Rachel Monroe’s new essay collection, Savage Appetites, explores our societal obsession with true crime (in particular, crimes that are not our own to claim, and yet nonetheless fascinate us) through the stories of four women, each representing a different archetype of obsession. Monroe begins with an introduction situating us in the uncomfortable world of true crime conventions, then goes on to discuss some truly fascinating figures: Francis Glessner, whose miniature crime scenes and financial support helped jumpstart the field of forensic science; Lorrie Moore, who married a man on death row, then spent over a decade helping exonerate him; Alisa Statman, who wormed her way into the Tate family’s affections, only to exploit them for their connection to true crime; and Lindsay Souvannarath, radicalized by internet forums dedicated to the Columbine shooters, and architect of a foiled plot to commit mass murder. Rachel Monroe was kind enough to answer a few questions about the book and the current moment in true crime fandom.
Molly Odintz: Your introduction takes us through a true crime convention where there are some cringeworthy moments of true crime fandom—as the true crime craze continues, are fans maturing in their approach to the subject matter, or are we still just as likely to hear a squee as a yech when talking about a serial killer at one of these things?
Rachel Monroe: Fandoms are complex ecosystems, and I think fans often have more self-awareness than they’re given credit for. That said, fandoms can also be insular and resistant to critique or pushback. During my experience at CrimeCon, which I write about in the book, I spoke with true crime fans who were very attuned to and critical of the more voyeuristic, exploitative aspects of the genre. I also met people who were unabashedly enthusiastic and hungry for sensation without seeming to acknowledge that these stories involved real people’s real trauma.
MO: You mention that interest in murder as subject of research has increased as real-life murder rates have fallen over the past few years, and that interest in murder increases when the victim is young, white, wealthy, or all of the above. Is empathy restricted for the least vulnerable? Has the 24-hour news cycle led us to cut ourselves off from only the most manageable pain?
RM: Some true crime fans say they’re drawn to the genre because they feel empathy for the victim. We could certainly use more empathy and less cruelty in the world these days—but in writing the book, I also had to confront empathy’s limitations. Our society has designated certain victims of crime as more deserving of our attention and care—largely young, attractive, white, and/or middle-class women. Then there’s also the fact that people tend to empathize with people who remind us of ourselves.
True crime starts to seem a lot less “true” when you consider how few representations it includes of people who are, statistically speaking, the most common victims of violence: young black men, the homeless, sex workers, people suffering from drug addiction, indigenous women; transgender women, etc.. Those stories are largely invisible, while certain other crimes receive round-the-clock coverage. The implicit message is that violence against certain groups is expected or—worse —deserved.
MO: I’m going to ask you a question I’ve been asking everyone this year because it’s on everyone’s minds: women have been interested in true crime since age immemorial. Just look at discussions of the women bum-rushing the Lizzie Borden trial, or earlier accounts that have the majority of court spectators as female for many a crime. Fast forward to the 21st century, where men are still asking the question, “Why do women like true crime?” My question for you is, why do people keep asking this as a question, instead of accepting female interest in crime and murder as just plain fact?
RM: Isn’t that funny? The internet makes it feel like NOW is the only time that has ever existed. One thing I wanted to do in this book was to provide context and history around the true crime phenomenon; understanding how similar stories obsessed us in the past gives us a better grasp of what’s happening in the present.
“Understanding how similar stories obsessed us in the past gives us a better grasp of what’s happening in the present.”And to answer your question: When people ask “why do women love true crime,” there’s a part of me that wants to respond “Well, because people love true crime, and women are people.” These stories have long been cultural fixations; they’re stories about the edges and extremes of human experience. I think there’s still a pervasive (wrong!) sense that women are fundamentally sweet and gentle. Our society has such a limited and limiting understanding of what it means to be a woman.
MO: You’ve been fascinated by the stories of “women who were drawn in by crimes that were not theirs to claim” for some time now; can you tell us about how your interest in these stories first came about?
RM: It began selfishly—I wanted to understand myself, and why these stories had such a pull for me in a way that felt different from any other category of narrative. I’ve always been drawn to stories of aftermath, and of the cultural and political space that famous crime stories occupy in our collective psyche. Which is to say, I’ve always been less interested in the Columbine killers than in the girls who go online to profess their love for those killers.
MO: In your chapter on Francis Glessner, you discuss how prosperous women at the turn of the century turned to making miniatures. Can you talk a bit about Glessner’s miniature crime scenes, and what an obsession with miniatures could represent to women of her class? As someone who comes from a family obsessed with miniatures, I’m very pleased that you’ve discussed this in the book.
RM: Aren’t miniatures amazing? I can’t get enough of them. Frances Glessner Lee is best known for creating the Nutshell Studies, dollhouse dioramas that would be adorable if they didn’t each include a dead doll body. Lee intended them to be used as instructional tools for police officers, to teach them how to approach crime scenes rationally and scientifically, without letting bias influence their investigation. A number of other wealthy women were also making dioramas at the turn of the century, including Lee’s neighbor, Narcissa Thorne, whose extremely precise miniatures are on display at the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s hard not to see them as examples of shrunken ambition—both Lee and Thorne were brilliant, driven women who were prevented from getting college educations by their families, because it wasn’t “ladylike” to do so.
MO: And one last question—obsession with true crime was possible before the internet, but the internet has certainly made things easier. The women you discuss in your book, however, came to their subjects of interest outside of online channels. Can you talk about how the internet has changed the nature of true crime interest?
RM: The internet has been transformative. Two decades ago, if you wanted to know about an infamous case, you had to hope someone wrote a huge paperback account of it, or made a TV special about it. We were largely with the official story, the one put forward by law enforcement, shaped by the prosecutor, and disseminated by mass media. The internet allows for access to primary source information, which is huge. When you have access to the actual documents, you can find all the holes and points of doubt in the official narrative. A lot of today’s true-crime media is about reconsidering and reanalyzing crimes from the past that we somehow got wrong. And then there’s the social aspect! Crime ruptures the social fabric; these communities that form around solving or discussing crimes are an attempt to knit it back together, I think.
