Real Psycho: Scott Johnson

Scott Johnson

Scott J. Johnson was convicted in 2009 of the death of three teenagers after he (seemingly at random) opened fire on them at the local swimming hole. On the evening of July 31st, 2008, an unidentified man in camouflage fired at a group of nine teens at the Menominee River on the border between Michigan and Wisconsin. Three (Tiffany Pohlson, 17; Anthony Spigarelli, 18; and Bryan Mort, 19, all of Michigan) were killed, and one injured. Johnson fled on foot. He was captured the following morning after a massive manhunt with more than 100 law enforcement officers from ten local and state agencies participating. After a short deposition, Johnson plead no contest to ten felony charges, and was sentenced to life in prison. His lawyers briefly entertained a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, but Johnson refused and got a new lawyer to enter the guilty plea.

Johnson memorably compared the killing spree to spilling a glass of milk. In an interview with the associated press, he remarked “Do you get all upset about it? No, you just clean it up and get another glass of milk. It might sound sick or sadistic to come off that way but that's pretty much it.”

Among the charges for first degree homicide and attempted first degree homicide, Johnson was also convicted of second degree sexual assault when it came out that he had attacked a woman the day before the shootings. Though seemingly proud of his murders, Johnson maintained his innocence of the second degree rape charge during the sentencing. He eventually admitted to the rape and expressed some remorse over it in an interview, saying: ”I think what it is is, I betrayed her trust. I've been betrayed in the past and that hurts a lot.”

Everything seemed to start for Johnson with the sexual assault. He was unemployed at the time of the assault, and the two knew each other. He convinced her to accompany him for a bike ride, and assaulted her near where he would eventually ambush the teenagers. He claimed during his sentencing that it was not rape, and that the whole thing only lasted a few minutes. But when he learned from his mother that the police were after him, he thought being labelled a sex offender would make it impossible for him to ever find work. Feeling that his life was effectively over, he decided to either get himself killed by the police or spend the rest of his life in prison. His plan was to shoot the kids to lure the police in, then open fire on them as well. His rampage the next day ended after only 17 shots, when his rifle jammed.

Johnson was viciously unapologetic at the his sentencing. Among other niceties, he told the victims and the families of his victims to “get over it”, and claimed that once he was in jail he would “laugh, make jokes, and sleep well.” At the sentencing, he went on for about half an hour, and his speech was vitriolic enough that many in the audience walked out of the court room until he was finished.

Prior to the spree killing, Johnson was a troubled man. He enlisted in the army after high school, and was eventually assigned to Fort Polk in Louisiana. There he met his future wife, and the couple had two children before the marriage ended in divorce in 2001. After the wedding he became domineering and controlling, keeping a loaded gun in the house and on at least one occasion threatening her with it. She also claimed that during a fight, Johnson threw their pet cat at the wall.

After the divorce he threatened her regularly, saying he would torture her or kill her parents. He quit his job and turned increasingly to marijuana and alcohol, and periodically wrote bad checks, leading to a number of warrants. When his child support payments became too high, Johnson moved out of Louisiana and back to live with his mother. It was while living there that he hatched his scheme and was eventually arrested.

Johnson was sentenced to three consecutive life terms for the three charges of homicide, and a combined 295 years for the six charges of attempted homicide. In 2010, he was additionally sued by the survivors for 10 million dollars, to prevent him from ever selling his story for profit.

Joyride

Joyride
by Jack Ketchum

I did not care for this book. I don’t think the reader is supposed to. To paraphrase Mr. Weaver, I think disliking this book only indicates that I am still sane.

Wayne Lock didn’t interest me. His back story was cheap and tacked on (“oh, hang on, we need a reason for the crazy. Make his mom a nutter. There, that’s good enough”). He was physically weak, childish at times, and self centered. The God-complex and Love-with-a-capital-L he develops in the final chapter might be realistic psychologically speaking, but it didn’t fit his depiction in the rest of the novel.

