KILL FOR LOVE

A Los Angeles sorority girl finds fulfillment as a serial killer in Picklesimer’s bloody, satiric debut.

Bored with manicures and the attentions of boorish young men, and trying not to think about the pleasures of a juicy In-N-Out burger, increasingly psychopathic narrator Tiffany realizes that the only thing she really wants to do when a date takes her home is to stab him with a knife she finds conveniently left on a cutting board. That and consume a Pabst and a leftover chicken leg. The satisfaction this gives her leads to more slaughter, involving both guys she can rationalize deserve the punishment and those who are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. While she’s temporarily satisfied with a budding relationship with an older, richer suitor, he soon proves to be disappointingly human and less than totally addicted to her: When she looks through the windows of his house when he’s supposedly on a business trip and catches him watching TV and eating junk food, the romance takes a turn for the worse. Perhaps because Tiffany is too narcissistic to see anyone else as fully human, the other characters come across as more cartoonish than three-dimensional. These include the lawyer trying to maintain plausible deniability about Tiffany’s actions, the sweet roommate who may just be following in Tiffany's footsteps, the sorority “goody-goody” who is always insisting that Tiffany obey the rules, and the male psychopath who might give Tiffany a run for her money. Although the novel sometimes seems more outline for a screenplay than fully articulated work of fiction, and while it definitely isn't for the squeamish, it cunningly draws its premise out to its logical extreme and finds a convenient target in LA’s fitness and wellness culture.

Neatly flips the formula of the male serial killer on its bashed-in head.