Customer Reviews

The Serial Killers Club

5 star:		(8)
4 star:		(9)
3 star:		(9)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(9)

 

 

For those that thought this book was clever, funny, and a good read, I have yet to confirm that they were reading the same book as I. Not only did it not make me laugh, but I found myself actually rolling my eyes at the characters. They are shallow, with little development, which causes the reader to establish absolutely no relationship with any of them. The writing style is just shy of adolescent, with no literary charm at all. This was a total waste of my time, and the only reason I gave it one star was because it was about serial killers to begin with.

Okay, so I wasn't expecting "The Serial Killers Club" to be a brilliant work of fiction, not with a title like that. It was summer, I was in need of a fun book, and this one looked right up my alley. A cool premise, thrills `n' chills, a strong dose of black humor...at least, those were the things promised by the enthusiastic sound bites on the back cover. Now I suspect that the people who wrote those blurbs were forced to at gunpoint. I am so glad I borrowed the book instead of buying it, but I'd still like a refund on the time I spent reading this wretched, wretched novel.

Back to the "cool" premise. Our narrator, a generic working-class shlub, is attacked by a stranger in an alleyway one night. He accidentally kills the guy in self-defense, rifles through the corpse's wallet, and is shocked to discover that he's killed the feared serial killer, Grandson-of-Barney. (Like Son-of-Sam....get it? This is only the first example of the book's pathetic attempt at humor.) He also finds a dinner invitation from actor Errol Flynn, who you may recall has been dead for years. For no reason other than that the plot requires it, our hero flies to Chicago and attends the dinner, only to discover that he's stumbled into a club of serial killers. These "skillers" meet to compare past kills and plan future kills, and they all have movie-star aliases. (Richard Burton, Chuck Norris, Cher, etc.) Once again for no real reason, our hero joins the club, calling himself Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., or "Dougie." He covers up his lack of a body count by telling the other members that he has "killer's block" (are you laughing yet?), but some of the skillers become suspicious of him anyway, so he kills them. All this is explained in the rushed and awkward prologue. The main story kicks in when an FBI agent named Kennet Wade knocks on Dougie's door and informs him that he (Wade) knows what he (Dougie) is doing, but that he (Wade) will allow him (Dougie) to walk free if he (Dougie) kills the remaining club members.

This might have made for a bloody good thriller, in the hands of an author other than first-time novelist Richard Povey. Let's start with problem number one: I hated the characters. HATED them. God, how I hated them. Now, one might be expected to hate characters who murder folks for fun, but even bad guys can be charming and likable -- just look at Hannibal Lecter. But I can't think of a book with a bigger bunch of boring, whiny, hateful, childish, self-absorbed, obnoxious blowhards. The members of the club spend all their time either groaning about how their mommies treated them, telling miserable jokes, or viciously insulting each other. For variety, one character burps all the time. The dialogue is uninspired, repetitive, and unpleasant. And guess what? Dougie's just as bad! Our "hero" is a wimp, a wuss, and a toadie....until he needs to whack someone, and then he instantly transforms into an efficient, cold-blooded killing machine. Povey is so careless with his characterizations that he could switch everybody's names around without the reader noticing. Yeah, I was rooting for the serial killers to die....just so they'd shut their pieholes.

Anyways, poor Dougie must race to knock off the club members, who of course get more and more suspicious as their numbers decrease. Adding to the problem is the newest club member, Betty Grable, who's actually pretty sweet. Dougie thinks he might be falling for her, which is inconvenient, since he has to kill her eventually. To top it all off, it seems as if the club will get a visit from the Kentucky Killer, the Elvis of mass murderers, who leaves all his victims with a KFC bucket over their heads. (Somehow, I doubt this is product placement.) Povey leaves obvious clues that one of the characters is secretly the Kentucky Killer, and we're supposed to go along with it until -- gasp! -- a shocking last-minute revelation! I didn't care one way or the other. The narrative plods along to its conclusion with no joy, wit, or emotion. The murder scenes have the potential to be delightfully ghoulish -- one victim is force-fed gasoline and a lighter; another one perishes in a deep fat fryer -- but somehow, they're just as flat and boring as the rest of the book. The supposed romance between Dougie and Betty consists mainly of him thinking how nice she'd look if she'd just change her hair, put on some makeup, and get rid of the doggy smell. She's the only remotely likable character in the book, but it turns out that -- oops, don't want to spoil the ending. It's spoiled enough already.

I don't want to say nasty things about Jeff Povey, because he's a competent writer and this is just his first effort. Maybe "The Serial Killers Club" was like a nasty kidney stone he had to pass. But, man....did he have to share it with the rest of us? This book sucks.

PS: Povey's idea isn't even original. Fantasy author Neil Gaiman included a serial killers convention in his "Sandman" graphic novel way back in the early 90's. Gaiman's serial killers were engaging, sincere, scary, and funny. But everyone knows a comic book can't be superior to a regular book. That's why "The Serial Killers Club" is probably going to make way more money than it deserves. I guess all I can do is tell people, as bluntly as possible, to leave this POS on the shelf and spend their cash on something else. Trust me.

Well, this was a good book.

It's not great literature, but it was pretty funny.

I got a kick out of the satire.

Only 3 stars because I felt the main character could have been 'fleshed out' a bit more.

I'm not sure I've ever read such drivel in my life. Or maybe it's because in the past I would have thrown the book out long before the end. But I stuck it out because I wanted to share this review and I won't review a book unless I read the entire thing.