Another issue is that this book really doesn’t give you anyone to root for. I wanted to feel sorry for Carole, but somehow that was difficult. The extent of her abuse was hard to process--it was too much, and I thought of her more as a character that the author decided to heap abuse on than as a real person. There wasn’t anything to her other than the abuse. Lee, likewise, was more of a shell than a realized character. He was ineffectual at pretty much everything. When Lock finally shot him, my response was “oh, finally.”

Lt. Rule spends so much time duffing around that it’s easy to dislike him. His scenes with the psychiatrist may have made him a more realistic character, but it also made him an ineffective one. He’s whining about a failed relationship while this murderer is killing half the town. His character in particular reminded me of Sheriff Bell in No Country for Old Men. But whereas Bell comes off as a realistic portrayal of a cop trying to make sense of senseless horror, Rule seemed almost like a caricature. His hopeful ending felt phony.

There were other things working against this piece. I have a hard time with sexual assault in general, and reading about it in this kind of lurid detail was almost as much fun as the spider-monster book I had to read last semester. Elements of the plot played out more like a B-movie than a book. The final murder spree, for example, struck me as basically a less hilarious version of this. All the details from the victims’ POV about how full of hope and possibility their lives were was repetitive and heavy-handed. Lock’s mother was a cliche.

Ultimately, I found the story of Wayne Lock and his victims lurid. The subject matter is grotesque and ultimately uninteresting.

Which, taken by itself, is kind of interesting. Why don't I find this as interesting as other horror books? Why is Hannibal Lecter more fascinating than Wayne Lock? I think it has to do with character. Lecter is more about the man, his reasons for what he does, his beliefs and ideas and thoughts. Lock is about the act. The focus of this book is on what he does, the gritty details of the murders and the torture and the rapes. At the end of the book we know almost nothing about Lock, other than he’s crazy. Admittedly, that was the point of the book -- people do evil, horrible things for no reason. But without characters we actually care about, it wasn’t enough to carry the novel.

The Killing Joke

The Killing Joke
by Alan Moore
Illustrated by Brian Bolland

The Killing Joke is one of the first graphic novels I ever read. When I was an undergrad and considering a career as a librarian, I decided I should educate myself in the genre, and the first one I picked up was the Watchmen, also by Alan Moore. The Killing Joke was next to it on the shelf, so I thought why not. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s my favorite graphic novel to feature the Batman (that honor belongs to the Dark Knight Returns), but it’s high on the list.

The Joker is a great villain, and I’m glad that Moore and Bolland took him out for a spin. While I side with those who say the Joker is a better character without a backstory, I love what they came up with and the open ended presentation. Probably the strangest (and best?) part of this book is wondering how aware of the flashback story the Joker is. He claims he doesn’t remember his own past - but he is also a pathological liar. His insistence that going insane is a reasonable response to the horrible things happening to Jim Gordon is, in itself, a rational argument for him doing the same thing. But if he’s making a rational argument, then it’s evidence he isn’t actually insane. He just wants to be. The fact that it isn’t laid out in black and white both adds to his apparent insanity and the depth of the character.

I purchased the hardcover deluxe edition to re-read for this post, and the artwork is gorgeous - especially the art on book cover itself, beneath the dust jacket (I used an image of it above). I can’t figure out why they covered it up. I sort of want to buy one of the earlier editions (the artist re-colored this version) to compare. It’s the details in the artwork that really tie this piece together, from a narrative standpoint. Each jump from scene to scene carries over a word, phrase, or image (as in the case of the Joker’s memories, where his facial expression is the carry over, or the switch from the dead carnival seller to the joker card). The only exception is the doors from Gordon’s train ride - although arguably those goblin faces represent the Batman as he investigates. The carry over elements invite comparison to other parts of each panel - the Joker’s pregnant wife is in the same place as “the fat lady” in one of the first jumps, underscoring his actual opinion of her.

