The worldview of violent sex offenders is so alien to many of us that to consider them in detail, up close and personal, can feel much like going down the rabbit hole. This work is a personal/professional memoir written by a clinical psychologist who followed this rabbit hole deeply. Working with sex offenders, psychopaths, sadists, and other offenders for forty years, Anna C. Salter learned lessons about malice, where it comes from, and what it's really like to come face-to-face with what much of society considers to be true evil. This book is a highly personal, nonfiction account exploring the nature of malice and includes the impact of working with malice on those exposed to it. Throughout her career, Dr. Sadler never lost her sense of incredulity at the sometimes harrowing worldviews she encountered, but nor will she ever forget what she learned there, or what it was like to finally leave it behind.
Anna Salter, Ph.D., is a forensic psychologist and internationally known authority on sex offenders. She is the author of novels featuring Dr. Michael Stone. She also lectures worldwide and has written two academic books on sex abuse. Dr. Salter is in private practice in Madison, Wisconsin, and consults to the Wisconsin Department of Corrections.
Confronting Malice is a harrowing memoir by forensic psychologist Anna C. Salter, chronicling her forty-year journey working with sex and violent offenders. From courtrooms to treatment rooms, Salter offers an unfiltered view into the minds of those society fears most—psychopaths, child abusers, and sadistic killers. Through stories from her practice, including heartbreaking cases and courtroom battles, Salter explores not only the horrors inflicted by offenders but also her personal evolution—what drew her into this dark world, what kept her there, and what it cost her emotionally and spiritually.
I was riveted. Salter’s writing is clear, candid, and relatable. What she does is tell the truth—the jagged, uncomfortable truth most people would rather ignore. What makes this book hit so hard isn’t just the monstrous acts described, but how she takes readers inside the minds of these offenders without turning away. There’s rage here, for sure, but there’s also incredible restraint. She’s measured. Professional. But beneath that, you can feel the pain and the fatigue of someone who's had to sit across from evil for decades. And yet, her voice never loses clarity. There are moments that hit like a gut punch because they’re so true, and because she’s saying the quiet part out loud.
What struck me most was Salter’s honesty about herself. This isn’t just a book about monsters, it’s also about survival. Her stories from childhood, especially her complex relationship with her mother, aren’t detours—they’re the roots of her tenacity, her toughness, and maybe even her calling. She writes like someone who has nothing left to prove and everything left to say. The chapter where she grapples with the raw presence of malevolence—staring across a courtroom at a boy who murdered and dismembered a child—shook me. That scene doesn’t leave you. Nor does the question she raises repeatedly: why can some people see malice when others can’t?
This isn’t an easy read. It’s not a comforting one either. But it’s important. I’d recommend Confronting Malice to anyone working in the justice system, social services, mental health, or anyone who wants to better understand the world we live in. It’s also for those of us trying to make sense of evil without flinching, and for those who wonder what it takes to stare it down and still come out standing.
Salter takes the gloves off in this book. There’s no hand-holding, no soft fade-outs. Confronting Malice shows us evil in its most human form, and how our failure to recognize it only empowers it. It’s a heavy read, but one of the most important I’ve ever picked up.
What struck me was how often predators get the benefit of the doubt. Again and again, Salter shows how charming offenders are excused, while victims are discredited. The result? Generations of silence and shattered lives.
She walks us through case after case, not to shock us, but to educate us. And when she talks about how her childhood prepared her for this work, how her stubbornness and pain made her capable of doing what others couldn’t, it all comes full circle.
Her voice is confident but never cold. She cares deeply, and that care is what fuels her relentless pursuit of justice. She’s angry, yes but it’s a focused, useful, necessary anger. And it’s contagious.
If you’re a book lover who reads for transformation, not escape, this is your book. It won’t comfort you, but it will change you. That’s what great nonfiction should do.
