Amazon.com Review
Stewart O'Nan's
The Speed Queen opens on Oklahoma's death row. Marjorie Standiford, scheduled to die that night for the murder of 12 people, dictates the story of her life into a tape recorder. Before she goes, she wants to set the record straight. It seems that one of her accomplices, Natalie, has already produced a bestselling book on the subject, and Marjorie doesn't want to be outdone. Her tape will be sent to an unnamed writer known as the King of Horror with a list of titles identical to those of Stephen King.
It's evident why a horror writer might be interested in Marjorie's story--the details of her life are pretty darned horrifying. A deep love of cars is what attracts Marjorie to her husband, Lamont, in the first place; an unplanned pregnancy is what pushes them into marriage. In the early days of their love affair, driving around in Lamont's convertible with the baby in the back and doing a little speed on the side is enough, but possession leads to prison time for Marjorie. There she meets Natalie, who will complete their deadly triangle. Once on the outside, Natalie, Marjorie, and Lamont start mainlining speed, then dealing it, and before long, a landscape of drive-thru restaurants and convenience stores becomes the backdrop for a series of gruesome murders. Marjorie may not be the most reliable narrator, but she is an original one, and The Speed Queen provides one heck of a joy ride.
From Booklist
Guilt looks innocent in this latest novel by O'Nan, named one of Granta's 20 best young American novelists. Narrator Marjorie Standiford waits on Oklahoma's death row for her role in the infamous "Sonic" drive-in killings. America's "King of Horror" (a never-named Stephen King) buys the rights to Marjorie's story, and she is given a tape recorder and more than 100 questions to answer in the hours before her death. The questions range from the mundane ("What did we wear that day?") to the impossible ("Why did I do it?"). Each answer blurs the line between good and evil, which is easier to draw without human details. Marjorie's ingenuous and wry voice reveals her essential badness--a weakness for cars and speed, both vehicular and drug-related--and makes it almost understandable. As Marjorie says, "I was there but I didn't kill anyone." Technically she's right: she's the get-away girl who participates in crimes like she's watching TV. Her tragic road trip through America's quiet towns and highways lulls us into detachment, and innocence redefined. Deanna Larson
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