SCHROEDER

Take a deep dive into the mind of an undeniably deranged, shamelessly violent, and oddly relatable mass murderer in Neal Cassidy’s Schroeder, which follows a disaffected twenty-something as he dedicates a day to wreaking havoc across an unnamed US city. From suburban idyll to dystopian hellscape, Schroeder’s big day out makes for a rip-roaring and disorientating tale of revenge against society where life is cheap and grudges run deep. Never have the words gore-mongering splatter-fest been more apt.

It starts on a morning like any other. Schroeder, awakened early by the incessant barking of his neighbor’s dog, groggy after yet another bad night, performs his regular morning workout, washes and dresses, finishes wrapping a parcel he started to pack the day before, and sets off on his bike. So far, so mundane—save for the inexplicably sinister tone of Schroeder’s internal monologue and indications of flat affect. Still, it’s all pretty normal until Schroeder stops at a store, takes his shotgun out, and blows away the two people working there.

The first two kills are recorded in his notebook.

From this point on, Schroeder relates the eponymous antihero’s bloody odyssey as he traverses the city on his bike, pursuing a set of objectives that make sense only to him—at first, anyway. As he passes the ordinary citizens going about their everyday business, no one suspects that the unassuming young man has a list of targets for liquidation, and it’s a fairly long list. And as he cycles from place to place, his mind wanders and he reminisces about the past, about what brought him and others to the deadly situation that day.

Nowhere in the city is safe from Schroeder—not the businesses, not the mansions or the rundown residences, not anywhere—but is there method in his madness? What could have prompted such an outwardly normal young man to snap in such a monumental and devastating way? Things do become heartbreakingly clear, but not before a considerable trail of carnage is left in his bike’s wake.

Schroeder is related in an unrelenting stream-of-consciousness style that makes no concession for reader confusion, which very much suits the plotline and the protagonist’s psyche. Schroeder has carefully planned his day—both the kill list and the timings of the route to get them all—and having made the decision to pursue blood-soaked vengeance, he doesn’t bother with a filter when describing what he gets up to. He makes no apologies for his actions, but he does eventually explain a bit.

It all makes for a brutal and often upsetting read, although the most distressing aspects may not be the most immediately obvious. Schroeder doesn’t require a strong stomach, but it would be handy to be somewhat hardened against this one man’s reality—even though Schroeder arguably stands as an everyman who receives society’s blows and so spares others from them.