My favorite books about the power of redemption

A true classic with themes as equally relevant today as they were over 150 years ago.

I first read it when in HMP Dorchester, a Victorian-era prison that is now closed. Told from the perspective of a student who unintentionally becomes a murderer, it compels the reader to think deeply about how the routes into crime can be many and varied, along with the nature of power.

Whilst very little of the book covers time spent in custody, before the end it shows the main criminal protagonist, Raskalnikov, as achieving a level of redemption. The book also discusses elements of criminology theory, which are still pored over by real university students.

It’s sometimes quite tricky to find a collection of short works that seamlessly cover the same topic and advance it in different ways, showing various perspectives.

In this book, there are twenty different contributors – all with direct experience of being in prison or on probation – and each piece explores what ‘hope’ really means. Such a powerful and important word, yet different for everyone; nonetheless pushing us all onwards when times are darkest.

Without hope, there is really no redemption, for it requires the ability to look ahead and see something or someone better. Seeing creative work from many different people in prison writing about such an important subject felt very rewarding, and the fact that all contributors also won a prize as part of a national writing competition bolstered the book’s impact.

Another classic, and quite possibly my favorite. It has been dramatised many times, though nothing beats the full novel.

Admittedly with a slow-paced start, the narrative soon grips you with the intensity of its plot and unforgettable characters – most prominent, of course, being the protagonist (Jean Valjean). After serving a long sentence, he then must contend with the prospect of a lifetime of prejudice and discrimination by being an ex-con, but he escapes this and, with the help of a kind bishop, sets himself up under a different name.

Here he transforms into Monseiur Madeleine, a philanthropic businessman who later becomes mayor, before being hunted down by the stern and relentless Javert. If I could name any literary ‘role model’, it would be Jean Valjean.

This dramatic tale has redemption at its very heart, resonating deeply with me, and what makes it even more fascinating is the fact it’s partly based on a true story. The themes are strikingly relevant today as they were when written.

The book is a sequel to one more famous, Papillon, and explores how the title character (which means ‘Butterfly’ in French) lived his life in South America following his escape from prison.

Aside from the adventurous aspects that kept me entertained whilst in prison myself (HMP Gloucester, another Victorian-era jail that later closed down), Banco demonstrates how a person can have a life, and make a positive difference, after jail.

It has one of my most loved passages in any book: “A man is never lost. Whatever he may have done, there’s always a moment in his life when he has a chance of retrieving himself and becoming a good and useful member of the community.”

Perhaps a surprise choice! For it tells things not from the perspective of someone who has committed a crime, or been in jail, but from that of a real prison officer.

In that sense, the writer has actually been in prison, and reading it makes you think that those who work in such places are in some ways serving sentences of their own. As a prisoner, it was sometimes easy to see ‘the screws’ all in the same way, but doing so is no less erroneous and one-dimensional than seeing all prisoners as the same.

Likewise, I found the book to succeed in portraying many of the misunderstood nuances of prison life, and the challenges those inside face – on both sides of the system – to achieve redemption.