One of the other things that stood out to me when I returned to this piece after reading more widely about the characters is the treatment of Gordon and Barbara. Both are ineffectual, almost pitiful characters. Barbara can be excused, on account of getting shot before she has a chance to react (although one would still expect the former Batgirl to put up more of a fight), but Jim Gordon has no excuse. He never even lands a punch against the thugs in the apartment - compare that to his strong presence after the bomb detonation in The Dark Knight Returns, or his fight against Detective Flass in Year One. One of the risks of working within a shared universe like this is that readers come with certain expectations based on other titles and other authors, and sometimes when those presentations clash it can jar the reader.

On that same note, it was also very difficult not to read the Joker’s lines in Mark Hamill’s voice. But I’m not complaining about that one.

All in all this is a great Batman title, and it does it without Batman being the main character. The Joker is center stage, and he steals the show.

Se7en

Se7en (1995)
directed by David Fincher

Se7en is a gruesome film that explores good and evil through the lens of a serial killer obsessed with sin. John Doe commits several stylized murders based on the seven deadly sins in an attempt to alert the population to their apathy toward sinful behavior. Two detectives try to track him down, and come symbolize different worldviews that are brought into deep conflict by Doe's crimes. John Doe is a compelling villain, but the detectives deserve some mention as well.

Detective Lt. William Somerset (whose name references the author of "Of Human Bondage", W. Somerset Maugham -- one of the books on John Doe's library list, and a favorite author of the screenwriter) represents a world-weary view. Somerset has seen the worst in humanity over the course of his career, and he no longer expects people to do good things. People are, at their most basic level, selfish and violent. Society exists because people agree, on some level, to reign in those baser urges with the expectation that their neighbors will do the same. We achieve safety only through mutually assured destruction. To use biblical terms, Somerset believes in original sin -- deep down, we're all evil.

Detective David Mills, on the other hand, is almost a caricature of the 'rookie' detective, right down to the short temper. He's young (watching this and seeing Brad Pitt that young made me feel SO OLD) and idealistic in some ways, epitomized by his belief that he can "do some good" and a conviction that he can make a difference in the city by working hard. Of course, this worldview comes to a screeching halt in the face of John Doe, who neatly illustrates that when the social contract is broken, all bets are off. When he destroys Mills' family, Mills reacts with violence. Although he claims to believe that people are good deep down, he demonstrates that people are capable of murder and extreme violence when they are pushed. His actions reinforce what Somerset has believed all along.

John Doe is a fascinating killer, and not just because he might be Kaizer Soze. I re-watched the scenes where the detectives first enter his apartment a number of times, to catch glimpses of what his day to day life was like. The most memorable images still stand out from my first viewing: the bright red cross over the bed, the photos hung to dry in the bathroom, the library piled high with his notebooks (interesting side note: the journals were all hand-made and cost the production $15,000. They only got used for the opening credits as an afterthought.) But some other details appeared that I didn't notice originally. John Doe has a pretty nice set of woodworking tools in one of his cabinets. He mounted trophies from each kill in what appear to be medicine cabinets. All of his clothes are covered in plastic. And that giant red cross is literally surrounded by smaller ones, too many to count. All of this background creates an atmosphere that neatly illustrates Doe's compulsions and bizarre behaviors without a single word of dialogue.

Part of what attracts the viewer to Doe is the extreme violence in his crimes. I've had arguments with people (and probably will again) about which victim suffered the most. Sloth has a strong case, but arguably he's insane after a while and no longer aware of what's happening. I think the male Lust victim had it worse, because he has to live with what he did. Each crime is unique and brings the same level of classical education that works so well for Dr. Lecter. One of my favorite scenes with Doe on screen is his defiant argument in the car, where he claims to be in complete control of the situation. And he was. The shocking ending remains one of the best I've ever seen and still packs a punch. Se7en holds up really well over multiple viewings, and there's a lot in the film to sort through. Although the voice over line doesn't quite fit the rest of the ending, it's still one of my favorites.

The Sculptor

The Sculptor
by Gregory Funaro

The Sculptor is an awkward novel about a serial killer obsessed with the work of Michelangelo.

I didn’t care for it.

