There was a time in my life that most of my reading was true crime books. Authors such as Ann Rule, Vincent Bugliosi, and Truman Capote were on my list of writers to look for when I went into the library every week. I like reading about criminals and how their minds work, so I was caught up in reading all about these people and their outrageous deeds of evil. Eventually, I had to stop (cold turkey) because I was having constant nightmares and I know it was simply not good for me to be immersed in all of that stuff for days on end. I still read an occasional true crime story, but not at the same frequency as before.
As I read Arsenic and Clam Chowder, I was reminded of this and how addicted I used to be. Thankfully, I read more eclectically (is that a word?) now. I do remember the books about Ted Bundy, Charles Manson and Jack the Ripper and how fascinating all this was to my curious mind. But now that I've read this one, I think I'll be content to wait a while before reading another one.
(I received this book from Pump Up Your Book! for review purposes. I received no monetary compensation for this review. All opinions expressed are completely my own.)