There was that sense almost of a lost innocence. Even though we've had plenty of other serial killers in Australia before, there was something about the combination of the highway and the serial killing that felt very American and like a new frightening thing that had infiltrated our culture.
I really wanted to write a book in which the serial killer himself was an absence, and it was everyone else who was affected by him that we spent time with.
McFarlane's dexterous writing offers sharp, evocative descriptors, as when she lyrically describes a yellow skirt hanging in a tree as a 'limp flame,' or succinctly characterizes Biga's pitiful nature describing a misogynistic letter he once wrote: 'how lonely that seemed, to spell 'cunnilingus' right and 'specific' wrong.'
Though he lurks behind every chapter, Biga is not a mythic Boogeyman in the book. He is just a man who did terrible things. The story, McFarlane confidently assures us, lies in the lives of those who lived under the shadow he cast and are dealing with t
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