Yes, this book was annoying. You see, when a narrative uses certain tropes over and over, I sometimes feel like it deserves to be mocked. Yes, Mockery, as you know, is the practice of derision or ridicule and comes from the old French mocquer. Thus, while reading this book, you see, I got the feeling that it was the sort of book that, yes, deserved mockery. So it was that the book was destined to be mocked and that I, yes, was destined, you see, to mock it.

Anyway. The psycho featured in the novel is Christian Bach, who was raised in an incestuous relationship with his abusive mother, which led to his obsession with sculpture and Michelangelo’s Pieta. Also serial killing, because that's what happens to all victims of abuse, no matter what. The connection between these things and Dr. Hildebrant’s book was, to be honest, lost on me. Nevertheless, Dr. Hildebrant somehow intuits Bach's incestuous feelings with complete accuracy. This stunning (almost miraculous) feat of empathy was one of many things that left me unimpressed.

Bach is a cliche. He is extraordinarily muscular, cultured, independently wealthy, and is a polymath in art, chemistry, medicine and anatomy. He has an enormous lair that conceals all his nefarious activities and consistently outwits the police and the FBI. Basically he’s a Batman villain, complete with Capitalized Villain Name and themed crimes.

So close . . .

I found almost every aspect of his character to be either a general cliche or an idea taken from another source. It reads like a blatant attempt to capitalize on the popularity of other works - a fusion of Hannibal Lecter with the Da Vinci Code.

Toward the end of the novel, when Bach’s back story is finally revealed to the reader, we learn that he was sexually and physically abused by his mother and that they saw a sculpture of the Pieta in their church and decided they liked it. At best, this explained a fascination with that particular sculpture, but there was no real effort to explain the connection between this dysfunction and sculpture in general, aside from one instance of playing with play doh as a child. There was likewise no rationale for how any of that inspired him to use actual dead bodies for the sculptures instead of, say, wood. Or plaster of paris. Or marble. Or literally anything else.

Nobody had to die.

The other characters were similar in their striking resemblance to other figures from fiction. I stopped keeping track of the parallels between Dr. Hildebrant and Dr. Langdon after only a few chapters. I couldn’t quite decide which of the various ace FBI profiler characters Sam was meant to resemble (personally I think he was a watered-down Agent Pendergast, but that may just be because I’m a fan) - he may as well have been all of them. Both characters were flat and broadly uninteresting. Agent Markham’s back story was at almost complete odds with his actual behavior toward Cathy (I will never love again and will dedicate myself to avenging my wife . . . until I meet an attractive woman), and hers consisted exclusively of “recently divorced.” There wasn’t much there to make me want to keep reading, and their inevitable happy ending undermined both his drive to avenge his previous wife and her new-found independence from her cheating husband.

In closing, I will repeat that I didn't care for this book. Usually in these posts I try to balance my negative thoughts with positives, but in this case I couldn't find much I liked. Your mileage may vary.

Misery

Misery
by Stephen King

Misery is almost a straight-forward torture story. Paul Sheldon is held against his will and systematically abused, both physically and emotionally. The novel starts when he’s captured and ends when he’s freed. But the stories within the story are what separates this novel from routine gore and makes it something unique. Misery is one of my all time favorite Stephen King books.

Annie Wilkes is everything you want in a villain. She’s acutely insane, but manages to maintain well enough to believably escape detention in spite of a criminal career that spans decades and includes dozens of murders. The character was loosely inspired by real-life killer nurse Genene Jones, who was convicted of poisoning children with the intent of resuscitating them. But where her intentions were not explicitly murderous, Annie’s are. The catalog or horrors she inflicts on Sheldon are numerous, and her gradual descent as she stops trying to hide her real nature from Paul is one of the most compelling parts of the book.

Annie is, in many ways, a child. Her refusal to swear (and the ridiculous babble she concocts instead) is somehow scarier than any string of curses. She’s just as petulant as a child that doesn’t get her way, only with substantially more dire consequences. King does an excellent job of using her childish behavior to create tension. These small touches early in the novel let the reader know that something is deeply, deeply wrong.

