In which meghan realizes that just because she read a lot of true crime/serial killer stories when as a maladjusted eleven year old does not mean that she should be reading a lot of true crime/serial killer stories as a (still maladjusted) adult.

Can that just be my review? At least the murders weren't described so as to give titillating cheap thrills. At least each victim was named, and, if possible, a teeny bit written about them. So why do I feel so squicky inside for having read this book? I read that whole section of 2666 that was just a list of murdered women without comment. But this -- this I just feel dirty inside after reading it.

The Red Ripper by Peter Conradi went on sale September 27, 2016.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.