57 pages • 1 hour read
Danya KukafkaA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
In Notes on an Execution, Kukafka, a self-described consumer of true crime, turns a critical eye toward the impact of true crime media on victims and their families. The novel functions in part as a meta-analysis of the common pitfalls of crime and true crime narratives.
True crime is a genre of media that explores the details and impact of real crimes. In recent years, true crime has seen a surge of popularity in the form of podcasts, documentaries, and novels. True crime media specific to murder often goes into explicit detail about the personal lives of killers and the violence they inflict on their victims.
Critics of the genre have pointed out that consuming real crimes as entertainment can desensitize audiences to violence and exploit victims by turning their trauma into a spectacle. Another common critique is that true crime culture glorifies killers while sidelining the lives of victims. Serial killers like Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer are practically household names, yet few people can name even one of their victims. If they have the luxury of being remembered at all, victims like the girls killed by Ansel are often thought of as “distilled constantly in…fear [and] pain” (308), with no attention given to who they were before their deaths.
The characters of Notes on an Execution are keenly aware of modern crime culture. Ansel believes his crimes entitle him to the attention of the public, hoping for “books and documentaries and dark tunnels on the internet” (293) dedicated to him. He spends much of the novel detailing his Theory, an allusion to the manifestos written by serial killers like Ted Kaczynski and Elliot Rodger. Ansel plans to have his Theory leaked to the press after his escape, though he cynically acknowledges that his actions are “not bad enough to warrant the attention” he desires (207).
Hazel and Saffy’s storylines show the impact of this fascination on victims and their families. After the 1990 disappearances, the local rumor mill explodes with “unhinged townie theories” (126), mirroring the way real-life crimes are often followed by baseless speculation. Swarms of journalists descend on victims’ families, seeking to understand Ansel rather than the girls. Hazel laments press coverage that awards Ansel the “glorified title of serial killer” (293) while reducing his victims to footnotes. Jenny receives less media attention than the other victims because “men kill their ex-wives all the time” (295), highlighting the desensitization encouraged by a fast-moving news cycle.
As she outlines these injustices, Kukafka plays with genre conventions to construct a less exploitative version of a crime narrative. She describes in rich detail the moments leading up to Ansel’s three murders but leaves the intricacies of the actual murders vague. Doing so denies the reader the opportunity to gawk at the morbid details and preserves the victims’ trauma from exploitation. Kukafka also dismantles the idea that serial killers are more interesting than their victims by spotlighting the lost lives of Izzy, Angela, and Jenny.
Kukafka closes the novel with a section detailing the lives each of Ansel’s victims would have lived if they hadn’t been killed. Readers learn intimate details about each girl’s hopes, loves, dreams, and the accomplishments they would have contributed to the world. Here, Kukafka pivots the focus back onto the lives and dignity of the victims.
Kukafka doesn’t outright condemn the consumption of true crime. Notes on an Execution is, after all, a crime thriller. Kukafka understands the pull of crime narratives, especially for women. Rather than lambasting those who enjoy true crime, she highlights the ways it can be harmful in its current state, leaving readers to meditate on whether there is an ethical way to consume crime-related content for entertainment.
As she explores the pitfalls of using crimes for entertainment, Kukafka tackles another closely related issue: serial killer as a “glorified title.” The modern idea of a serial killer of women, popularized by people like Ted Bundy, is one of a brilliant, handsome, but psychopathic man. Men who kill women in great enough numbers become objects of cultural fascination, receiving both adulation and disgust from the public.
Even though much of true crime content focuses on male perpetrators and female victims, a 2010 study by Amanda Vicary and Chris Fraley found that women are more likely to consume true crime content than men. Kukafka explores why women might feel drawn to narratives in which they are predominantly victims.
As her characters grapple with an unwanted attraction and fascination toward Ansel, Kukafka deconstructs his character, peeling back a layer of glamorous tropes to reveal the pathetic reality. Notes on an Execution argues that men who kill are not worthy of fascination. Instead, that attention should be redirected toward celebrating and remembering their victims.
Kukafka acknowledges that humans feel a natural curiosity for the morbid. Men like Ansel can put on a convincing facade of emotion to get what they want. Some women, like Hazel, are pulled in by this façade and have trouble shaking their attraction even after the men reveal their cruelty. Others, like Saffy, are fascinated by violent men because knowledge of their actions provides some sense of control in a world where women are constantly victimized.
Saffy’s attraction to Ansel starts as an innocent crush and mutates into an obsession when she starts to suspect him of the 1990 murders. He consumes her waking thoughts, and she upends her life to stalk him for a decade. As she collects scraps of evidence, Saffy subconsciously pedestalizes Ansel, assuming he must be driven by some intricate and twisted motive. She even wonders if her obsession is “some kind of love” (245). Saffy identifies in herself and in other women “an ask, for suffering” (141) that draws them to dangerous men. Having been victimized by Ansel before, she is especially driven to understand his motivations as a way of protecting herself.
