This American 60's novel uses the case of a mass killer, disaffected and angry with "the system" after losing his young son to an undiagnosed condition, to expose the corruption of the judiciary and body politic while also attempting an (inconclusive) analysis of whether a sane person can commit a capital crime. The plot is devoid of suspense, but at least tries to make progress before dissolving into incoherency with a hundred pages left. The book is pervasively misogynistic, with every female character serving a sexual purpose, without exception in a degrading way and often without any point in terms of the story. And while I'm the last person to demand characters I "like" or can "empathise with", the unrelenting obnoxiousness of all the characters in Fertig gets tiresome very quickly (n.b. the main character actually isn't the titular killer, but the revolting lawyer who takes up his case). The prose is self-conscious, the narrative style changing willfully from chapter to chapter, which comes across as pretentious rather than virtuosic. If this is a novel of ideas, they are few and bad; if a crime novel, then the novel is the crime - a capital one.