Paul Sheldon becomes a bit of a psycho in his own right by the end of the novel. Partially because of addiction and partially just because of the brutal conditions, Paul starts to lose it after only a few chapters. This is the first book we’ve read this semester where the psychosis seems to be catching. By the time he’s finally found by the police, Paul can’t even string together a coherent sentence. Living with Annie’s insanity has eroded his own, to the point that he is no longer functional, even after rescued. The lingering effects of that paranoia and extreme fear in the final chapters feel real. It’s true that in many other types of story, the reader would never see Paul after he was rescued. His long convalescence is no happy ending. But it fits perfectly for the self-aware yarn on writing that King is spinning.

From a mechanical standpoint, the story is unique in several ways. Almost the entire novel takes place in a single room, with a single character, who is more often than not talking to himself. There’s a great deal of self awareness in this trick - King likely was also alone in a room somewhere when he composed it. He is writing about his own process for writing, his own ideas about what works and what doesn’t (and why). He manages to sneak a lot of his ideas about what is and isn’t good writing into the mouth of Paul Sheldon, and because of the story it doesn’t seem forced. 

It’s amazing that King is able to accomplish so much without losing the story. At the end of the day, it’s still a book about a man who is being tortured. Misery is a very complex book, and those layers are what makes it a fan favorite.

Silence of the Lambs

Silence of the Lambs (1991)
directed by Jonathan Demme

The Silence of the Lambs is an excellent film and one of my all time favorites. Anthony Hopkins, Jodie Foster and Ted Levine are all excellent in their roles, and the film remains a modern day classic of suspense.

Arguably both Buffalo Bill and Dr. Lecter serve as the film's primary antagonists. It's difficult to say which of them is creepier. After this most recent viewing, I personally vote for Bill. Whereas Lecter is deeply disturbed and unsettling, Bill's psychosis is much more pronounced. He seems genuinely unable to function in a normal way. His interaction with Starling at the end of the film, for instance, shows an almost complete breakdown. Even if she didn't see the moth, I think she still would have questioned him - he wasn't able to maintain a facade.

Incidentally, if you want to make your brain hurt, watch this film and then watch one of the campier episodes of Monk.

Gumb was a sort of fusion of different serial killers - his method of capturing Catherine was essentially the same as Ted Bundy's, including the fake cast. His fascination with skin and questionable sexuality came from Ed Gein. The inspiration for the basement torture room comes from Gary Heidnick, who kidnapped and imprisoned women in his Philadelphia home. Gumb's pathology is said to be due to childhood abuse, which is common for killers. More of his backstory is available from deleted scenes or the documentary "Silence of the Lambs: the Inside Story", but to be honest I kind of liked not seeing it. After reading Red Dragon and seeing some of the drawbacks of going deep into the killer's background and POV, it was a little refreshing to have Bill stay a mystery.

One of the most fascinating elements of Lecter's character is how self aware he is. The way Hopkins portrayed the character is as though Lecter knows he is playing a role - the monster that knows he is a monster. He is perfectly aware of what the other characters think of him, and he plays to that expectation on purpose. In the break out scene, for example, he takes the time to string up one of the bodies in a grotesque but artistic display. Doing so serves no purpose, other than to intimidate the other police and live up to his reputation.

In spite of that reputation, Lecter is more able to hide in a crowd than Bill is, after a manner of speaking. When he's in his cell and everyone knows he is a monster, he revels in that role and enjoys the attention it brings. But after he breaks out, he seems to have no trouble disappearing. Unlike Bill, he can hide in plain sight. He's only creepy when he wants to be, and he only decides to be that way when it suits him. And of course, his escape makes sequels possible, and for a great film and a great character, that's a must.

Red Dragon

Red Dragon
by Thomas Harris

Red Dragon is a fascinating book that takes the unusual step of getting into the killer's POV early and often. The unique narrative gives the reader greater insight into Francis Dolarhyde's motivations and beliefs, and at times almost paints him as a sympathetic character. However, that very structure makes the novel a little unsatisfying in some ways.

