Killer on the Road

by James Ellroy

Martin Michael Plunkett is a product of his times -- the possessor of a genius intellect, a pitiless soul of brushed steel, and a heart of blackest evil. With criminal tendencies forged in the fires of L.A.'s Charles Manson hysteria, he comes to the bay city of San Francisco -- and submits to savage and terrible impulses that reveal to him his true vocation as a pure and perfect murderer. And so begins his decade of discovery and terror, as he cuts a bloody swath across the full length of a land, ingeniously exploiting and feeding upon a society's obsessions. As he maneuvers deftly through a seamy world of drugs, flesh, and perversions, the media will call him many things -- but Martin Plunkett's real name is Death. His brilliant, twisted mind is a horriying place to explore. His madness reflects a nation's own. The killer is on the road. And there's nowhere in America to hide.

Genres: Crime, Fiction, Thriller, Mystery, Noir, Horror, The United States Of America

272 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1986

About the author

Lee Earle "James" Ellroy is an American crime fiction writer and essayist. Ellroy has become known for a telegrammatic prose style in his most recent work, wherein he frequently omits connecting words and uses only short, staccato sentences, and in particular for the novels The Black Dahlia (1987) and L.A. Confidential (1990).

Reviews

[Paul Bryant · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is an early Ellroy from back when he was following normal rules of grammar and constructing sentences that had more than four words in them. It’s a serial killer story told in the first person, in the form of a long written confession, and Ellroy really lumbers himself by telling us on page three that “school records indicate genius-level intelligence” & so everything this nasty guy Martin Plunkett does has to be very very smart and, worse, his manner of writing has to demonstrate a genius-level mind, and this is not easy to do. And in fact it becomes tiresome.

It might be worth mentioning that your average serial killer is not especially bright, and one of the all time worst, Gary Ridgway, was thought by everyone as a very dumb guy. But he was able to avoid the cops for decades.

Anyway, this novel wasn’t especially convincing, all the simmering homosexuality-as-motivation psychology was plain weird.

However, peak Ellroy was just around the corner, starting the year after this one with The Black Dahlia. So forget this, start with that.

[Arcturus · Rating 3 out of 5]

James Ellroy ebben a kötetben egy kegyetlen sorozatgyilkost teremtett, belehelyezve őt főként a hetvenes-nyolcvanas évek Amerikájába. Nagyon ezt a korszakot idézi a könyv, ami nem is csoda, Ellroy egy korai művéről van szó: 1986-ban írta.

Rögtön az elején tudjuk is, mi lesz a vége, az érdekes itt (és szerintem minden krimiben) inkább maga az út. Martin Plunkett Los Angelesben született és gyerekeskedett, egy furcsa családban nőtt fel egyedüli gyerekként, ahol mindhármuknak, az apának, az anyának, és neki is voltak gondjai. Kétségtelenül Martinnak a legtöbb. Miután az apja otthagyja a családot és elköltözik messzire, Martin és az anyja közötti kapcsolat megszűnik létezni. A nő nyugtatókat meg egyéb gyógyszereket szed, gyakorlatilag drogfüggő, a fiú teljesen magába fordul, szinte sosem beszél, csak ha kérdezik, akkor is tömör válaszokat ad. Hideg, távolságtartó, megfigyelő. És rémült. De ezt a rémültségét jól álcázza. Teljesen a rabjává válik egy képregényfigurának, a szadista őrült Sötét Sebésznek, és eldönti, hogy olyanná válik, mint ő. A Sötét Sebész pedig végigkíséri hosszú útján, melyet egy Halálmobil névre keresztelt furgonnal tesz meg, és hatvankét halott embert hagy maga után. Legalábbis ennyi rajzszöget szúr a börtöncellája falán lévő nagy Amerika-térképbe. És nem is ő az egyetlen sorozatgyilkos, aki úton van...

Ellroy Martin karakterében egyesítette jóformán az összes ismert klasszikus amerikai sorozatgyilkost a hatvanas, hetvenes, nyolcvanas évekből. Sőt, szó esik a könyvben - elég szokatlan kontextusban - a hírhedt Ted Bundyról és Charles Mansonról is, de felbukkan Gacy, "a gyilkos bohóc" is, még ha csak említés szintjén is, ahogy az FBI új részlege is, amely a sorozatgyilkosokkal foglalkozik. A könyv szokatlan módon épül fel, és ez akár lehetett volna nagyon jó is. Plunkett, miután elfogták, nem volt hajlandó beszélni. Négy gyilkosságot tudtak rábizonyítani, amiért négyszeres életfogytiglant kapott, de gyanítják, hogy legalább 30 eltűnt személy halálához, meg több további, már megtalált holttesthez köze van. És nem is tévednek. Plunkett pedig börtönbe vonul, és ír. Megírja élete történetét, részletesen, közelről, plasztikusan bemutatva a saját gondolatait, de a gyilkosságok nagy része csak felsorolás-szerűen szerepel, talán fél tucatnyit, ha részletez.