Salter is the expert witness I wish every court, every victim, and every truth-seeker could call to the stand. In Confronting Malice, she gives us everything, her decades of experience, her moral compass, her rage, her heartbreak, and her laser-focused clarity.What shocked me most wasn’t the crimes, though they are unspeakable, but the reactions. The disbelief. The protection of offenders. The systems that fail, not because they lack evidence, but because they lack will. Salter lays this out with chilling precision.She also makes space for her own past. Her childhood wasn’t a footnote—it was the fire that forged her. And the way she handles her own trauma gives weight to everything else she says. She’s not just pointing fingers. She’s revealing the cycle and showing us how she broke it.I found myself highlighting passages, rereading sections, and at one point, just closing the book and staring at the wall. That’s the kind of impact this book has. It doesn’t just inform—it wounds and wakes you up.To all serious readers: don’t sleep on this one. It’s not just worth reading, it’s worth wrestling with. Salter doesn’t want you comfortable. She wants you conscious.
I picked up "Confronting Malice" expecting a dry, academic text, but what I found was a gripping memoir that reads like a novel. Anna Salter is a phenomenal storyteller. She weaves together tales from the courtroom, the prison interview room, and her own childhood with the skill of a master craftsman. Each chapter reveals a new layer of understanding, both about the subject of malice and about the author herself.
The core of the book for me was her relentless pursuit of the question "why?" Why does a man rape and dismember a child? Why does a psychopath feel no remorse? Why do we, as a society, struggle to believe victims? She doesn’t offer easy answers, but she provides the tools and the framework to begin asking the right questions. Her analysis is sharp, her evidence is compelling, and her conclusions are hard to ignore.
This is a book that will stay with me for a long time. It has altered my perception of safety, justice, and human nature. It’s a challenging, uncomfortable, and essential read for anyone who wants to understand the world we live in, not the world we wish we lived in.
Anna Salter delivers a memoir that reads like a psychological thriller but is grounded in decades of grim reality. Her voice is razor-sharp, and her experiences as a clinical psychologist working with some of the darkest figures in society are both fascinating and horrifying. What makes this book so compelling is her ability to describe evil not as an abstract concept, but as a studied, analyzed, often charming presence that walks among us. The courtroom scenes feel cinematic, yet are grounded in emotional authenticity. Her storytelling is immersive—from high-stakes testimonies to deeply personal recollections of childhood trauma. Salter’s ability to balance memoir, psychological insight, and societal critique is simply masterful. This is not just a book about offenders—it’s about justice, resilience, and navigating a world that often wants to look away. Confronting Malice is the kind of book that will haunt you—in the best way. Highly recommended for anyone interested in criminal psychology or true crime that dares to look deeper.
Confronting Malice is the kind of book that stays under your skin long after you close the last page. It challenges the comforting lie that all people are capable of change, and instead presents a brutal truth: some people choose evil again and again.
Salter’s writing is no-nonsense, but rich with experience and moral clarity. She doesn’t indulge in voyeurism, and she doesn’t offer false hope. What she does offer is a blueprint for how to survive in a world that too often refuses to see predators for what they are.
There’s a certain elegance to her fury, controlled, precise, but unmistakably present. When she talks about her own childhood or her heartbreak over lost clients and failed systems, it resonates deeply. She’s not just a forensic expert. She’s a survivor.
For lovers of true crime with substance and soul, this book is a must. It’s not entertainment. It’s education through fire.
The first chapter hooked me with its grit and pacing, and I didn’t look away once. Salter walks a tightrope between memoir and exposé, revealing the systemic failures and cultural blind spots that allow predators to thrive. She is, quite frankly, fearless.
The insights into psychopathy and sadism are chilling. But Salter doesn’t just present case files, she brings us into her own reckoning. Her past, her principles, her professional heartbreaks… it’s all in here, unvarnished and unforgettable.
There are moments in this book that made me physically recoil. Not because of graphic descriptions, though there are some, but because of the implications. What does it say about us as a society that we minimize and ignore these atrocities?
Book lovers who crave bold, unfiltered nonfiction: this one’s for you. It’s the kind of memoir that will rip you open, and then stitch you back together with sharper vision.
Anna Salter is the definition of a warrior-scholar. In Confronting Malice, she distills 40 years of experience into a story that’s equal parts riveting and gut-wrenching. Her style is fierce, witty, and unrelentingly truthful.
I especially appreciated how she addresses misconceptions about child sexual abuse, things like delayed disclosure, memory distortion, and courtroom manipulation. She doesn’t just bust myths; she gives the science behind them. And she does it in a voice that is plainspoken and cutting.
