Normal, by Graeme Cameron

NormalDon’t you just hate it when you think you know what a book is going to be and then you’re wrong in the worst possible way? Like, you think a book is going to be pretty decent and then you’re just staring at the pages wondering how you even got here?

Yeah, that’s this book.

To be fair, it’s not the worst book I’ve ever read. That would be very difficult at this point. But the only reason I finished it is because it took me like three hours to read and I was already two hours in by the time I realized it was not going to get better.

It started off so promising, though, if you like a certain kind of story. It’s a book about a dude with a girl trapped in his basement who then meets a girl he doesn’t want to trap in his basement, and now he wants to go straight but a) can he and b) can he before the cops show up? And I really did want to know the answers to these questions, at the beginning.

But then I started learning more about our unnamed weirdo narrator, and I was like, wait. Because it’s one thing to empathize with or root for an unrepentant serial killer or whatever, but it’s another to root for a guy who just kind of… does stuff? And this guy just does too much stuff. At the beginning of the novel he’s killed one girl and is dismembering her body when her friend shows up and so he kidnaps the friend and takes her to his well-built and well-hidden basement dungeon thing (the builder of which is buried nearby), and then brings her a friend to play with whom he then takes out into the woods to literally hunt with a bow and arrow, and then later he’s gonna maybe kidnap some girl but he doesn’t and then he’s not gonna kidnap some girl and then he kills her instead and forgets to bury her and I am like DUDE. Pick a thing and stick with it. It is a great surprise to me that he evaded the law for more than ten minutes ever, but he does it for days in the course of this novel.

It feels to me like the author just watched a bunch of Criminal Minds (not that there’s… anything wrong with that) and picked out all the criminals he liked or whatever and made them one dude. And then he picked out some choice FBI interactions with criminals and threw those in, too. There’s just no internal consistency for how anyone is acting, and it obviously bothers me SO MUCH.

On the plus side, I loved the ending, in which (are spoilers spoilers if I don’t want you to read the book anyway?) weirdo dude completely effs everything up, still manages to nearly get away with it, and then one last final thing ruins him. This part of the book is almost satirical in its humor, and if the rest of the book had felt like that I think I could have been completely on board with this as the funniest psychopath story ever told. But I’m pretty sure that’s not what he was going for (based on the interview at the end of my copy of the book), so.

At least I got it over with quickly (which basement friend cannot say).

Recommendation: For those who watch way too much crime drama and who remember not to take this book as seriously as it takes itself.

Rating: 4/10

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2 thoughts on “Normal, by Graeme Cameron

  1. jenkoudelka says:

    As the type of person who has watched almost every Criminal Minds episode and has a strange fascination with serial killers, I think I would constantly be comparing the plot events with how real life serial killers actually behave. Which is a shame, since even with the knowledge of your review I’m reading the plot summary and thinking “….this sounds exactly like the sort of thing I’d read and get mad at but I still kinda want to read it…..” Bleh. Maybe it’s time for me to finally finish the John Cleaver trilogy so I don’t end up wasting my time with this lackluster book.

    Also, I really like the cover. Great imagery with the trees/veins giving you a sense of creepiness without delving into the cliche.

    • Alison says:

      Right?? It sounds SO good. I say read it and pretend it’s satire and then you’ll like it a lot. 🙂 And I do love the cover, though the cover makes it kind of obvious that the book’s not satire, so… drat.

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