A lot of crime fiction comes at a story from the side of good – how can we catch the killer? – a novel rarely approaching murders from inside the mind of the baddy. This is what struck me as I browsed the shelves of Coles bookstore in Billings Bridge shopping centre in Ottawa over the weekend. Whodunits, rarely whydunits.
Crime fiction seems heavily weighted in favor of police procedurals. Plot is king, action is everything, but we rarely get inside the killing mind, beyond it serving the most threadbare of motives.
My own personal taste is a first-person narrative as I find it a great way of dragging me into the trenches of a good yarn and if it’s present tense all the better as it adds to a creepy feeling and a sense of being personally involved. That said, more traditional fare, like Robert Bloch’s Psycho, are able to give me the creeps.
Is there a reason why there are so few Killers Inside Me, Talented Mister Ripley’s or American Psycho’s?