It’s impossible to read this and not feel changed. Salter forces us to look into the eyes of evil—and then look in the mirror and ask how we’ve enabled it. But she also offers hope, in her own stoic way. Hope that awareness can bring change.
I picked this up after hearing about it in a book club discussion, and I’m so glad I did. It’s one of the most disturbing, and important, books I’ve ever read.
Salter does something I didn’t think was possible: she makes justice compelling without melodrama. Her time on the stand, her struggles with expert testimony, her frustrations with court systems that often favor the offender over the victim, it’s all riveting.
This book could easily have become a trauma-porn fest, but it never crosses that line. Salter writes with a clinical edge, yet you can still feel the simmering rage underneath. And who wouldn’t rage after seeing what she’s seen?
Her analysis of societal denial, especially when offenders are charming or respected—is the part that shook me most. She unpacks how predators hide behind social masks, and how even professionals fall for it.
If you love your nonfiction with guts, grit, and moral fire, then here’s your next five-star obsession. For lovers of books that don’t play nice, this is the deep end—and it’s worth the plunge.
Anna C. Salter doesn’t just confront malice—she dissects it, stares it down, and dares it to speak its name. This memoir is like a slow burn: steady, unnerving, and unforgettable. I had to pause several times just to breathe.
The memoir is structured brilliantly. Personal history, courtroom insight, offender psychology—it’s all interwoven. She connects her own past to her professional path without ever slipping into self-indulgence. This is expert storytelling with a purpose.
The parts about psychopathy chilled me to the bone. These aren’t villains from horror movies. These are people who walk free, who smile, who lie better than they breathe. Salter helps you understand how they work so you can stop being fooled.
For any reader craving a book that delivers truth like a scalpel sharp, clean, and a little bloody this is your next must-read. Recommended for fearless nonfiction lovers
The final chapter included in the preview, where Salter interviews Gonzales, the inmate who attacked the warden, is a perfect example of her method. Her questions are direct, calm, and designed to reveal the man’s thinking process. The absurdity of his complaint about suntan lotion while in 23-hour-a-day confinement speaks volumes. It’s in these small, seemingly mundane details that the pathology is often revealed.
This snippet leaves you desperate to read more. How does the interview progress? What does she conclude about his dangerousness? It’s a testament to Salter’s skill as a writer that even a clinical evaluation can end on a note of such suspense.
"Confronting Malice" is filled with these moments. It’s a page-turner of the highest order, but one that expands your mind and bruises your heart in the process. It is, without a doubt, one of the most powerful books I have ever read.
Salter’s honesty about her own fears and vulnerabilities is what makes her such a credible narrator. She doesn’t present herself as a fearless warrior. She describes the dread before cross-examination, the anxiety after making a professional mistake, and the sheer exhaustion of parenting twins as a single mother while doing this emotionally draining work.
This vulnerability makes her moments of courage even more powerful. When she stands her ground against a hostile attorney, or when she calmly interviews a man who would kill her if he had the chance, we understand the strength it takes. It’s not the absence of fear; it’s the determination to act in spite of it.
Reading this book feels like having a conversation with the wisest, toughest, and most compassionate expert you could ever hope to meet. She trusts the reader with her darkest professional secrets and her most painful personal losses. It’s a privilege to listen.
Salter has spent a career diving into the darkest corners of the human mind, and in Confronting Malice, she brings the reader along with harrowing honesty. The juxtaposition of courtroom coldness and emotional mindfulness is one of the most powerful elements of this book. Her courtroom testimony becomes a performance of precision, but behind it lies years of mental preparation and trauma. One of the most unforgettable moments is her description of testifying in a child torture case while keeping the jury emotionally engaged without falling into theatrics. She explains how even her body language is a tool of credibility—a detail that most courtroom thrillers never get right. For true crime readers tired of the sensational, this is the real deal: thoughtful, humane, and devastating. Recommended for professionals and readers who want something deeper than “whodunit.
