Based on interviews with William "Billy" Lester Suff, convicted in 1995 of torturing, maiming, and murdering twelve prostitutes in California, a psychological study of Suff traces his sordid career and explores his unflappable duplicity.
This author has no sense of what he's trying to tell us. He jerks us back and forth from the serial killing career of Bill Suff to his own devastating guilt at having killed his mother and best friend in a road accident. There seems to be no connection between the two. The author bemoans the way the serial killer he's interviewing messes with his head, but we never see it happen so that's kind of a puzzler. Worst of all, he makes the usual error of treating the killer like some kind of glamorous criminal mastermind and pays just about zero attention to the victims. I think he would have been better off separating this into 2 books, and throwing away the one about Bill Suff, who isn't worth the paper this book is printed on.
Horrible, adolescent-esque writing by an author who somehow manages to be more delusional and self-aggrandizing than the psychopath he’s interviewing.
On the author’s website, he claims the book was bestselling, and that the Boston Globe had compared his writing to Nabokov, which a quick Google search will reveal to be false.
Every page of the book oozes with a painfully obvious desperation for a movie adaptation, which explains why he exports so much crime thriller tropes into a case, character, and author that have 0 intrigue beyond the tragic victims, who are gleefully exploited by the author.
In short, he is your run-of-the-mill failed Hollywood types whose ambitions exceeded his median talent