Tasha Coryell is no stranger to portraying deeply flawed and complicated women. Her 2018 short story collection, Hungry People, gratifyingly dissected the inexplicable desires for love, fame, money, children, and food, exposing the fleeting nature of satisfaction. With her debut novel, Love Letters to a Serial Killer, Coryell continues this chain of thought in a sharp-witted, barmy, and deliciously infuriating satire with a first line that immediately grabs your attention: “I didn’t plan to fall in love with an accused serial killer. Nevertheless, my wrists and ankles are bound to a chair, and I can only blame myself.” Perfect for fans of You, My Sister the Serial Killer, and How to Kill Your Family, Coryell blends an audacious thriller with a critical examination of society’s fascination with criminal figures while diving into identity, self-worth, and the search for connection.
Hannah, our not-so-loveable protagonist, is coasting through life. Thirty-something, single and dissatisfied, she views her small-town life as a dead end. Her friends are fading into suburban bliss, and she hates herself. She feels untethered and is noxiously consumed by the men she casually dates. Hannah is a polarising character, and Coryell does a wonderful job of curating a mildly likeable and wildly unlikeable protagonist, navigating a delicate balance between vulnerability and bitterness. Hannah has these moments of raw insight that verge on relatable. One moment, you might empathise with her, and the next, you might find her actions exasperating: the literary equivalent of that girl who swears she can handle one more drink but vomits into her handbag.
Hannah feels profoundly alone, driving her to seek connection in unexpected places. She finds herself drawn into a true crime forum where enthusiasts are obsessively investigating the murders of four women in Atlanta. Soon, she is consumed with the case and is intrigued by William, the alleged perpetrator, a handsome and wealthy lawyer. Motivated by pent-up frustration and anger, Hannah begins writing to him, unlocking a sense of power in a world where she feels she has no control.
Initially, writing to William feels like a cathartic exercise, a way to assert agency in her chaotic life. But as their correspondence evolves, so does their relationship, transforming from a simple exchange of letters into a complex emotional entanglement. Each response from William is more surprising than the first. He listens. He cares. For the first time, Hannah feels seen, and William’s attentive replies start to fulfil her deep-seated need for validation. They fall for each other; after all, “Boyfriends who were serial killers were still boyfriends.”
It is here we see a shift in power dynamics. Hannah initially intends to confront William to assert her moral stance and feminist beliefs. However, as the narrative unfolds, it becomes clear that William’s presence intertwines with her sense of self-worth. This is most poignantly shown through Hannah’s growing anticipation for his letters. Comparable to an addiction, this moves Hannah from asserting autonomy to relying on him for validation. Her admission, “At that time, I wasn’t worried he would kill me. I worried only that he wouldn’t find me beautiful,” starkly reveals her crippling self-esteem and emotional dependency on William.
Coryell clearly enjoyed exploring themes of self-perception throughout Hannah’s journey. Most notable was Hannah’s critical view of others and her dismissive attitude towards men who didn’t meet her standards, often ignoring shared attributes of herself. This highlighted a humourous, albeit tragic, skewed self-image. This self-absorption and hypocrisy are reminiscent of Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, where the protagonist’s self-indulgence and critical lens on others reflect her internal chaos. The very definition of a ‘toxic Queen’.
As Hannah’s obsession with William intensifies, Coryell cleverly uses her fixation on the murders as a metaphor for a broader contemporary issue: society’s glorification of violent figures. Coryell even references the actual case of Carol Boone, the woman who fell in love with infamous serial killer Ted Bundy and went on to have his child while he was on death row. Chillingly, Hannah’s comment, “If anyone was going to threaten my life, I wanted it to be William,” underscores how her search for connection led her to romanticise the very violence she once sought to confront.
Interestingly, Hannah’s correspondence with William becomes a journey of self-discovery and personal reflection. She is forced to confront aspects of her identity that she has suppressed or ignored, and the letters reflect her darkest fears and deepest desires – reading almost like a diary. As the plot unfolds, Hannah discovers that identity is not fixed but a constantly evolving construct shaped by life experiences and relationships, yet anchored by human nature.
Hannah’s obsession quickly escalates, leading to personal and professional upheaval: she’s fired from her job, packs up her flat, and heads to Georgia to join other true crime junkies to follow the murder trial. Hannah’s not worried. She gets a thrill from it, secretly sleuthing to unearth the truth – a self-appointed truth seeker. She figures she is safe. After all, William is guilty, and he’s in prison. However, when a fifth woman is discovered murdered, Hannah is flummoxed and left in a sticky situation. Soon, she finds herself entangled with William’s family, navigating a world of prestige unfamiliar to her while trying to understand her genuine feelings for William. Will she lose the thrill and attraction if he is found innocent? Is there something more sinister going on? This is where the fun really begins. The story takes a sharp, sudden twist from here, propelling it into unpredictable territory. The last few sentences alone are spectacular, shocking, and satisfying.
Love Letters to a Serial Killer’s darkly comic structure and sharp dialogue ensure that it’s filled with moments that make you laugh and groan equally. It’s also smartly written to provoke introspection about our own obsessions and how they can distort our reality. Coryell’s debut is refreshingly original and a promising first step from a writer to watch.
Love Letters to a Serial Killer is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore.
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Synopsis | Goodreads
An aimless young woman starts writing to an accused serial killer while he awaits trial and then, once he’s acquitted, decides to move in with him and take the investigation into her own hands in this dark and irresistibly compelling debut thriller.
Recently ghosted and sick of watching her friends fade into the suburbs, thirty-something Hannah finds community in a true-crime forum that’s on a mission to solve the murders of four women in Atlanta. After William, a handsome lawyer, is arrested for the killings, Hannah begins writing him letters. It’s the perfect outlet for her pent-up frustration and rage. The exercise empowers her, and even feels healthy at first.
Until William writes back.
Hannah’s interest in the case goes from curiosity to obsession, leaving space for nothing else as her life implodes around her. After she loses her job, she heads to Georgia to attend the trial and befriends other true-crime junkies like herself. When a fifth woman is discovered murdered, the jury has no choice but to find William not guilty, and Hannah is the first person he calls upon his release. The two of them quickly fall into a routine of domestic bliss.
Well, as blissful as one can feel while secretly investigating their partner for serial murder…
