The Alienist by Caleb Carr #review

The Alienist by Caleb Carr

“‘They’ll want him to be mad, of course,’ Lazlo mused, not hearing me. ‘The doctors here, the newspapers, the judges; they’d like to think that only a madman would shoot a five-year-old girl in the head. It creates certain . . . difficulties, if we are forced to accept that our society can produce sane men who commit such acts.'” (from The Alienist, page 33)

This passage resonates with me and seems relevant, not only for the book’s major themes, but for our time, as well. Often, the response to a terrible crime is, oh, that person must be crazy, insane, mentally ill!

No one likes to think that someone who is sane could do something that heinous, because that implies that the criminal is one of us, like us, and that creates the possibility that we could become like him, capable of doing the heinous act we’ve just condemned. That means we’re capable of doing anything.

Disturbing, indeed.

Lazlo is the alienist of the title, a psychiatrist in a time when psychiatry was viewed with suspicion, a non-scientific, disreputable profession. Authorities ask him to investigate a horrific murder of a young male prostitute. Along with a ragtag assortment of other people, he works to create a profile of the murderer from the details of the murder victim’s body and circumstances.

Back when I was starting to write fiction (in high school), I heard wonderful things about this novel. It piqued my interest, but I never read it until now.

I don’t know how to rate this book.

On the one hand, it held my attention for the two days I spent reading it.

I enjoyed the historical details, as well as the exploration of contemporary ideas about criminal behavior, mental illness, and the intersection of the two. The young victims are male child prostitutes. I found the contemporary attitudes toward sex trafficking interesting. It’s tragic that the United States preferred to ignore both child prostitution and the poverty that drove many kids to sell themselves. Carr’s novel brought the flat, impersonal facts in a history book alive for me.

On the other, I disliked the detailed description of the murder victims’ bodies.

It was disturbing, intentionally so.  It was also necessary, given that the entire premise revolved around Lazlo & company’s attempt to profile the murderer based on the details of the murders (including the mutilated bodies).

But here’s my question regarding this book and other murder mysteries:

Is using murder for entertainment a good thing?

(I could apply the question to any terrible thing, such as rape, suicide, war, etc.) Does it desensitize the reader to the horrible nature of ending another person’s life, leading to a callous attitude when confronted with this in real life? Or is there a benefit to fictionalizing crimes? Does it depend upon the author’s attitude or motivation?

I’m not sure. This question has bothered me since my teen years. For a while I stopped reading mysteries because of it.

Add to that the very detailed nature of the victims’ bodies in this book, and I’m disturbed even more. Many of the victims are first seen after their death. They exist only as victims, not as full-fledged characters (fictionalized humans). It’s standard practice in this genre, but it has the effect of dehumanizing the victims and making me almost indifferent to their (fictional) deaths. Is this good? What benefit can there be in this? Can this help bring attention to the issue? I really don’t know.

I’ve written elsewhere about this same issue in my review of The Snowman by Jo Nesbo. I’d love to hear some other people’s thoughts about this!