Victorian scene to hang that picture, so I've run across it many times) but not to know the difference between a moose and a deer? But ok, we're here to talk about murder, so what does it matter - ? It only matters if you want to insruct me regarding symbolism and you're not even talking about the right symbol. And now I wonder about the other things you told me, which I don't know enough about to fact-check.
I guess what I'm saying is, take the interpretation and the musing and the essays with a grain of salt. But take the Nutshells as they are; amazing art, fantastic workmanship, sorrowful memento moris; because these are all real people who didn't die well.
The dioramas are absolutely fascinating. There's something so transgressive about these murder dollhouses, the dolls lying strangled or bludgeoned or stabbed - in a couple of cases, they're burned or hanged - in an eerie representation of the original victim, in the original setting, down to the cigarettes in the ashtray, the blood spray on the faded wallpaper. Truly labors of obsessive craftmanship.
Each Nutshell lays out the details of how the victim was found, some statements taken at the time, along with pictures of the diorama from different angles, and finally an overlay with important clues (possibly) highlighted and described. In only three nutshells are we actually given the answer; these aren't puzzles, they're learning tools, to teach investigators how to look at a possible crime scene.
I'm less of a fan of the essays and writings, although they were curated and compiled with a lot of care; obviously a woman in a position of authority at this particular time, in this particular field, using dollhouses to construct reproductions of (usually) femicides, often in a domestic setting, is open to a LOT of interpretation.
But let me put on my pedant hat now. In the last study, one of the highlighted objects is a reproduction of a painting, and in the notes the writer makes some comments about the symbolism of the moose.
Unfortunately it's not a moose. It's a copy of a reasonably famous (very famous in its time) painting, The Monarch of the Glen. It's fine that the writer doesn't know that (I'm a little embarrassed that I know it, but it's practically shorthand when setting a Victorian scene to hang that picture, so I've run across it many times) but not to know the difference between a moose and a deer? But ok, we're here to talk about murder, so what does it matter - ? It only matters if you want to insruct me regarding symbolism and you're not even talking about the right symbol. And now I wonder about the other things you told me, which I don't know enough about to fact-check.
I guess what I'm saying is, take the interpretation and the musing and the essays with a grain of salt. But take the Nutshells as they are; amazing art, fantastic workmanship, sorrowful memento moris; because these are all real people who didn't die well.
October 6, 2017
My expectations of this book were completely wrong. I thought I would be fascinated by the photos but they were the least interesting part. I had very little hope for the accompanying text but it was an intriguing life story. (In fact, if elementary school Stacy had read this, I would have promptly picked her as the focus of my next biography paper.) I was prepared to face off against detectives and see how observant I am. Instead, the details are sparse and the answers are only given for a few dioramas, which was incredibly frustrating.
August 13, 2022
A fascinating glance at one of the more fascinating curios in the history of criminology - the dollhouse-sized Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death, turn-of-the-century crime scene reproductions by Frances Glessner Lee, a wealthy old woman with a passion for criminal medicine. They're supposedly still used today to train police officers in proper crime scene research and handling - though, to me, the most fascinating parts of them are how they serve like miniature, morbid time capsules. The attention to detail is absolutely spotless, down to brand names on the products in every kitchen cupboard, period-accurate fixtures and furniture, nothing escaped the carefully strict eye of Frances. This book doesn't so much give a proper overview of the models as it does give you the gist of the scene, fill in some details the pictures alone wouldn't elucidate and plant the seed of curiosity in your mind that might eventually lead you to the Baltimore museum where these models are still kept. Hopefully that seed sprouts for me at some point, I'm curious now.
September 27, 2018
These dollhouse forensic dioramas caught my attention when the exhibit was featured on television recently. Murder mysteries AND miniatures, two of my fave obsessions, I could not possibly resist this book. The photos did not disappoint, although I was captivated by the bio of the creator, Frances Glessner Lee, referred to as the "mother of forensic science". It is tempting to giggle at some of her macabre tableaux, grim scenes copied from actual crimes with dolls in the place of the victims, but Lee was by any measure a remarkable artist. To have painstakingly recreated lifelike details, like knitting tiny doll stockings (with two SEWING needles), is ample evidence to me of her skill and her determination to advance the science of criminal investigation. By all accounts, she did indeed create practical training tools for the Maryland police to do so, and her studies are reportedly still in use 50-plus years later. Surprisingly fun read.
April 30, 2021
A wealthy grandmother named Frances Glessner Lee founded the Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard in 1936 and later was made captain of the New Hampshire police. She had an eye for detective work and spent a ton of her personal fortune building eighteen dollhouses based on actual crime scenes. They were all built to a perfect “1 inch equals 1 foot” scale and include ridiculous details like pencils that actually write, actual correct headlines on tiny newspapers, and blinds that open and close. And the dollhouses are still used in forensics and detective training today. This book is a series of photographs of these fascinating, dark dollhouses. How did I discover this book? Well, author Jenny Lawson told me to read it. It spawned a dollhouse therapy project for her as well. Great coffee table book for your inner criminologist.
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