Neal Cassidy’s Schroeder is by far one of the most intense psychological horror novels released this year. A seemingly normal young man wakes up on an overcast morning, completes his daily exercise routine, and meticulously prepares to go about his day. His inner monologue veers heavily into introspection, sounding a little disappointed with himself and the life he’s led up to now, but that all changes as it becomes rapidly apparent that there is something very wrong with him and the world around him… and he intends to fix it.
With a squeaky bicycle and a notebook full of boxes to be ticked, Schroeder leaves a trail of carnage as he weaves his way from quiet suburban neighborhoods and sprawling upper class homes to derelict apartments with paper thin walls. Armed with a backpack that, like a demented Mary Poppins’ bag, continues to produce increasingly disturbing instruments of punishment, Schroeder hacks, saws, and diligently prunes the weeds of humanity that have made it into his notebook like a gardener gleefully ridding his flower beds of unwanted pests.
Cassidy’s writing style is a sensory delight; the astonishing level of gore described alongside Schroeder’s almost leisurely inner commentary creates a disturbingly visceral juxtaposition that will linger in the back of your mind long after you close the book. Schroeder himself is an incredibly captivating character. The ease with which he dissociates from the brutally concrete perception of his actions to an almost cinematic view, complete with its own soundtrack, lends a dreamlike quality to the action.
There is a duality to him that belies his violent acts; he murders his victims with a calculated curiosity reminiscent of a child pulling the legs off insects but shows an uncanny amount of empathy and appreciation for both the natural world around him and those who show him the barest amount of polite consideration as he journeys to and from abattoirs.
These violent and tender moments are interspersed with flashbacks from his past, as well as poignant social commentary and pseudo-philosophical musings on the nature of humanity; leaving readers to slowly piece together the reasons for the mayhem while adding layers of complexity that beg the question: is Schroeder a villain, or a victim?
This book is perfect for fans of Jack Ketchum and Bret Easton Ellis, with plenty of no-holds-barred gore to satisfy the most hardcore splatterpunk aficionados, and almost unbearable suspense for lovers of compelling psychological thrillers.
