When I picked up Love Letters to a Serial Killer by Tasha Coryell, I’ll admit I was looking for something lighter than what I’ve been reading. One can only go so dark before they need to pull back and laugh a little. While I wouldn’t call the book a comedy, I will say that it was witty and bitingly sarcastic at times. The voice felt fresh and the subject matter felt new compared to the books I picked up and kept stalling out on (more about that in a later post). It was one of those train-wreck books that I kept itching to get at.

Letters to Serial Killers

The basis of the book is, as implied by the title, a woman who falls in love with an accused serial killer when she writes letters to him while he awaits his trial. This is based on an actual phenomenon referred to as hybristophilia (love of a criminal) and can be seen perhaps first in the Manson trials and later with Bundy, Dahmer, and Ramirez. It seems to mostly occur with women towards male serial killers and is theorized to happen for several reasons including the pinnacle of changing or taming a “bad boy”, nurturing the “boy the killer once was”, sharing in the spotlight of the media frenzy, and the notion of the perfect boyfriend — one who is locked away, requires minimal upkeep, and needs you.

The book touches on each of these reasons as it follows Hannah’s descent into obsession with William. While I have decided I want to read fiction rather than true crime, it was interesting to see how this real-life phenomena was taken into the realm of fiction. Hannah’s obsession felt very realistic and, while not logical, I did develop a sympathy for her obsession. I also appreciated the two other obsessed women, Lauren and Dotty, who showed the various ways a woman may choose to go down the hybristophilia path. Both of them seemed to touch the excitement of the case while holding the ability to return to normalcy as opposed to Hannah, who very much felt she was marked for life as the lover of a serial killer. The book often referred to the “scent” of these obsessed women — as if there was something off in their hormonal core that the rest of the world could smell.

But the fictionalization goes beyond just writing letters to serial killers and actually looks at the way that letter writing in itself can be a powerful aphrodisiac. Hannah lives in a world of the internet — information and communication are nearly instant. Social media is highly curated. All of these leads to a world where people seem more open and connected but are actually more lonely than ever. There is a certain watering down of attention when we get likes instead of actual feedback. But she is forced into slow, handwritten communication with William.

Her letters reminded me, in a lot of ways, of the letters I exchanged with my cousin while growing up. In each letter you compose, you are given uninterrupted space to express yourself. Because there is no reaction, you are given the space to tell more truths and share more secrets. Throughout the book, Hannah composes these letters in her head while she’s doing other things. She begins to see her life through the written lens, paying more attention to details she would usually overlook and, through this narration, creating an overarching narrative for her life.

On the other side of things, William is also pouring his soul into his letters. When she receives letters, she gets flattery that she can read back to herself any time she feels low. She also gets his “secrets” (though not the ones she wants) which builds a certain level of intimacy that isn’t usually found in spoken or instant text communication. She begins thinking about her life in the context of his letters, reshaping the frame of her awareness to fit things he experienced in his life. This awareness and structuring of understanding can be powerful when it comes to making sense of your life. It is one reason I think I loved letters so much as an adolescent. But it can be a double-edged sword, in some cases creating a framework that is far from reality — almost a folie à deux situation, as it does in this book.

The way Coryell seeds the letters into the story, first as full letters that Hannah writes and reads that slowly descend into her thoughts that permeate almost every paragraph, shows the power of letter writing on the psyche in a way that I think is perfectly fitted to the written medium.

Twisting the Romance in Serial Killer Fiction

The serial killer romance subgenre is huge. When I looked into my library’s online catalogue for serial killer books, I got almost solely true crime books or romance fiction, and though I have a smaller, limited library, there were dozens if not hundreds of options in the serial killer romance subgenre. These books tend to be formulaic. (Not knocking formulaic writing here, I also have my romance formulas that I love, the serial killer formulas just aren’t my jam). In these books, the main female character is usually an true crime afficionado or (more commonly) a reporter. Occasionally she is a detective. The male interest is either: the detective who ends up saving her OR the person she isn’t aware is actually a serial killer. (sometimes one in the same). The books are usually thrillers and go to show the “danger” of love and, ultimately, uphold the idea that you should be with a strong man that upholds the current American culture.

One of the reasons I can’t get into these books is that the main character is usually superhuman in some way, similar to the psycho-profiler books popular in the 1980s and 1990s. They aren’t just a reporter, but the best reporter. They didn’t just write a book, but they wrote a best seller. They aren’t just a true crime hobbyist, but one that the police can’t get along without. Giving a character special skills and putting them higher in social hierarchy gives the writer access to more believable extreme situations. But I find the characters whose only flaw is they work too hard a bit difficult to relate to.

