Neal Cassidy’s Schroeder presents a man’s one-day killing spree. Although at first the book doesn’t quite explain what is happening, it never slows down or goes easy on the violence. The novel begins with Schroeder starting his daily routine, but it is quickly established this is no ordinary day. Schroeder leaves his house, cruises through his neighborhood in his bike, arrives at his former job, and brutally murders two black men. He calmly jots it down in a notebook, and it’s all downhill from there.
The book is written as a stream of consciousness that is deliberately confusing from the beginning. There are some glimpses that indicate Schroeder might not be in his right mind, but his calculated demeanor screams he is nothing but a psychopath who knows exactly what he is doing. He jumps from thought to thought, muses over how terrible humanity is, how much suffering there is for no reason, and takes the reader down into a deep rabbit hole.
The narrative is very clear at times, showing Schroeder’s regular state of mind, and switches to a more unhinged and detached tone once he is out of it again. As the book progressed, I was starting to wonder that maybe the people Schroeder was killing actually deserved it. The narration invites you to put the pieces together and figure out who these people are and maybe start rooting for Schroeder and hope he doesn’t get caught.
The driving force behind the novel is revenge. However, the book got me thinking about violence. Yes, it is a gore and horror book and I went in knowing that, but I still ponder a question: Can violence ever be justified? The book does present evidence behind Schroeder’s killings by the end, but it never moralizes his acts—just presents them as they are, as they happened.
Inserted in a society where mass shootings happen almost daily and serial killers are mystified—and almost venerated—how poignant is this novel really? Is that the point? Or is the point simply to write out a revenge fantasy? Which underdogs are allowed to tell their revenge stories? Should we, as readers, be wary of certain narratives?
None of these questions are posed in the novel, they just came to me while reading and after finishing it. My stance can only be described by an obscure Letterboxd meme that originated from Joker (2019, dir. Todd Phillips): Cassidy’s novel is thought-provoking kino.
Overall, if you’re looking for a deranged ride with gore, very detailed and creative killings, and beautiful words peppered here and there, give this book a try. It will surely make you ask yourself some weird questions—and isn’t that what literature is supposed to do? I know I’ll simmer this one for a while, which definitely made reading it worth it.
Adriana Acevedo is an editor, writer, and sleep paralysis demon. She's been published in magazines like samfiftyfour and Impostor. She's bilingual and living in the monstruos Mexico City. Whenever she's not reading horror stories or watching horror movies, she's baking sourdough bread. Read more of her writing here.