It is not often that you can say a book saved your life. Yet, ironically, that is what happened to me where this book is concerned.
I first read "Psychopath" at 15, at a moment when I, like the eponymous psychopath Jonah Wrens, was suffering from deep-seated anger over abuses in my past. Needless to say, I was not driving around the country killing people, nor were my experiences quite as harrowing as his are. But like him, my anger was still directed at one of my parents for a profound betrayal that has resonated in my life ever since in sometimes ugly ways. It's cheesy to say, but "Psychopath" was the first book that made me feel seen, and its resolution felt like a vicarious healing experience, which I realize is a weird thing to say about a thriller, but nonetheless remains true. This is doubly hilarious seeing as I first picked up the book by chance at a bus station, looking for something to read. But since then, I have read it at least a dozen times, or listened to it. It simply had that profound an effect.
And no, despite what you might think, my identifying Jonah Wrens as the psychopath in this book does nothing to spoil it, because he is literally the first person you meet in the book, and you learn his name shortly thereafter. The point of this book is not "whodunit," but rather "why has he done it?" And while catching and stopping Jonah, a serial killer who picks up hitchhikers, slits their throats, and then takes their blood like a proto-Dexter Morgan, is the main point of the book, the actual mystery that the book revolves around is why he does what he does, and how to stop it.
I should add, by the way, that before reading this, I had never once encountered a Keith Ablow book, let alone the Frank Clevenger series writ large. Nor would anyone picking this book up have to be familiar with its context. Any connections to past books, such as the presence of Frank Clevenger's adopted son Billy Bishop, are explained expeditiously and thoroughly enough to make those previous books themselves an afterthought. Which, I suppose, is a sign that the author's craft worked too well, since I suppose he would ideally prefer that one read the rest of the series, too, if only for the paycheck.
Structure-wise, the book owes much to "Red Dragon" by Thomas Harris, insofar as it pulls the same trick of having its deuteragonists be a serial killer and the man charged with finding him. In "Red Dragon," those protagonists were Francis Dolarhyde, and Will Graham. Here, they are the already-mentioned Jonah, and Frank Clevenger, Ablow's regular protagonist. However, unlike in "Red Dragon," these men share a commonality that makes their game of cat and mouse that much more interesting: both are psychological professionals. In fact, one of the most interesting elements of Jonah's pattern is that his uncanny powers as a psychologist are inextricably linked with his compulsion to kill. In the course of this book, Jonah acts as a hero in multiple stories of other afflicted patients, and this tragic idea of a good man both cursed and blessed in his empathy makes him one of the most complex antagonists in modern thrillers.
But, of course, a killer is still a killer, and so Clevenger must find a way to catch Jonah, in a psychological dance reminiscent of Valjean and Javert from Les Miserables, if they were confronting each other over a therapist's couch. This battle, and what it unearths, builds into the novel's overarching theme, which is nothing less than a meditation on the power of parenthood, and the malignity of parental abuse, and how dispositive both can be in shaping a person's soul. It is not just Jonah and Clevenger whose parents come under the microscope in this respect: multiple other characters for whom both men are responsible reflect this theme, albeit in refreshingly different ways, which lends the novel a particularly effective focus. In fact, one almost suspects "Psychopath" of trying to make Freudians of its readers. If so, it may accomplish its task too well, because by the time this book is over, not only is the mystery of its plot solved, but the mystery of the human psyche feels just a little bit less impenetrable.