Two rare books believed to be bound in the skin of a convicted 19th-century murderer are now on display at Moyse’s Hall Museum in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, reigniting debate over the ethics of exhibiting human remains in public collections. The books are linked to William Corder, the central figure in the infamous Red Barn Murder of 1827—a case that has fascinated and divided public opinion for nearly two centuries.
Corder was convicted and executed for the murder of his lover, Maria Marten, a young woman from Polstead, Suffolk. The crime, which allegedly took place in a barn where the pair planned to elope, became a national sensation during the Georgian era, drawing thousands to Corder’s public hanging in 1828. Following his execution, his body was dissected—a common practice at the time for criminals—and some of his skin was used to bind a book detailing his trial.
The first book has been a feature of Moyse’s Hall since the 1930s. However, last year, staff members uncovered a second volume on an office shelf, which they believed also contained Corder’s skin. Unlike the first, this second copy features skin only on the spine and corners. Museum officials believe a family with connections to the surgeon who dissected Corder’s body donated it about 20 years ago.
The practice of binding books in human skin, known as anthropodermic bibliopegy, was not unheard of in the 19th century. In the macabre tradition of anatomical documentation, it frequently served as a punishment for executed criminals or as a means to preserve medical texts. Today, the handling, interpretation, and display of human remains in public spaces raises significant ethical questions.
Museum staff, including heritage officer Daniel Clarke, defend the decision to display the books. They argue that these artifacts offer a powerful window into the past, highlighting not only the sensationalism surrounding the Red Barn Murder but also broader practices under the Bloody Code—a historical legal system that imposed the death penalty for a wide range of crimes. Clarke maintains that the display is not sensational but educational, giving context to the treatment of criminal corpses and how society once viewed justice and punishment.
However, not everyone agrees with the museum’s stance. Terry Deary, author of the hugely popular Horrible Histories series, has publicly criticized the exhibition. Deary, who once portrayed William Corder on stage, believes the murderer has been historically misunderstood and unfairly vilified. He has expressed discomfort with how the books turn a brutal death and dissection into what he sees as a spectacle. His concerns tap into a larger debate about whether museums should continue to display human remains, especially when they originate from individuals who may not have consented to such treatment—even if they were convicted criminals.
The ethics of skin-bound books have been questioned before. In 2024, Harvard University removed the human skin binding from a 19th-century book in its collection, citing the complex moral issues surrounding its origin. That decision adds weight to the discussion now unfolding in Suffolk, though staff at Moyse’s Hall say they have no plans to alter their display.
In Clarke’s view, confronting uncomfortable aspects of history is essential to understanding the past. The museum has previously received no complaints about the first Corder book being on view, although Clarke notes that other exhibits—such as displays of mummified cats linked to witchcraft—have sparked more controversy.
For some staff members, handling the books has been a deeply moving experience. Abbie Smith, a heritage assistant, recalled that the museum allowed her to hold both volumes on her first day. She said that if not told, visitors might not even realize the bindings are made from human skin. Yet, the knowledge adds a profound gravity to the experience.
Beyond the grim details lies a broader cultural significance. The Red Barn Murder has inspired a wide array of films, stage plays, folk songs, and radio dramas over the years, constantly reshaping public memory of the crime. This ongoing reinterpretation adds layers to the debate about how we treat historical artifacts and the people connected to them.
As the museum continues to navigate these ethical questions, the display is a striking reminder of how justice, punishment, and remembrance have evolved. Whether visitors see the books as historical documents or morbid curiosities, their presence provokes essential questions about the intersection of history, humanity, and storytelling.