"Confronting Malice" is ultimately a book about boundaries—the boundaries between good and evil, sanity and insanity, safety and danger. Salter spends her life navigating these blurred lines, and she invites the reader to join her on this precarious journey. She shows us that these boundaries are often not where we think they are.The most important boundary she explores is the one within herself: the line between the professional who can analyze horror and the human being who must live with the emotional consequences. Maintaining that boundary is the central struggle of her life, and her honest portrayal of that struggle is what gives this book its profound power.This is not a book you "enjoy" in the traditional sense. It is a book you endure, you grapple with, and you emerge from changed. It is a necessary, brutal, and beautiful work that I will never forget.
As someone who has experienced loss, Salter’s chapter on grief resonated on a cellular level. Her description of grief as an active "attack" rather than a passive depression is exactly right. The "grief attacks" that ambushed her on the drive home from work are a perfect metaphor for the unpredictable, violent nature of profound loss.
Her journey through grief to a fragile new life with her twins is a testament to the human capacity for renewal. It doesn’t mean the pain goes away; it means life grows around it. This section of the book is a powerful survival guide for anyone who has loved and lost.
Salter’s willingness to share this deepest of wounds transforms the book from a professional memoir into a universal story of love, loss, and the hard, slow work of building a new life from the ashes of an old one.
What does it mean to stare down a murderer and still speak the truth? Anna Salter answers that question with grace and grit in Confronting Malice. She invites you behind the doors of courtrooms and prisons—into the conversations we’re too afraid to imagine having. And she doesn’t blink. But this isn’t just about monsters. It’s also about resilience—Salter’s own, and the resilience required to keep choosing the hard road over the easy silence. Her memoir is not just informative—it’s transformative. Her narrative about adolescence as a Southern tomboy-turned-Harvard Ph.D. is as gripping as any fiction. If you think you’ve read all there is about evil, this book will disprove that in the first chapter.
Our book club has read many memoirs, but none have left such a deep and lasting impression as this one. Salter’s story is so vast, encompassing professional expertise, personal tragedy, and philosophical depth, that we are still unpacking it weeks later. It was a challenging read for our group, but unanimously considered one of the most important books we’ve ever chosen.
Several members were struck by how Salter’s personal history gave her a "head start" in recognizing malice. Her childhood with a cruel mother was a brutal training ground that allowed her to see through the facades of the offenders she later evaluated. This connection between the personal and professional is the book’s great theme.
Anna Salter has written a rare thing: a memoir that’s both intellectually rigorous and emotionally devastating. Confronting Malice doesn’t just tell you what she’s seen it forces you to reckon with why we don’t see it too.
Her personal stories add depth to her professional insights. There’s trauma in these pages, but also razor-sharp commentary on the justice system and the dangerous myths we cling to about rehabilitation and evil.
This book came to me via a book club, and it’s the best “accidental” pick I’ve ever read. We talked about it for hours. This is not a book you forget it’s one that marks you.
Our book club chose this, and it led to the most intense, emotional, and prolonged discussion we’ve ever had. We spent hours talking not just about the offenders, but about our own childhoods, our fears for our children, and our understanding of good and evil. Salter’s book doesn’t just provide topics for discussion; it unlocks fundamental questions about human nature.
The personal sections, particularly about her mother and her son’s death, resonated deeply with everyone. It made the professional material feel immediate and human. This is more than a book; it’s an experience that binds readers together through shared shock, sadness, and ultimately, a greater understanding.
I was particularly struck by the chapter on connection and loyalty. Her interview with the gang member who eloquently distinguishes between love (an adjective) and loyalty (a verb) was a stunning moment. It’s a reminder that even in the most hardened criminals, there can be a twisted code of ethics, a capacity for connection, however misguided.
This complexity is what makes Salter’s work so valuable. She refuses to see these men as monsters. Instead, she sees them as broken, dangerous human beings, and by understanding their brokenness, she helps us build better safeguards for society. It’s a difficult but necessary perspective.
What I admire most about Anna Salter is her rejection of simplistic narratives. She doesn’t see the world in terms of pure good and pure evil. She sees a complex interplay of trauma, biology, choice, and character. Her offenders are not monsters from another planet; they are human beings who have chosen a path of predation, and understanding that path is key to stopping them.
This nuanced perspective is applied to herself as well. She acknowledges her own stubbornness, her failed marriages, and the times her professional judgment was wrong. This radical honesty makes her triumphs all the more meaningful and her insights all the more trustworthy.