Jellemző ez a távolságtartás az egész könyvre, miközben egy sorozatgyilkos elméjének legmélyebb bugyraiba látunk bele, megismerjük a vágyait, a gondolatait, a tetteit csak távolról látjuk, általában újságcikkek által. A naplóban ugyanis több tucat újságcikk, kivágás, sőt, rendőrségi jelentés és még a nyomozást vezető FBI ügynök naplójának részletei is megtalálhatóak. Az a pár gyilkosság, amit részletez, általában rövid, hideg és spontán. Mellőzi a bemutatásuk azt a mélységet, amit Plunkett lelkivilága kapcsán tapasztalunk.

Számtalan zseniális húzás és remek ötlet van ebben a könyvben, de összességében mégis csalódtam. A gyilkos számomra hiteltelen, talán azért is, mert legalább egy tucat ismert és (nálunk legalábbis) kevésbé ismert amerikai sorozatgyilkos egy-egy jellemzőjét gyúrta össze benne a szerző, és sajnos az ügynök, akinek alapját valószínűleg az akkortájt, 1986 körül Amerika-szerte ismertebbé vált John Douglas adja, szintén hiteltelen, mert teljesen olyan, mégis teljesen más, mint Douglas. Ellroy terve nyilván az volt, hogy veszi a 20. század második felének ismert sorozatgyilkosait, összegyúrja egy kemény, de beteg fickóvá őket, aki mindegyikből merítkezik egy kicsit, majd veszi az akkortájt egyetlen ismertebb figurát, aki ellenük, a sorozatgyilkosok ellen harcolt, és megalkotja a saját ügynökét. Rendkívül kényelmes, lusta megoldás. Mégis érdekes, amiből sok jó kijöhetett volna - sajnos nem sok jött.

Ha az egyes elemeket nézzük, zseniális ötletek, jó húzások. A szókimondó és távolságtartó áldozatkezelés. A sorozatgyilkos elméjébe való mélyebb belelátás. A rendőrségi jelentések, az újságcikkek, naplórészletek beleszövése a regénybe, miközben az egész maga egy napló. Az okos gyilkosságok, olyanok, amelyeknél hihető, hogy - főleg az akkori közegben - nem bukkannak a gyilkos nyomára. Ross karaktere.

Mind-mind olyan elem, ami nagyon könnyen jó is lehetett volna, és egyesével jó is volt, de valahogy együtt nem működött, legalábbis nálam, és ezt nagyon sajnálom. Ez a könyv egy erős közepes lett számomra, és nagyon ambivalens érzéseim és gondolataim vannak vele kapcsolatban. A legkevésbé sem bántam meg az olvasását, és az érdeklődésemet is fenntartotta végig, főleg amikor Martin fejében jártunk. A könyv pár részén ugyanis rengeteg az újságcikk... túl sok... bevallom, először ezeknek egy részét át is ugrottam - utána olvastam csak el őket, miután továbbmentem Martin "fejében". Nem használok sosem könyvjelzőt, kivéve az egyes könyvekhez hozzávarrt szalagokat, mert zavarnak olvasás közben (azért persze gyűjtöm a szebbeket :)), oldalszám-megjegyző vagyok, de sokszor nem pontosan, sőt, sokszor meg sem nézem, csak becsukom, elrakom. De azt mindig tudom, hogy fizikailag a könyv melyik részénél tartottam, a felén túl-e, és mennyivel, ezért odalapozok, és beleolvasok a szövegbe, olvastam-e már. Igen, volt már olyan, hogy nem jól emlékeztem, és csak akár 1-2 oldallal később tűnt fel, hogy én ezt már tuti olvastam... jellemzően azután következik ez be, ha éjjel, fáradtan, alvás helyett olvasok, vagy zavaró körülmények között, amikor kevésbé tudok figyelni arra, amit olvasok. Na itt is, végül is elolvastam az összes újságcikket is, mert egy-egy könyvletétel után azoknál folytattam, és csak az utánuk következő Martin-részeknél jöttem rá, hogy azt már olvastam korábban, noha a cikkek egy részét tényleg nem.

[paper0r0ss0 · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una buona idea (siamo a meta' anni '80) per un risultato non all'altezza: il viaggio in prima persona nella mente di un omicida seriale. Purtroppo oltre alle vittime designate, restano ferite gravemente la pazienza e la costanza del lettore. Un Ellroy non ancora all'altezza, la sua altezza, sbrodolante e compiaciuto, semina ripetizioni e lungaggini assassine, ma qualche bella pagina c'e'. Ellroy e' comunque Ellroy.