Compared to some other killers in fiction, Dolarhyde is a nuanced character. He undergoes some change throughout the course of the book and has a fleshed out history. He fits many of the profiles for serial killers (childhood trauma, sexual repression, sadism, etc.) but the change in his character when he meets Reba starts to unravel his perception of himself. It was an interesting way to take a more or less stock "serial killer" character and turn him into an actual person, with actual emotions and relationship issues. It was as though not only did the reader learn that Dolarhyde was more than just a cardboard cutout of a monster, so did Dolarhyde.

What was unsatisfying about it was the way he went right back to where he started. He sees Reba with another man and snaps, and all the tension from his character building arc abruptly stops. The scene between him and Reba in his house near the end of the novel sort of worked, until it turned out that he was merely faking the whole thing as a way of escaping capture. What previously looked like real emotional trauma turned out to be fake, and the fact that the reader didn't get to see Dolarhyde preparing for this switcharoo (where previously we had a front row seat to his side of the story) felt like a cheat. It really undermined a lot of the other work that had been done on that character.

Will Graham is also an interesting character, and his ability to mirror the thinking patterns of others is pretty fascinating. Harris does a great job with the reasons that sort of ability would be more of a curse than a gift - particularly given Graham's line of work. It's odd how he feels that being able to empathize with a killer makes him a villain as well -- an uncomfortable line of thinking, considering we're writers trying to train ourselves to do the very same thing.

I'm not going to say much about Lecter in this post, mostly because I'll have more about him when we watch Silence of the Lambs. One thing that does fascinate me about him is the way he was handled in the film version of Red Dragon, released in 2002. He gets a much bigger role in the film,  acting as an advisor to Graham, presumably to parallel the relationship he later develops with Starling.  He's really quite a minor character in Red Dragon, but he's definitely the breakout of the group, and it's neat to see him retroactively become a major character in that version of the story.

The Church of Dead Girls

The Church of Dead Girls
by Stephen Dobyns


Spoilers ahoy -- don't read this 'till you finish the novel.

Stephen Dobyns’ haunting story of a town ripping itself apart in the aftermath of children disappearing was a great read. The horror was subtle for the most part, although there was enough graphic descriptions of sex and violence (particularly toward the end) to keep a veteran horror reader interested.

There are, to my mind, two ‘psychos’ in this novel. The first, and perhaps least interesting of the two, is the primary antagonist, revealed at the novel’s conclusion to be Donald Malloy. I say uninteresting because of the rather cut and dried depiction of his insanity--at the end of the novel he has become quite unhinged (rather suddenly, I might add) and spills his whole story out in one great swoop. And it all fits together rather neatly. His pedophilia and deranged attitude toward sex leads him to fixate on hands, specifically the left or ‘bad’ hand (interesting side note: the Latin for left, sinistra, is the root for the English word “sinister”. There are lots of theories as to why this is: a popular explanation is that prior to the widespread use of toilet paper, the right hand was used for eating and the left for cleaning up waste). Several of his victims were simply people who knew that he had unusual sexual appetites. It was a little too simple for me. It reminded me of episodes of CSI, where the cop tosses off a casual explanation for the crimes and kind of shrugs. I expected a deeper pathology, particularly after that much build up.
   
The reveal that Donald was the kidnapper/murderer was disappointing not just because of the clinical way in which the madness was treated, but also in the way he abruptly becomes insane. Whereas previously he is a ‘professional man’ who seems perfectly able to go about his business and blend in with society, the moment the reader realizes he is the bad guy he becomes an irrational boogie man that literally carries body parts around with him and basically commits suicide-by-cop. I was left wondering how on earth someone that far gone could have remained hidden as long as he did.
   
The second and substantially more interesting disturbed character is the nameless narrator. I suspected him throughout the novel (and so did the other characters, which was fun). It was clear that the author was playing with the expectations of the reader throughout, and I very much wanted something to come of the little quirks revealed throughout the book about him. Ultimately I was very disappointed by the ending. His open admission of defiling the corpse of Donald was, in my mind, unnecessary. The line from the psychic who departed the city, saying the hand was now in “a jar among other jars” was brilliant. I literally stopped reading and put the book down for a moment to savor that one line and everything that it insinuated. If he'd stopped there it would have been fantastic. But to have the narrator admit that it was him shortly afterward ruined the effect.
   