Enter Hannah: she is messy. She is far from perfect. She’s coasting at a dead-end job where she’s not recognized and maybe doesn’t even deserve recognition. She can’t hold down a relationship. She can’t write the book she’s set out to write. In other words, at the beginning of the book I find Hannah not only more relatable, but more interesting than the average “perfect” heroine.

But Coryell doesn’t just change the main character, she changes the entire situation. Hannah starts out “hunting” the serial killer online through a true crime forum, but once William is captured and accused, she chooses to pursue him. Instead of her stumbling into danger, it is her putting herself closer and closer to danger, willingly and intentionally. If anything, the book is a character study in “main character syndrome” where Hannah will do anything to feel special and important in a world that tells us that all that matters is fame and the boring/routine life is the ultimate curse.

In some ways the book ends up supporting the same status quo societal standards as other books in the romance serial killer genre — that we should be focusing in on our own lives and building a family and community rather than seeking out fame and greatness. But it attacks it not through brute force, but through wit and cynicism.

A Critique of Modern Dating

Love Letters to a Serial Killer sets itself up to be a critique on modern dating. In the beginning of the book, Hannah is making the rounds on the dating apps. She continually finds men who have little or no interest in her inner thoughts and feelings and just want casual sex. The hookup culture ends up creating a value-vacuum in which she finds herself completely unworthy of love. Throughout the book she sees her most recent “boyfriend” fall in love with his high school sweetheart and give her the girlfriend status that she never got — the love and attention, the public claiming of their status — and this makes her spiral into a “what’s wrong with me!?!” that at first feels all too familiar to anyone trying to date in the 2020s.

This creates the opening where she would accept affection from anyone, even an accused serial killer. It’s played against William’s online dating attempts, which resulted in the death of his most recent date — a woman he was hopeful and excited about. Hannah’s internal monologue clearly makes the connection that any man she dates could be a serial killer, which captures some of the dating anxiety women today feel — that a good date is one that doesn’t end in rape or death. The bar is so low.

But the book doesn’t just critique the dangers and pitfalls of dating when it is reduced to a consumeristic “shopping” for the best product. Despite her disillusionment with modern dating, Hannah is surrounded by people who have managed to find love. Her ex and his new girlfriend are consistently happy throughout the book. Her best friend gets engaged and eventually married. But in order for them to have happiness in love, these people must cut Hannah, the single person, out of their life. Which shows how the coupling and prioritizing or romantic connections in modern society actually erodes any potential sense of continuity in community. Thus, in many ways, creating the loneliness epidemic that will make a person seek out intimacy anywhere they can, even with a serial killer. When Hannah eventually finds romance, she breaks ties with her life — geographically and socially — enthusiastically isolating herself with her dangerous new fiancé.

Without Letting the Woman Off the Hook

The book could have easily placed the blame for modern dating on men. It could have left it at, “Men are shallow and violent and dangerous.” At the beginning, this seems to be the book’s goal. After all, Hannah can’t see any difference between a serial killer and the men she’s been dating. In fact, the serial killer is the better option because he needs her attention in the way others don’t.

But I was pleasantly surprised that Coryell’s approach was more nuanced than that. While Hannah starts out relatable, throughout the book she becomes more and more unsufferable. She’s given chance after chance to do better at her job, but instead chooses to spend her work time researching a serial killer. This obsession gives her purpose that she doesn’t feel in her job, which works both as a critique of her job but also as a critique of her work ethic and willingness to fully engage in what’s in front of her.

This is seen in her romances. Because the story is told through her narration, we get a very sleazy, manipulative picture of her ex boyfriend. But as the story progresses and she constantly throws William’s openness and intimacy down a gutter chute in order to chase a feeling of importance, we begin to see that men are not the only ones corrupted by modern society. Hannah has also been corrupted by her need to be important and different. She doesn’t want to be loved, but to love someone that will make her special. Throughout the book she consistently rides a high of knowing William’s secrets that the court doesn’t know, that the true crime forum doesn’t know, that the other obsessed women don’t know, and that his family doesn’t know. She fails to see William as a person (even when he is acquitted and begins to take care of her in a very intimate, touching way) and instead sees him as a status. She fails to desire an intimate relationship and instead wants the thrill of being a “girlfriend.”

Ultimately, her desire for a serial killer — the thrill and danger along with the status and the “I can change him”, puts her life in danger. Not from her fiancé, but from the actual serial killer who, even when faced with death, she embraces willingly.

In this way, the ending feels sad but particularly satisfying. In the words of the prince: “All are punished.”

Overall, I found this book particularly satisfying to read. It not only gave a fresh point of view main character, but it also nailed the social commentary — for once not focusing on what creates a serial killer but instead focusing on the corruption of society that makes us love them.

A reminder, my serial killer novella Hold My Heart is out on May 27 from Ghost Orchid press!