[Natalia Bas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Libro recomendado: ‘’El asesino de la carretera’’, de James Ellroy. Ediciones B. Asesinatos, psicología, erótico, LGBT, suspense…
Fue un descubrimiento interesante que nada tiene que envidiar a la famosa ‘’La Dalia Negra’’…
En este libro te encuentras con una narración sangrienta, desde dentro y desde fuera. Y es real como los mismos asesinos que salen en los medios de comunicación: para mí la cantidad y la brutalidad no excusan una muerte menos llamativa.
El tipo que nos explica su relato, tiene esos típicos problemas con los que muchos se hacen el loco: situaciones infantiles que los marcaron. Pues si todos fuéramos así por la vida, cuántos asesinatos habría de más… Y no le quito importancia, porque un niño que ya no ‘’funciona’’ es algo serio. Siempre me pregunto (yo iba para psicóloga, fijo) el porqué de tanta brutalidad. Vale que seguramente la vida no sería mejor al salir a la calle y ver que todo quisqui va bailando (como yo hace unos años…), quizás habría un exceso de mantequilla derretida y nos la pegaríamos al resbalar; pero también podría haber un estado medio… en el que muchos se creen que viven.
Pero el adulto, ya crecidito, tiene una calculadora y unos gustos demasiado brutales y detallados… como para creer que todo le funciona mal allí arriba. La maldad no tiene excusa, Laura. Y a eso yo le llamo ser consciente. ‘’Problemas’’ aparte.
También tenemos un montón de titulares que nos explican esos detalles múltiples, horrorosos, que vuelven a hacer que te preguntes, ¿es un ser humano?, ¿qué clase de humano es?... Aunque corre cada ‘’cosa’’ por aquí cerca…
En fin, resulta que no está solo, señores: resulta que la poli también tiene sus cosillas: placa con la que casi todo puede; y encantador pene… con el que mucho consigue. Algo que se puede deducir, visto lo leído; aunque sí, sorpresivo: no lo esperaba en este libro.

Más amor y menos odio, que el amor es gratis, y en cuanto lo pierdes... Aunque mi ‘’frustrada’’ psicóloga interior se pregunta: ¿todos los que ‘’quieren amor’’ lo valoran en verdad, al menos el significado de esa palabra?, y ‘’se responde’’… la mayoría no. Experiencia.

Muchos van por la vida excusando conscientemente, aunque lo disfrutan, su ‘’forma de ser’’; creyéndose mejores, o apaleados y con esa excusa, creyéndose aptos para apalear. Luego resulta que se creen enamorados y que la vida por fin… Pero, perdón: ¿no hablamos de seres sin remedio?

[Javier Casado · Rating 2 out of 5]

Si algo tengo que valorarle a este libro, es su intento de meterse en la cabeza de un psicópata, de un asesino en serie, que será quien nos lleve de la mano a lo largo de todo el texto, en un relato en primera persona. Ahora bien, lo que no puedo valorar (ni creo que nadie pueda… excepto quizás un psicópata) es si este intento refleja de forma exacta o no la psicología de estos individuos…

Pero esta incertidumbre sobre su rigurosidad no sería importante si el resultado fuese creíble e interesante. Lo malo es que, si bien creíble puede serlo, para mí su interés ha sido nulo. El texto resulta insulso, frío, y prácticamente no provoca emoción de ningún tipo en el lector. No es que uno pretenda sentir empatía hacia un asesino en serie, pero si leemos una historia escrita en primera persona, lo mínimo que esperamos es “entender” un poco a su protagonista. Pero no: ni le entendemos, ni nos importa. Empatía nula, cero. Texto frío e insulso. No tanto como para aburrir hasta el extremo de abandonar el libro, se deja leer, pero ni emociona, ni interesa, ni entretiene.

Poco más puedo contar, excepto eso: que por mi parte no veo motivos para recomendarlo.

[Matthew Wilder · Rating 4 out of 5]

Here is where Ellroy’s literary pretensions—I mean, ambitions begin. The book is still short and unsweet, like Ellroy’s earlier novels; but the effort to create a leviathan pulp narrative that will sum up his American moment begins here.

In truth, KILLER is more abstract and existential than it is period-specific; Ellroy twists Dostoevskyan dread into underground, kudzu-curling homoerotic knots. There is a ghastly old-school Freudianism at work here, gnarled into shapes that, at novel’s end, you won’t want to think about. KILLER has a number of similarities to Bret Ellis’ AMERICAN PSYCHO, though not its second-by-second physical terror; Ellroy is more interested in ideas than sensations or experiences. Is it as strong as Ellroy’s quartet of massive postwar potboilers? No; but as first person psycho narratives go, it sure is a dilly!

[?0?0?0 · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Killer on the Road" is possibly James Ellroy's best book, one that's sadly overlooked, forgotten, written off as "just an early work", and not a novel to attach as much admiration to as his larger, multi-narrative novels.

A fuller version of a review of sorts will appear soon.

[Chris · Rating 4 out of 5]

My brother gave this book to me for Christmas, and to be honest, I was a little bit hesitant to start reading it. Not because I thought it would be bad. On the contrary, all of my siblings are creative, intelligent and insightful people, and I would trust any of their reading recommendations without a moment's hesitation. I just can't always promise that I'll like what they recommend.

The book my brother gave me before that was Narcissus and Goldemund by Hermann Hesse. It wasn't a bad book, really.... it's just that I hated the main character Goldemund with a white hot passion and wished grave misfortune on him for the entire book. In fact, the main thing that kept me reading the book was the hope that he'd eventually fall down a dry well and break his legs, or perhaps get hit in the head by a two-by-four and live the rest of his life as a drooling moron. That the book aroused such great passion in me is a testament to the author's skills, although I don't think that was quite his goal. Let's just say that there were a few unpleasantly familiar themes that made it hard for me to be and objective judge of his actions.

