Michelle McNamara’s I’ll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman’s Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer is schmutzgut.
Who Needs Sleep, Anyway?
As a fan and follower of Patton Oswalt, I was very aware of Michelle McNamara’s work and, unfortunately, her death. The true crime writer and creator of the True Crime Diary blog, Michelle was neck deep in searching for what she dubbed the Golden State Killer, a man suspected of at least 45 rapes and 12 murders in the Sacramento area, his crime spree spanning from the mid-70s to 1986.
When Joseph James DeAngelo was finally caught, it made headlines and occupied much of my Twitter feed for over 24 hours.
Goodnight, Michelle. You did good. You aimed a light and helped the hunters catch a monster. (Photo credit @vonswank) #MichelleMcNamara #IllBeGoneInTheDark #GoldenStateKiller pic.twitter.com/NYrc7dN16k
— Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) April 26, 2018
That night, as I lay in bed after a day of work and a round of tennis, I bought and downloaded I’ll Be Gone in the Dark around 9 PM. I read until about 1 AM. When I sleep, I prefer my left side, but that means my back is facing the stairs that lead up to my attic bedroom. I couldn’t have my back to the single entry point into my room. Awareness was key. I moved my defense system—a black MagLite—within arms reach by my nightstand. Doing my best to sleep my right side, I slept fitfully with two bathroom breaks. When I awoke my hair was damp and curly, as I had sweat while my brain played weird and unsettling dreams.
Repeat that for two more nights while I finished the book. I’m tired.
It’s A Good Book, Brent
McNamara didn’t live long enough to see the Golden State Killer caught. She didn’t live long enough to fully complete I’ll Be Gone in the Dark, whom McNamara’s lead researcher Paul Haynes and a friend/colleague Billy Jensen helped to complete. And she didn’t live long enough to receive the praise her book deserves.
It’s a very good book. I think it’s important to point that out; since the topic is so crazy/newsworthy/titillating/awful, the book could be “meh” and still be a NY Times bestseller. But as a work of nonfiction, it’s so well done I found myself sucked into the prose and narrative choices with an ever growing respect for the skills of McNamara. Even if we had never heard of the GSK or if Patton Oswalt was just an accountant for Deloitte*, this book would be worthy of readers.
Ritz Crackers and Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion
I wondered if knowing whom the killer is would take something away from what McNamara had written. It hasn’t. In fact, knowing adds to my respect for McNamara and the dogged cops she details in her book, like Richard Shelby, detective with the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Office. It’s maddening how close they were to nailing the GSK’s profile. It’s heartening to know that McNamara’s and Shelby’s dogged search has an satisfying end.
A few minutes later, the same car returned, inching by, the driver again staring intently at the players. Shelby noted the make and model of the car. When the car circled a third, he jotted down the plate and radioed it in. “If he comes by again, let’s pull him over,” Shelby told his partner. But that was the last time the drive, a pencil necked blond guy in his early twenties came by. His ardent concentration is what lingers in Shelby’s memory….The license plate came back unregistered.
True crime isn’t a genre I gravitate towards. That’s probably because I’m a “worst case scenario Sally” and I imagine every bad thing I read about happening to me or to my daughter. McNamara deftly includes enough crime scene details to ping my anxiety, while making me think, “Yes, go on….” I don’t want to know the details, but I DO want to know the details. Vaseline Intensive Care lotion. Crackers. Teacups. Small dicks. “Tell me more! Wait, don’t tell me more.” What’s the German for that?
