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Strangler
Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
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January 30, 2021
What can you expect from a 1979 horror thriller about a serial killer set in sunny California simply entitled "Strangler"? Exactly what you imagine, vintage paperback fans. Exactly what you imagine.
We can start with detectives chewing on cigars and drinking Jack Daniels straight, showing up on the job with hangovers and grumpy enough to kick puppies, ogling the cleavage of their witnesses and the legs of their secretary between filing reports and investigating crime. You can almost smell the police station, full of Brut and Canoe, stale Marlboro filters, and Sanka sitting like motor oil in those little plastic cups nestled in muppet orange zarfs.
And the writing reminds us why PC culture became a thing. Gays are named after cigarette butts, if you know what I mean. Girls who fall victim to rape and worse probably did something to deserve it. A cop lights up a Camel in a psychiatrist's office and the doctor asks if he can bum one. Oh, and let's not forget that women are known as chicks, tail, and X's, and they chew bubblegum, have tanned their skin like football hide, reek of skunk grass and Coppertone, and say things like "heavy" and "far out."
The story shifts between third-person omniscient during the police procedural portions and the first-person perspective of the mentally ill killer. The latter is done quite effectively. His cognition has a short-circuit, full of clang associations and disorganized processing as well as command hallucinations. You can really sense that there is something neurologically, not just morally, wrong with this young man. Still, he comes across as charming, and he has no trouble luring victims into his VW, reminiscent of Ted Bundy. The kills are somewhat disturbing, and surprisingly sexually graphic for the time, so if you are triggered by sexual violence, stay far away. I should have known better once I learned that the debut novel for this author was entitled "Glory Hole."
Yes, this book is the Jungian archetype of 70s horror paperbacks, full of hard-boiled sleaze and murder on the inside, and adorned with spectacular eye-catching cover art complete with yellow-painted page edges. You don't expect real guilded edges for a buck ninety-five.
Speaking of price, you may still be able to find a copy of this book for about $2 in the wild, though I got mine in pristine condition for under 20 in the mail. There is no e-version available as of the time of this writing, but it is still relatively easy to find. For collectors and fans of vintage paperback horrors and thrillers from the golden age, this book is a must. For fans of crime fiction, psychological thrillers, and slashers, this story will also appeal. For the rest of you, it will certainly shock and make you appreciate just how far we've come as a society, and it may even provide you with a few unintended cheesy laughs and some very intentional queesy suspense. Though I really can't recommend this book very highly to most readers, I suspect anyone curious enough to run across a copy and read it will find themselves enjoying this short and fast-paced piece of ill-tempered nastiness against their better judgement.
We can start with detectives chewing on cigars and drinking Jack Daniels straight, showing up on the job with hangovers and grumpy enough to kick puppies, ogling the cleavage of their witnesses and the legs of their secretary between filing reports and investigating crime. You can almost smell the police station, full of Brut and Canoe, stale Marlboro filters, and Sanka sitting like motor oil in those little plastic cups nestled in muppet orange zarfs.
And the writing reminds us why PC culture became a thing. Gays are named after cigarette butts, if you know what I mean. Girls who fall victim to rape and worse probably did something to deserve it. A cop lights up a Camel in a psychiatrist's office and the doctor asks if he can bum one. Oh, and let's not forget that women are known as chicks, tail, and X's, and they chew bubblegum, have tanned their skin like football hide, reek of skunk grass and Coppertone, and say things like "heavy" and "far out."
The story shifts between third-person omniscient during the police procedural portions and the first-person perspective of the mentally ill killer. The latter is done quite effectively. His cognition has a short-circuit, full of clang associations and disorganized processing as well as command hallucinations. You can really sense that there is something neurologically, not just morally, wrong with this young man. Still, he comes across as charming, and he has no trouble luring victims into his VW, reminiscent of Ted Bundy. The kills are somewhat disturbing, and surprisingly sexually graphic for the time, so if you are triggered by sexual violence, stay far away. I should have known better once I learned that the debut novel for this author was entitled "Glory Hole."
Yes, this book is the Jungian archetype of 70s horror paperbacks, full of hard-boiled sleaze and murder on the inside, and adorned with spectacular eye-catching cover art complete with yellow-painted page edges. You don't expect real guilded edges for a buck ninety-five.
Speaking of price, you may still be able to find a copy of this book for about $2 in the wild, though I got mine in pristine condition for under 20 in the mail. There is no e-version available as of the time of this writing, but it is still relatively easy to find. For collectors and fans of vintage paperback horrors and thrillers from the golden age, this book is a must. For fans of crime fiction, psychological thrillers, and slashers, this story will also appeal. For the rest of you, it will certainly shock and make you appreciate just how far we've come as a society, and it may even provide you with a few unintended cheesy laughs and some very intentional queesy suspense. Though I really can't recommend this book very highly to most readers, I suspect anyone curious enough to run across a copy and read it will find themselves enjoying this short and fast-paced piece of ill-tempered nastiness against their better judgement.
Displaying 1 of 1 review