Anyway, I figure my brother couldn't have known that, so I don't blame him. This book, however, more than makes up.

Killer on the Road is a book about a serial killer. Now I know what you're thinking - the serial killer angle has been done to death (HAR!). There are serial killers in all kinds of airport novels, comic books, movies, and TV shows. It would seem like there’s really no new way that you can do a serial killer, other than to have him use more and more horrifying means to kill people, and that’s all just flash. But trust me, even if you’re feeling a bit worn-out on serial killer fiction, I think you'll want to read this one.

The standard portrayal of a serial killer in most modern literature is that of a cipher - we don't know why he does what he does, and we don't really care. The recent TV drama “Dexter” is an interesting exception, of course, although if I were a gambling man, I would suppose that show owes something of its origin to this book.

The traditional serial killer is a monster to be hunted down and destroyed. Even when serial killer characters are handled well, they're still just foils against which we can play the police characters. Where the killer is a hyper-intellectual, the cop’s street knowledge and common sense will prevail. The twisted perversity of the murderer helps play up the straight morality of the cop – and society as a whole, by extension. Ultimately, of course, we just enjoy the chase in the sure and certain knowledge that we'll see the Bad Guy in jail by the end of it.

In this book, the Bad Guy is in jail from the first page. Already, the author has taken away that carrot, and so we have to readjust our expectations a bit.

Martin Plunkett is a serial killer. Over the course of a decade, he murders nearly 70 people across America until he is finally caught in New York. This book is his story, and his explanation of why he did what he did.

Ellroy obviously did a whole lot of research for this book, probably both from the law enforcement side of serial killing and the psychological side. There would be no way to write the character of Plunkett as thoroughly, convincingly and - to a point - sympathetically as he did.

Make no mistake, Martin Plunkett is a monster. He kills without hesitation or remorse, and he does it to satisfy urges that normal people shouldn't have. But at the same time, he is a human being. For all that his moral scale has been skewed waaaaaay off to the bad side, he still has worries, hopes and dreams. We get to see him grow up from childhood. He meets the circumstances and makes the choices that all eventually lead him to his vocation as serial killer. He didn't just wake up one day and start killing, any more than I woke up one morning and started teaching English. There is a chain there, a somewhat logical series of events that he follows willingly. Once he gets going, the murders become defining moments of his life, rather than simply the horrible acts of a madman. The story isn't about the dead. It's about the killer.

In the end, what made Plunkett what he was? That is, after all, what the book is ostensibly trying to figure out, and it’s the question we always ask when we see something on the news that horrifies us. We want there to be a reason for such terrible things, because if there’s a reason for a problem, then the problem can be fixed. If we know that violence arises from factors X, Y, and Z, then all we have to do is correct for those things and it’ll be done. Right?

The answer is.... we don't know. Was he a frustrated misanthrope, trying to get revenge on the world? Kind of. Was he an abused child who had no other way of expressing his childhood traumas? Sort of. Was he an avatar of true Evil, spawned by our corrupt and decaying culture? Maybe. It doesn't matter to Plunkett, and therefore it doesn't matter to us. He is what he is, and there's no getting around that.

Ellroy could be warning us against trying to find such simple explanations for terrifying things. That in our search for order, there will always be the anomalies that simply cannot be fixed. There will always be people like Plunkett out there, and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it. In that way, he’s defying the expectations of serial killer fiction – the killer will never truly be understood and will never truly be caught. He’s always out there somewhere, even if the Plunketts of the world are in jail. There will always be a killer on the road somewhere…

[Dimitrios Mamaloukas · Rating 2 out of 5]

Αυτό δεν είναι λογοτεχνία, είναι δημοσιογραφία παλπ εντύπου. Ο χ σκότωσε τους Α και Β τότε χρησιμοποιώντας το τάδε όπλο. Λίγες σκέψεις του ήρωα (σπατάλη της πρωτοπρόσωπης αφήγησης) είναι απελπιστικά λίγες ώστε να σώσουν το βιβλίο, το ίδιο κι ένα μίνι ημερολόγιο ενός αστυνομικού. Όταν ο Τζιμ Τόμσον έχει γράψει το "ο δολοφόνος μέσα μου" τι του ήρθε του Ελρόι να στείλει αυτό το κείμενο στο τυπογραφείο; αναρωτιέμαι. Ευτυχώς 6 ευρώ κ κάτι.

[WJEP · Rating 2 out of 5]

Silencer on a Colt Python? No way.
Killing for perverted sexual gratification -- Yuck.
Possessed by a comic book villain named Shroud Shifter -- almost as stupid as a satanic Labrador retriever.

[Emil · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is an early Ellroy book told from the killer's point of view. It is funny at times and uncanny at others.

