Serial killers aren't that interesting
Serial killers aren't that interesting
Last year, I got to interview Elon Green about his book, Last Call, a true crime story about the queer men who were murdered by a serial killer in the 80s and 90s in New York. It’s not a book about the serial killer. I’ve read the book, and read it again in the way you have to read something to interview the author and not sound like I usually do when asked about a book—”it was good shit.” I know Elon from Twitter. I’ve watched him talk about the book, and I’ve talked to him about the book. And like I said, I’ve read the book. I can name a few of the victims. I can name the piano bars they frequented and where they were preyed upon by a killer. And I cannot tell you the name of the killer.
I can’t tell you his name because though I’m sure it’s mentioned in the book, Elon didn’t write about the killer. When I asked Elon why he never even interviewed the killer, he said “Because I don’t give a shit about him.” He wrote the men he did give a shit about, the men who were murdered. They were husbands and fathers, sons and brothers. They were out to a few friends or not at all. They had careers and passions and hobbies. They lived. I know this. I know intimate details of their lives that made them real, made me feel the loss of each life cut short, because Elon researched and studied and talked to their friends and survivors. Then he wrote a book, about each one of them.
Elon painstakingly detailed the infuriating mistakes the police made that allowed the killer to continue killing. He captured the city of New York, in the midst of the AIDS crisis, the bigotry and fear that made it so easy for a killer to hunt men. Why those men were often blamed for their own deaths. Why the establishment media ignored the killings, abandoning their duty to warn those at risk, to honor and remember those were killed. He wrote about those few who did care, the communities that tried to protect themselves, those who tried to do something, to do anything at all to save one life. Elon honored those people. And, above all, he honored those men who were killed.
I don’t remember a damn thing about the killer. I’m okay with that. I’m grateful to Elon for that. The killer’s not interesting. I’m not a scientist studying how to recognize or stop serial killers. I don’t need to know why he killed. It’s not that complicated. He wanted to and he did. Same reason any of them do it. I don’t give a shit. Maybe I’m biased because I hear “I’m obsessed with serial killers” in the same voice as I hear “I’m obsessed with cults.” And I know what the people who are obsessed with cults say next. I’ve read their emails and tweets, met them at book events, always demanding more information, more of that sexy child abuse.
I try to not base my entire opinion of someone on one of those lines. I like serial killer movies too. Silence of the Lambs is entertaining as hell. Clarice sparring with Hannibal Lecter, a brilliant cannibal with an English accent who’s also a brilliant psychiatrist foodie and snob? A cannibal named Hannibal? Fuck yeah. Good shit. And he’s not real. Neither are his victims.
The killer Elon didn’t write about, much like the killer portrayed in the TV show Netflix is insisting I watch because they threw 300 million dollars at Ryan Murphy, who I guess ran out of fun ways to portray poor people as stupid, and doesn’t like paying for content when he can just as easily exploit a tragedy—the killer isn’t interesting. Both were fucking losers, just creeps and loners whose presence made people’s skin crawl. They weren’t masterminds. They fucked up plenty and were allowed to kill again, to learn, to get better at murder, because the cops were bigots who fucked up evidence and didn’t follow leads and didn’t give a shit because who cares about a few fags, a few Black men, or children.
The most popular show in this country right now is series portraying the shitty life of a man about whom we long ago knew everything we needed to know. They did it because it’s easy money. Throw a yellow filter on that dusty shag carpet. Can we get some more wood paneling in here? Cut in some Whitney Houston. Do the thing where everything would be okay if anyone had a cell phone. The genx-ers love to tweet about when no one had a cell phone. The zoomers love to infuriate us by pretending they cannot fathom these ancient times. Imagine the memes. I’m guessing they spent a lot of time on the fridge. A greasy frying pan. His painful childhood of… divorce? Man, I guess we’re all just real lucky we didn’t grow up to be serial killers. We should watch some more. Understand. Empathize. Or laugh? I don’t know what you’re supposed to do with it.
I won’t be watching. So I won’t know, but I’m sure they found a way to list his victims’ names at the end of an episode. The victims were fathers and sons. They were someone’s kid. Some were still children. But in case you missed those names:
Steven Hicks
Steven Tuomi
James Doxtator
Richard Guerrero
Anthony Lee Sears
Raymond Lamont Smith, also went by Ricky Beeks
Edward Warren Smith
Ernest Miller
David Thomas
Curtis Straughter
Errol Lindsey
Anthony Hughes
Konerak Sinthasomphone
Matt Turner
Jeremiah Weinberger
Oliver Lacy
Joseph Bradehoft
The idea of serial killers as genius boogeymen is an epitome of the worst of our culture. The one who kills is interesting; the ones who die aren't. Of course these (mostly white) men aren't worth attention any more than your average dude who thinks he's clever flying the Confederate flag. They aren't apex predators, they're bottom feeders, hyenas who prey on the weak and vulnerable. None of them exclusively murder fit, privileged former Marines or anything like that.
If we really examined our bias in their favor, we'd have to admit that we are a society with a deeply unrealistic and unhealthy view of death and violence. It would be a massive and profound cultural re-evaluation. So of course it won't happen. Sorry for the rant, it's a sensitive topic for me. Obviously. Great work, as always.
Thank you for this. When I was an edgy teenager, I read about serial killers. Once you realize that their "brilliance" was killing people that cops don't give a shit about—all the way back to Jack the Ripper—the killer becomes boring. But people lap it up. Another reason I had to walk away from crime fiction. Like the cops, The majority of the readership only cares when the victims are middle class white people.