Warner Books ?? 2006, 303 pages

The plot of Jeff Povey’s The Serial Killers Club is ridiculous. Our protagonist, targeted as the next victim of serial killer "Grandfather-of-Barney," winds up killing the murderer himself in self defense. Then, rather than calling the police like any normal person would do, he gets rid of the body and, posing as the killer, answers an invitation he finds in GOB’s wallet to join an exclusive club–for serial killers only, because even mass murderers need to relax with their peers now and then. The club’s members, who adopt the names of old film stars, meet in a public restaurant and tell funny stories about their recent slayings over dinner. (As luck would have it, their regular waitress–who apparently never needs the night off–is deaf.) Our faux killer, who adopts the name Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., finds that he likes the club so much that, yes, he’d kill to keep his membership.

[INSET

TEXT: The club’s members, who adopt the names of old film stars, meet in a public restaurant and tell funny stories about their recent slayings over dinner.] It gets even stranger when an FBI agent forces Dougie to take part in an unusual undercover operation. The body count is high. The gross-out factor is high. There are misunderstandings among the principals of the I Didn’t Kill Him, I Thought You Did! variety. What’s clever is that Dougie, who narrates the story, is so clueless: he may be able to beat the serial killers at their own game, but he’s too self-deluded to realize that they don’t like his company as much as he supposes. He’s also not as smooth with the ladies as he’d like to think.

Part thriller, part romance, this black comedy is one weird book.

Tags: book reviews, books, Jeff Povey, serial killers, The Serial Killers Club