Ellroy alternates between the first person narrative and police reports and newspaper articles. This form doesn't really do it for me a) because it doesn't do much for the flow of the plot, b) because Ellroy seems clueless as to what journalistic prose looks like. I read this in Sweden in 2021, so my knowledge of local journalism in the U.S. in the 70's and 80's is slim to none, but I'm pretty sure journalists didn't joke about victims like this.

They say that serial killers ruined the crime novel. To Ellroy's credit, Killer on the Road was written in 1986, when this was a new phenomenon. However, if Ellroys purpose was to portray the mind of a serial killer, he doesn't really succeed. Psychologically speaking, it's not a very penetrating portrait. But still an enthralling read!

[Noah Z · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very interesting Ellroy - the only one that breaks from his formula, and the last one before The Black Dahlia propelled him to success and cemented the formula for the rest of his career. Makes me wonder how else he would've branched off from the 50's LA detective schtick. His particular brand of insanity definitely works here, it's kind of a shame this is the only variation from the formula in his entire bibliography.

[FP · Rating 2 out of 5]

Como éste es de los primeros libros de Ellroy, falta su estilo de escritura característico que lo hace tan especial. Como consecuencia, este libro no es muy diferente de cualquier otro libro del punto de vista de un criminal depravado. Es entretenido, pero nada particularmente destacable.
Incluso tan temprano se pueden apreciar los temas de interés de Ellroy: policías corruptos, crímenes violentos, reacción ante la inmoralidad, psiques retorcidas, humor negro.

[James · Rating 2 out of 5]

Transitional piece by Ellroy as he moves from the early promise of "Clandestine" through the Lloyd Hopkins trilogy to the beginning of the great L.A. Quartet - "The Black Dahlia". Also known as "Silent Terror", this portrait of a serial killer is curiously flat and detached, with excessive violence but no real suspense or, and this is worse, style. I read it to be an Ellroy completist, and have no real wish to revisit it.

[Jens Rushing · Rating 3 out of 5]

A killer! The road! This book has it all.

[Josh Peterson · Rating 4 out of 5]

"There is a dynamic to the marketing of horror: serve it up with a hyperbolic flourish that distances even as it terrifies, then turn on the literal or figurative lights, inducing gratitude for the cessation of a nightmare that was too awful to be true in the first place. I will not observe that dynamic. I will not let you pity me . . . I deserve awe for standing inviolate at the end of the journey I am about to describe, and since the force of my nightmare prohibits surcease, you will give it to me."

Once when I was listening to "Riders on the Storm" by the Doors, I was stuck by these lines:
There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirming like a toad
. . .
If you give this man a ride
Sweet family will die
Killer on the road . . .
I thought "Killer on the Road" would be a great name for a short story; lo and behold, James Ellroy beat me to it (though the novel was first published under the name Silent Terror).

I picked this book up from a used bookstore while looking for the second book of the L.A. Quartet series, The Big No Where, so I could have some Ellroy to read in the meantime. Killer on the Road was haunting, chilling, repulsive, deranged, disgusting, and terrifying; all words I would have used to describe the other Ellroy novel I've read: The Black Dahlia. Those adjectives applied to that book in bursts, but in the case of Killer on the Road, the fictional memoir of a serial killer, the horror never stopped.

I loved the style the story was written in. Both this and the Dahlia are told in first person, but with such distinct voices. Martin Plunkett was calculating, intelligent, self-obsessed, calloused, and haunted. His matter-of-fact approach to describing the events of his life in the same tone as he described dozens of murders was chilling. The premise of his writing a memoir in a jail cell was creepy, picturing him alone with reference materials and a US map with red-capped pins marking each kill. I'm getting the heeby jeebies just writing about it.

We know from the get-go that Martin is eventually caught, but going through the fucked up events and choices of his life on the way to that eventual apprehension was the ride of a lifetime. Nightmares and delusions were described in very visceral ways; each murder and instance of stalking was very in-the-moment; the accounts of his sleepless nights, long drives, and ticking mental clock were uncomfortable (in a great way). I commented after reading Stephen King's Rose Madder that he always surprised me with new descriptions of violence and means of killing people; that applies here. When 10-12ish year-old Martin finds his mother dead in the bathtub and drinks some of her blood before calling for help, I knew I was in for something absolutely off the charts insane. That was followed by weird obsessions (such as with the comic character, Shroud Shifter, blonde couples, watching sex, etc) and immense prowling.

Some other chilling moments were the intermittent newspaper stories, police reports, diary entries, etc. of those investigating/speculating about the murders. At one point, Martin is quoted in a story as having known a victim, and he urges readers not to hitchhike. God, that was creepy. Similarly, after Martin meets a fellow killer, cop Ross Anderson, the string of stories that followed that encounter were equally upsetting, knowing that Martin sent him on a spree. I also really liked the journal entries of FBI Agent Dusenberry near the end, and how we knew he was zeroing in on Martin.

I really liked how Martin was struggling to unlock some hidden memory throughout most of the story. I was on the edge of my seat the entire book waiting for him to remember based on snatches of clarity (such as the wigs), and once he did, the memory he finally unleashes (of when he was 4 or 5) is perhaps the most disturbing part of the book.

