Danya Kukafka

In the tradition of Long Bright River and The Mars Room, a gripping and atmospheric work of literary suspense that deconstructs the story of a serial killer on death row, told primarily through the eyes of the women in his life--from the bestselling author of Girl in Snow. Ansel Packer is scheduled to die in twelve hours. He knows what he's done, and now awaits execution, the same chilling fate he forced on those girls, years ago. But Ansel doesn't want to die; he wants to be celebrated, understood. He hoped it wouldn't end like this, not for him. Through a kaleidoscope of women--a mother, a sister, a homicide detective--we learn the story of Ansel's life. We meet his mother, Lavender, a seventeen-year-old girl pushed to desperation. We meet Hazel, twin sister to Ansel's wife, inseparable since birth, forced to watch helplessly as her sister's relationship threatens to devour them all. And finally, Saffy, the homicide detective hot on his trail, who has devoted herself to bringing bad men to justice but struggles to see her own life clearly. As the clock ticks down, these three women sift through the choices that culminate in tragedy, exploring the rippling fissures that such destruction inevitably leaves in its wake. Blending breathtaking suspense with astonishing empathy, Notes on an Execution presents a chilling portrait of womanhood as it simultaneously unravels the familiar narrative of the American serial killer, interrogating our system of justice and our cultural obsession with crime stories, asking readers to consider the false promise of looking for meaning in the psyches of violent men.

A Novel

Notes on an Execution

Lindsay

It was an ambitious concept, justice. The idea that your lot in life could be based on your own choices. That you could work for things or ruin them for yourself.

Emma Hak-Kovacs

avarni

There are millions of men out there who want to hurt women—people seem to think that Ansel Packer is extraordinary, because he actually did.

High Fidelity

Laura Mei

you have always believed that pity is the most offensive of feelings. Pity is destruction wearing a mask of sympathy. Pity strips you bare. Pity shrinks.

We are all bad, and we are all good, and no one should be condemned to one or the other. But if good can be tainted with the bad that comes after, then where do you place it? How do you count it? How much is it really worth?

she thought how sad it was that a single bad thing could turn you into a story, a matter to be whispered about. Tragedy was undiscerning and totally unfair.

She had known from a young age that everyone had darkness inside— some just controlled it better than others. Very few people believed that they were bad, and this was the scariest part. Human nature could be so hideous, but it persisted in this ugliness by insisting it was good.

Motherhood was, by nature, a thing you did alone.

I wonder about choices. How we resent them, and how we regret them—even as we watch them grow.

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