Salter’s depiction of her mother, Kate, is a chilling study in narcissism and emotional abuse. The consistent malice she endured as a child is a stark contrast to the overt violence of the offenders she later studied. It shows that malice wears many masks, and some of the most damaging ones are found in suburban homes, not prison cells.
Yet, she finds a way to acknowledge the "gifts" her mother inadvertently gave her: strength, stamina, and a fierce determination to be the opposite of her. It’s a remarkable act of forgiveness and integration, showing how even the worst experiences can be alchemized into strength.
As a man, I found Salter’s insights into male violence particularly illuminating. She doesn’t demonize men; she analyzes the specific cognitive distortions, the lack of reciprocity, and the addictive high of power and control that drive so much violent crime. It’s a clinical, dispassionate look at a passionate problem.
Her stories of playing basketball with boys and men gave her a unique perspective on male culture that many female researchers lack. She understands the language of sports, competition, and physicality, and she uses that understanding to bridge the gap between herself and the men she interviews.
The grief Salter describes after her son’s death is visceral and heartbreaking. She doesn’t just tell you she was sad; she describes the metallic taste in her mouth, the aphasia, the sensation of her chest being hollow and fragile. It’s one of the most authentic accounts of loss I have ever read.
This personal cataclysm directly informs her professional work, forcing her to stop working with young victims because their pain triggered her own too deeply. This honest assessment of her own limits is what makes her such a trustworthy guide. She knows the cost of this work, and she pays it willingly, but she also knows when to step back.
What sets this book apart is Salter’s unwavering focus on the victims. While she spends much of her time trying to understand the offenders, she never loses sight of the devastation they leave behind. Her description of how to create a "safe place" for trauma survivors is a beautiful and practical guide to empathy.
Her courage is astounding. To sit in a room alone with a shackled man who has dismembered a child, to interview him calmly, to try to find the human being buried beneath the pathology, this is a level of professional fortitude I can barely comprehend. She is a true hero in a field where heroes are scarce.
A rare, fearless memoir. Anna C. Salter doesn't just confront malice—she dissects it, challenges it, and forces the reader to reckon with the darkness lurking behind polite society. Her stories are gut-wrenching but necessary. From courtrooms to treatment rooms, she paints a portrait of evil that is disturbingly mundane and disturbingly real. This book shook me, but it also educated me. Highly recommended for anyone who wants to understand violence not just as an act, but as a mindset. Everyone in law enforcement, psychology, or social work should read this.
Reading Confronting Malice is like stepping into a warzone with a psychologist who never flinches. Salter’s reflections on 40 years of treating and evaluating sex offenders are raw, brutally honest, and psychologically rich. The writing has a distinct rhythm that dances between dry wit and deeply moving introspection. She doesn’t just report—she confronts. Whether it’s a courtroom, a childhood trauma, or a killer's gaze, Salter meets it head-on. This book is a wake-up call in the best sense. If you’ve ever worked in law, therapy, or child protection—this is required reading.
I devoured this book in two days, then sat in silence for a third. It’s hard to even describe how deeply Confronting Malice cuts—through denial, through myth, through the human impulse to pretend some people aren’t evil. Salter won’t let us look away.
She’s not interested in drama for the sake of it. What she delivers is evidence, hard-won experience, and the psychological mechanics behind violent offenders—especially those who seem charming, even likable. She shows us how “normal” often masks danger.
Salter has written something that’s both haunting and clarifying. Confronting Malice peels back the polite layers we drape over horror and forces us to see what we’d rather not. She’s been on the front lines for decades, and it shows.
Her insights on how predators manipulate people and systems are terrifying because they’re so familiar. What makes it worse is how many people fall for it, even judges and therapists who should know better.
Got this from a book club and honestly didn’t expect to be so moved. But I was. This book might be the most important thing I’ve read all year.
Confronting Malice challenges everything you think you know about evil. Salter’s tone is composed, but her message is ferocious: not all predators are obvious. Many are charming, articulate, and protected by the systems around them.
What shocked me most was her commentary on professional complicity—judges, attorneys, even therapists who enable harm because they don’t want to believe in malevolence. That denial is a theme she hits hard.
If you’ve read Predators or The Gift of Fear, this is your next step. Unfiltered, unapologetic, unforgettable