Before I leave off with a quote, I'll just justify here that the only reason this is 4, not 5 stars, is that I was a little bit less driven to keep reading this one compared to The Black Dahlia. Not all 5 stars are equal, so maybe I should just bump it up, but I wasn't dying to go back to this every time I could, so for that reason I may leave it at 4. Incredible work, regardless.

Now, the chilling twin to Martin's opening lines that I quoted above:
"Scientists say that all matter disperses into unrecognizable but pervasive energy. I intend to find out, by turning myself inward and shutting down my senses until I implode into a space beyond all laws, all roadways, all speed limits. In some dark form, I will continue."

P.S. I imagined a young James Ellroy as the face of Martin Plunkett, so if I ever were to run into him, I may be very very uncomfy haha.

[Adam · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm used to James Ellroy novels being fairly dark and depraved, but Killer on the Road hit a new level. Following the exploits of a young serial killer from his formative years through his capture (which isn't a spoiler, it's the first chapter), this was hard to read at many moments.

While I would say the novel is somewhat lacking in narrative momentum, it still completely held my attention throughout. And certain moments were truly fascinating, albeit in a very macabre way. I haven't read all of Ellroy's works yet, but I still get a feeling that this one will stand out as something very unique once I have finished them all.

[Elliot Gonzales · Rating 2 out of 5]

Conceptually, Killer On The Road, is great. Following the POV of a serial killer sounds interesting and provoking, especially to crime thriller junkies, and not to mention it’s written by an acclaimed crime writer, James Elroy. (Which, I absolutely loved his previous book that I have read, The Black Dahlia.)

However, Killer On The Road just falls a tad flat and it may be due to being one of Elroy’s earlier works. The serial killer is a genius and he’s writing a memoir while locked up (story opens with him already captured) which results in top shelf vocabulary scattered about the pages that just distract you from the momentum of the story. Also, there are times it cuts to just newspaper articles and another cop’s journal. While those are creative and cool ideas, and definitely work here and there, ultimately it didn’t work here. There are chapters that are just articles on articles to the point it feels like you’re just reading a newspaper. Again, just distracting from the momentum of the story.

If Killer On The Road was written a bit tighter, had a slight character arc, and really focused on characters and plot this would be a lot better. The ideas are there. The plot is there. The characters are there. It just needed more fleshing out. This all resulted in a weird reading experience. Killer On The Road is one of those books where you lose interest, but at the same time you stick with it. At times it can be hard to put down, but when put down, it’s hard to pick back up. That being said, I won’t let this knock me off Elroy, I throughly enjoyed The Black Dahlia and will definitely check out more of his books. You can’t win ‘em all.

[Pascal · Rating 3 out of 5]

Early Ellroy, no masterpiece and definetely not on par with the L.A.-Quartett but recommendable if you like dark Serial Killer fiction from the POV of the killer (well, most of the time, in the end also of an investigator). In the german translation serial killer and mass murderer are used interchangeably, which I find rather cringy. I just hope this is a translation error.

[M. Marques · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had fun reading it. There are some flaws, sure, but “sweetie”, they’re mostly bearable.
By the end of it I thought it was weird and kind of lost the pace. The idea of having the POV of the killer, then the newspaper clippings AND the diary of the inspector… too much, and it didn’t add any value, it only hurt the story.

[Giuseppe · Rating 1 out of 5]

Si potrebbe ricapitolare brevemente così la lettura di questo romanzo (?): 🏀🏀!!!
Più che un romanzo sembra un resoconto della polizia per il giudice istruttore, il rapporto del coroner sul luogo dei delitti, l'eco della stampa per gli innumerevoli omicidi sparsi qui e la nel libro; il tutto unito al vaneggiamento di una mente fuori controllo racchiusa in un corpo con i poteri di VENOM.
Se questo è uno degli autori cult dell'attuale panorama della letteratura americana, Dio mi guardi dagli altri.....
Per onestà intellettuale devo però ammettere che qualche buon romanzo (Dalia Nera, L.A. Confidential e poco altro) Ellroy l'aveva partorito, peccato per questa caduta.

[Hernán Díaz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Martin Plunkett es una combinación de un gran intelecto, un alma despiadad y un corazón maligno. Desde temprana edad descubre el alivio que le supone la visión, el sabor y el tacto de la sangre tibia. Narrado a partir de las memorias del Asesino serial, de los diarios de un detective y de recortes de prensa se cuenta la historia de un oscuro ser humano que traza un sangriento reguero por las carreteras de Estados Unidos.

[Abzalon · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5

[Δημητρης Παπαγεωργιου · Rating 3 out of 5]

Το μοναδικο βιβλιο του Ελρου που δε μου αρεσε...η βιογραφια ενος serial killer....μετριο

[Brandon · Rating 5 out of 5]

A twisted ride along with, and direct insight into the psychology of, a brilliant and prolific serial killer as he leaves a trail of blood and carnage across snowy, forested highways and state lines. An early work of Ellroy's that did not yet showcase the sharp, staccato writing style he is now known for, the book still serves as a great example of his then nascent but clearly limitless creativity. Dark, brutal, and sexy - all at once. Combining one of my favourite authors and subject matters, this is up there for me with his other top books.