I picked this book up because it's up my alley and it sounded like an interesting premise. I also thought that - in the right hands - it could be one awesome book. Well, it most certainly wasn't in the right hands.

"Felixpath's" review covers most of my own disappointments with the book, so I'm not going to waste my time going into the details of how this book is such a piece of garbage. Where I don't agree with fellow reviewer Felixpath is where he suggests that Povey is a competent writer. Where other reviewers here suggest the book was an "easy" read, well, that's because the writing is at such a basic level. There's nothing intriguing or even polished about Povey's writing. It's serviceable at best, and sometimes that's okay if you actually have a decent plot or interesting characters.

But this book has nothing. It's seriously the worst joke I've read in years, and only serves to confirm for me that the publishing industry is becoming seriously screwed up.

The premise of THE SERIAL KILLERS CLUB, the darkly comedic debut novel by Jeff Povey, seems a bit far-fetched at first: a group composed of serial killers --- membership by invitation only --- meeting at a nondescript tavern in Chicago? It's a concept that, at first blush, would strain one's suspension of disbelief. But Povey, a skilled scriptwriter perhaps best known for his work on the BBC's "EastEnders," is onto something here. Human predators, by the very nature of their repetitive actions, are attuned to a different, amoral frequency. What if, in fact, they are all listening to the same one? Would they not feel the need to gather, to socialize, among their own kind? THE SERIAL KILLERS CLUB explores this premise, as well as the proposition that it would carry within its inception the seeds of its own destruction.

The novel is related through the voice of...well, we never do learn his real name. He is known to the members of the Serial Killers Club as "Douglas Fairbanks, Jr." --- each member takes the name of an actor as a pseudonym --- but his qualification for membership is a sham, at least at first. "Fairbanks" finds out about the club when he accidentally kills a serial murderer nicknamed by the press "Grandson of Barney," or GOB. GOB was attacking him, and he turned it around on GOB, much to the surprise of them both. In going through GOB's minimal effects, "Fairbanks" finds the invitation to the club and decides to go in GOB's place. The problem is that "Fairbanks" isn't really a killer. Well, at first he's not, but he learns that a couple of members are suspicious of him, so he has no choice but to eliminate them.

His problems increase when Kennet (no 'h' on the end) Wade, a very strange FBI agent, attaches himself to "Fairbanks" and encourages --- nay, commands! --- him to keep up the good work. What worries "Fairbanks" is that Wade himself may have a much stronger claim for membership in the club than any of the current members and could be set on eliminating the competition. "Fairbanks" is lacking in insight --- it is hilarious, in spots, as his observations and conclusions march in opposite directions --- but what he misses in that department is more than made up for in luck. As things explode all around him, he manages to emerge not unscathed exactly, but in better shape than he should.

Povey establishes himself as a quirky, unpredictable writer whose characters possess a worldview somewhat skewered but true to their own vision, at least as true as possible through somewhat cockeyed lenses. While I doubt there will be much of a clamor for a sequel to THE SERIAL KILLERS CLUB, Povey certainly will be worth a look no matter what his future may hold for him.

--- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub

The Narrator of this book, "Dougie," stops a serial killer and assumes his identity to gain access to a club of serial killers who meet to share stories and make sure nobody is targeting the same victims. Over four years Dougie has been forced to kill other members of the club because they discovered his true identity and because Dougie loves the club so much (he is the club secretary!) that he had no other choice if he wanted to remain a member, and remain alive. Enter an interesting character, and FBI agent, who forces Dougie to continue to kill all of the members in order to rid the world of serial killers. Contrary to what the reviewer (Harriet Klausner) directly below me has written, this is the actual plot of the book. Dougie does not join the club to kill all the members - in fact, he would much rather not kill anyone. He just loves the Serial Killers Club so much that it is now what he lives for.

Basically, this book has a crazy plot and even more random and interesting characters. This book is hilarious at times and the character interactions are classic. At times, this book is somewhat predictable, but not necessarily in a bad way. The story has a nice evolution from a narrative on killing the club members to a mystery about determining the true identity of a notorious serial killer whom everyone is talking about. It gets more fun when the normally easy going, life-loving club starts to get distressed about the quickly diminishing club member roster and the various killers start to point fingers and accuse other members. As these usually calm and collective killers get stressed because of a stronger and better killer is after them the story only gets more interesting. With killings happening left and right it is hard to imagine who is killing whom and why.

I can't imagine any of this ever really happening, but it is a lot of fun reading what might happen if a bunch of serial killers were "friends" and what events might transpire. Overall, I found this to be an enjoyable read, but I doubt I'll ever read it again.

I have no idea why anyone would distribute this. Characters were awful, story was awful. I put it down after a couple of chapters and will hopefully and most likely forget it completely.

This book was boring and lacked any and all emotion. You can see whats going to happen long before it does. His attempt to guide you in another direction to have a twist ending was obvious. If this book was to be acted out in real life, the characters would be played by cardboard cut outs because that's just about as much depth as any of the characters have.

Hmmm. Was I supposed to laugh while reading this book? The characters were terribly cookie-cutter and shallow and I got the feeling while reading this that it was right around junior high reading level.

I must admit it wasn't all bad. It was about serial killers, and it was a pretty short read. It didn't turn me off to the point that I couldn't finish it even if it did seem terribly juvenile. This isn't something I'll be likely to keep in my collection to read again though.

This book came up a lot in connection with the Jeff Lindsay's Dexter series but they are not similar in any way.

i read some reviews on here saying this was a rip off of Dexter. i read this before I ever even heard of Dexter and just want to say that it was entertaining and i enjoyed it as much as i did Dexter.