The story of the novel really wasn’t about either of these two characters, though. The story was about the town and a host of other people who live there, told under the backdrop of these crimes. There was a lot going on in the book; too much at times. I agree with reviews that have accused the book of having too many characters and spending more time than necessary on description and exposition. The narrator was fun to read about, but seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the town and its residents. Many scenes contained far more detail than the narrator could plausibly have heard from the other characters, particularly in scenes with characters who had an avowed dislike of the narrator (Ryan Tavich springs to mind).
   
All in all I enjoyed this novel. It was an interesting story, and well told. This is the first novel I’ve read by this author, and I will certainly read more of his work.

Psycho

Psycho

by Robert Bloch

The story of Norman Bates is probably familiar to most readers. Psycho is about a man with what would now be called disassociative identity disorder, more familiarly called multiple personalities. While acting under the delusion that he is his dead mother, Norman kills a young woman, and later a private investigator. The character was inspired by real-life killer Ed Gein. In some ways, the novel fails. Almost two thirds of the penultimate chapter is a block of exposition, painfully delivered through once-removed dialogue. The majority of the characters are pretty flat. The portrayal of women is less than enlightened. But it works as a compelling story, and that's mainly due to the central character and antagonist.

Norman Bates is an unassuming man who, by all appearances, is perfectly normal. His appearance (an overweight, balding man in his forties -- it's interesting to speculate about why a much younger man was cast for the part in the film) is consistently contrasted with his inner mind -- something the author was intentionally playing with throughout the narrative. The same theme crops up with Mary. Her thievery reveals her inner self and conflicts with her outer veneer of normalcy.

Norman has a host of neurosis, many concerning sex and women in general, but his mother specifically. These are revealed gradually throughout the narrative -- for example, in chapter 5, he is drawn to looking at his mother’s thighs and breasts, but also recognizes that he should not do so. He owns pornography, but chastises himself for spying on Mary in the bathroom. This conflict was explored more fully in some of the film sequels, in which Norman’s character lashes out against any woman he feels attracted to.

One of the interesting things about re-reading Psycho was to catalog some of the things about Norman that were meant to imply or show that he was crazy. First time readers of the book (who somehow managed to avoid the cultural touchstones of the film) weren’t supposed to know just how far gone Norman was until the reveal in chapter fifteen. Some of the clues were obvious -- his behavior is certainly abnormal, particularly when drinking and spying on Mary in the bathroom. There are also strong hints in his conversations with Mother. At one point she even says that if she were to be committed to an institution, she wouldn’t go alone. But his hobbies also hint at madness. His taste in books and interest in the occult is seen as damning evidence. Similarly, his interest in taxidermy is considered odd, although more was made of this in the film than in the book. The fact that Norman lives alone and was a life-long bachelor is also cited.

Another interesting element is how Norman has ended up in the collective unconscious as a serial killer. In the book he is only responsible for four murders -- his mother and her lover, Mary, and Arbogast. There was no direct indication that he had killed other guests at the motel. But somehow it's easy to believe that he's been doing it for years. The neighbors and locals in the book soon suggest Norman is responsible for other murders, and in the film the psychiatrist suggests that Norman is responsible for a series of unsolved missing persons cases in the area. It's certainly more disturbing to think that this episode was simply the most recent one, and that Mary's theft is the only reason Norman got caught at all.

Norman is, in many ways, a sympathetic character. Even his almost-victim Lila feels sorry for him, and admits that he has probably suffered as much or more than his victims. He seems to have been molded into a psychopath instead of choosing to be one. The portrait of Norman that comes out casts his Mother as the villain. She is thought to be the one who drove him to the madness that eventually led to her death, and to his own insanity. But it’s too difficult to separate Norman from his Mother -- everything the reader knows about Mother comes through the filter of Norman. He blames her, but is she really responsible? After all, the Mother character is just his beliefs about what she was actually like.

In the end, it’s all him.