[Romain · Rating 5 out of 5]

James Ellroy se met dans la peau d'un tueur en série et nous raconte son histoire. Ce livre est le récit réalisé par un tueur de son épopée sanglante. La narration est donc à la première personne. Elle est ponctuée par des extraits de journaux, de rapports de police et du journal d'un enquêteur. Pour un livre de James Ellroy, il est très accessible car il y a peu de personnages — il croisera tout de même la route d'une célébrité plutôt flippante elle aussi: Charles Manson — , ou en tout cas ils ne sont pas présents très longtemps … Le tueur est un personnage complexe à la fois très intelligent et extrêmement violent. Il est imprévisible et souffre, en plus d'une enfance très difficile, de graves troubles psychologiques (schizophrénie).

Le travail d'Ellroy est fascinant, on a du mal à comprendre comment il a réussi le tour de force de se mettre, de manière aussi crédible, dans la tête d'un tueur en série. Le résultat est bluffant et glaçant. L'article Wikipédia consacré à l'auteur révèle que ce roman est utilisé comme référence dans les écoles de formation de policiers, c'est dire s'il est crédible. Difficile de laisser tomber le livre, pas par empathie pour le tueur, mais parce que l'on a tout simplement envie de connaître la suite. James Ellroy fait également très bien son boulot car les éléments externes à la confession (articles et autres documents) viennent entretenir le suspense en anticipant ou en revenant sur certains passages de la terrible équipée. Ces éléments contribuent largement à l'attrait assez malsain qu'exerce le livre.

N'étant pas spécialiste du sujet, je ne peux pas dire si le résultat est réaliste, mais en tout cas ce récit m'a bien plus impressionné que certains — et trop nombreux — films ou livres exploitant le filon des tueurs en série. Le seul qui, à mon avis et à ma connaissance, puisse tenir la comparaison est le American Psycho de Bret Easton Ellis. Les deux ouvrages sont aussi crus (aucun détail n'est épargné au lecteur) et dérangeants. En conclusion, un livre passionnant à ne cependant pas mettre entre toutes les mains. http://www.aubonroman.com/2013/05/un-...

[Mark Stevens · Rating 4 out of 5]

Who has something new to write about serial killers? Where is the plan to see if there’s a way to identify potential serial killers and, well, help them avoid following their urges? If we’re giving up on fixing climate change, can we do something about serial killers? Just a thought. The world would be a better place.

I recently read Maureen Callahan’s American Predator (more soon, absolutely terrifying) and John E. Douglas’ Mindhunter: Inside the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit (more soon, absolutely riveting) and you have to wonder why anyone even goes out any longer, particularly alone.

And then I watched Anna Kendrick’s film “Woman of the Hour” and started poking around online about Rodney Alcala. Investigators aren’t sure of the number of victims in Alcala’s trail of horror. He was only prosecuted and convicted for seven murders, but Wikepedia (and the epilogue information from the film) calmly mentions that the number might be as high as 130. That is not a typo.

And recently I read all four books in Meg Gardiner’s gripping UNSUB series (UNSUB, Into The Black Nowhere, The Dark Corners of the Night, Shadowheart) and if you do any research about the cases that inspired those novels the whole idea of being a hermit makes a ton of sense. What else are DoorDash and Hello Fresh for but to keep us safe?

And then I picked up the novel Killer Road by James Ellroy, published in 1986 (and also published under the title Silent Terror) and it starts out with a non-fiction “news” item from the “Big Apple Tattler.” It’s September, 1983. The item reports that “suspected sex slayer” Martin Michael Plunkett was arrested in the “sleepy town” of New Rochelle for the murders of “two sets of Westchester County lovebirds.”

More: “Dubbed the ‘Sexecutioner’ by local authorities, Plunkett is suspected of several other similarly brutal killings—murders that span the entire United States and go back a decade.”

And then we skip ahead to the next entry from the “Legal Precedents” section of the American Journal of Psychiatry. (Again, all asserted as factual non-fiction.) Publication date: May, 1984. We learn that Plunkett has confessed, has been sentenced to four consecutive life sentences, and is being held at Sing Sing. Law Enforcement agencies are eager to talk to Plunkett to help them clear unsolved cases, but Plunkett isn’t biting.

Next, a month later, an entry from Publisher’s Weekly tells us that Plunkett is writing an autobiography and, while he won’t be able to profit from the book’s sales, might help law enforcement with those unsolved cases.

Then we switch to Plunkett’s first-person point of view and Ellroy grounds Plunkett’s voice in contrast with the fate of two real-world killers:

“There is a dynamic to the marketing of horror: serve it up with a hyperbolic flourish that distances even as it terrifies, Then turn on the literal or figurative lights, inducing gratitude for the cessation of a nightmare that was too awful to be true in the first place. I will not observe that dynamic. I will not let you pity me. Charles Manson, babbling in his cell, deserves pity; Ted Bundy, testing his innocence in order to attract correspondence from lonely women, deserves contempt. I deserve awe for standing inviolate at the end of the journey I’m about to describe, And since the force of my nightmare prohibits surcease, you will give it to me.”

And then we go back to the beginning and Plunkett walks us through his upbringing and his calm self-awareness as an “experiment” kills his mother and there are plenty of indications that we’re in the mind of a sociopath, right down his matter-of-fact report that he gulped down “big handfuls” of his mother’s blood.

Are you in? Or out? Do you know why you’re interested? What you expect to learn. No, I couldn’t entirely answer those questions, either. We are definitely in the mind of a killer and, of course, it’s a good thing Plunkett is articulate and as good a writer as Ellroy.

And we’re off, so to speak, on a cross-country road trip. And we are deep inside Martin Plunkett’s head and, as others have pointed out, the question is Plunkett a product of nature or nurture? And also, why do we keep reading? We know he’s going to get caught (because of how the book starts out) and we see his crimes escalate, so why do we keep turning the pages?

We watch as Plunkett selects his targets, puts his plan in motion, and analyzes the crime scene after.

“I inventoried my person, touching magnum, spent rounds, stolen cash and plastic. The footprints and blood were fait accomplis; Fresh snow would cover them soon. Looking down at the dead man, I saw that his crown of snow gave him an air of the Romantic era, as if he were a fop in Beethoven’s time, disguising his ugliness with a powdered wig. That thought jarred me, and I leaned over and snapped a close-up of the back of his head. The camera ejected blank paper, and then the snow-crown image came through, I put the picture in my front pocket, flipped the man over and snapped, his eyes-bulging, mouth-bloody death mask. My memory was blipped again, and with six minutes down I scooped snow over the corpse until it was a pristine white mound. Finishing the job, I studied the face shot on my way back to the Deathmobile.”

Just another random killing and if you don’t think this kind of thing is possible, again, you need to read American Predator (Callahan.) What does seem a stretch is that Plunkett encounters a compatriot, a cop impersonator of all things, and you might think there’s no way but Ellroy makes the extended encounter perfectly creepy, gripping and uses it to launch Plunkett’s next wave of violence.

Ellroy makes a big point of the newspaper accounts about Plunkett’s string of violence. WOMAN FOUND MURDERED IN PORN DISTRICT. BODY OF UNIDENTIFIED MAN FOUND IN GARBAGE DUMP. WHEAT FIELD SHOOTING TROUBLES POLICE. We read the accounts. The myth-building. The effect is overwhelming, a tad numbing, and quite repetitive. We read various detectives’ memos, too, theorizing about the case—and urging bosses to shrug off the work because the victims, well, probably had it coming. “Off the record,” writes one Baltimore cop, “I think we should keep going through the standard motions, then bury this thing. Neilton was a hooker, this guy will never kill in our jurisdiction again … See you for the Orioles next Tuesday.” This kind of scrapbook approach to the novel gives the whole thing a true-crime essence; very effective.

Killer on the Road is riveting, until it’s not. We know Plunkett will be captured. And even if this one is behind bars that there are others out there, prowling around. To quote from Killer on the Road: “TICK, TICK TICK, TICK …”

[L.P. Ring · Rating 5 out of 5]

An early Ellroy (1986), 'Killer on the Road' follows a relatively linear narrative detailing the life of a serial killer travelling east across America from the late 1960s until the early 1980s. It's told primarily through the killer's own point of view although newspaper clippings and a chief detective's diary are included to add authenticity / other points of view to the story.

Michael Plunkett comes from a broken home. Brought up by his heavily medicated mother, he finds himself an outcast at school and barely tolerated by teachers. Starting as a peeping tom, Michael finds a way into simple burglaries and from there realises that he has far darker urges than simply watching people or engaging in petty larceny.

The first person narration really brings you close to the killer and some of the descriptions are reminiscent of Bret Ellis's later American Psycho in their detail. The development of the killer is told in often very stark terms although at the same time it is possible to relate somewhat to Plunkett in how confusing his life was and continues to be. With a little Charlie Manson thrown in to add some spice to the mix, 'Killer on the Road' probably isn't the most ambitious Ellroy you'll ever read, but it is a fascinating look into the development of a killer.

[Ed [Redacted] · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is my second time through this book and I think I agree with my earlier four star rating, though in retrospect it may have dropped a half of a star or so (I'm sure Mr. Ellroy will lose a lot of sleep over this). This is the best of Ellroy's early books that I have read. Though serial killer fiction is well past overdone now, it was pretty cutting edge when Killer on the Road was written. It is a chilling book that captures your attention and fixes it on something, and someone, very ugly.

This is a fairly graphic book, though nothing like the brutal violence of The Big Nowhere (in the eyesockets? Is that even possible?)

For those who demand books that don't involve dog murder, there is a fairly graphic example early on in this one. (You were warned Melki)

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wickedly evil, yet strangely compelling - Ellroy proves he can even keep you reading when the main character is a serial killer. I suppose you could compare it to "American Psycho", but it stands on it's own as a chilling diary of a mass-murderer.