As the story progresses, Kukafka peels back the mystique surrounding Ansel through his memories and the observations of others. The mythology he and others have built around him crumbles as readers learn that he is an emotionally apathetic and deeply traumatized man. His society has conditioned him to expect certain things from women and the world, and when he could not give or feel the same love as everyone else, he turned to murder. His actions are devastatingly common, just another man taking out his pain on women. All the women who give parts of their life to Ansel come away with trauma, and some do not survive their encounters.
As Ansel’s weaknesses are revealed, the strength of the three women who share the novel shines in contrast. Lavender, Hazel, and Saffy are complex characters, capable of cruelty and kindness, making mistakes and atoning. Kukafka explores the full range of their experiences and emotions while lending a voice to Ansel’s murdered girls, who are also painted as vibrant, nuanced, and full of potential. The women are depicted as infinitely more interesting than Ansel. They grow as he shrinks, until even Saffy realizes that her obsession with Ansel is misplaced. Her long search for a motive is pointless because Ansel’s crimes are meaningless. All he has created is suffering.
By the end of the novel, Kukafka has flipped the usual script of a crime narrative. Ansel is reduced to the sum of his crimes while his victims are portrayed as the full, vibrant, and beautiful people they were before they met him.
Most of the major characters in Notes on an Execution experience trauma, from abuse to addiction to parental loss. Their experiences follow them into adulthood and affect the ways they interact with the world. While childhood trauma is often used as an explanation for adult violence, Kukafka critically examines this explanation. Through Lavender, Saffy, and Ansel, she explores trauma—how it affects each brain differently, how it can reverberate throughout a lifetime, and the control that its victims retain over their personhood.
As a child, Ansel is abused by his physically abusive father. He is then abandoned by his mother and left to believe that his baby brother has died. After his rescue, he is shunted into the foster care system. All of these traumas place Ansel into the role of victim. Yet he soon becomes a victimizer of women himself, first placing the dismembered fox in Saffy’s bed and then escalating to murder within six years. He kills Angela, Izzy, and Lila in the hopes that the murders will grant him a sense of safety and relief from the constant screaming in his mind.
Ansel subscribes to John Locke’s theory that “we are created by what happened to us, combined with who we chose to be” (91). He uses it as justification for his crimes, insinuating that he became a killer because of the things that were done to him. Kukafka posits that the second half of Locke’s theory matters just as much as the first. Though what happened to Ansel was undoubtedly unfair, he could have chosen to be an entirely different kind of man. There is no justifying his choice to seek safety by killing women.
The stories of Kukafka’s three women exemplify the possibility of breaking traumatic cycles. All the women experience traumas that affect the rest of their lives in unique ways, influenced by their personal brain chemistry and individual experiences. As Saffy notes, “every brain [is] different in its deviance” (217). Yet despite their differing outcomes, each one chooses a way of coping that doesn’t involve violence against other people.
Lavender is victimized by Ansel’s father. Johnny is physically and sexually abusive, leading her to flee and leave her children behind in New York. Lavender spends several years adrift, working as an “exotic” dancer and having a series of fleeting relationships. She finds healing at the Gentle Valley commune among other trauma survivors. She still deals with intense bouts of grief and guilt over leaving Ansel and Ellis but can move forward with the help of her community.
Saffy loses her mother when she is still a preteen. After moving to Miss Gemma’s, she is traumatized by her encounter with Ansel. This trauma develops first into drug addiction, then a gnawing obsession with proving Ansel’s connection to the 1990 murders. She stalks him relentlessly, feeling pulled toward his violence “if only to prove it [can] not touch her” (271). Having once been victimized by Ansel, she seeks safety in understanding his every move. Her campaign of surveillance ends in her accidentally catalyzing Jenny’s murder. Saffy eventually finds a way of coping by throwing herself into her work. She recognizes the harmful potential of her obsession but channels it into saving other people from victimization.
Hazel’s trauma occurs later in life, when Ansel murders her twin Jenny. After a lifetime of seeing herself as part of a unit, she must learn to live on her own. Despite what Ansel took away from her, Hazel doesn’t seek violent vengeance. She takes no joy in his death. She is disgusted by the spectacle that’s been made of his life and turns her attention toward advocating for prison reform and equality. Hazel finds a way of going on by turning outward to help others as well as carrying her sister’s memory with her.
As Ansel says, “it’s not so hard, to be bad” (151). Choosing selfishness and cruelty is easy; it’s hard to remain good in the face of life’s tragedies. While Kukafka’s three women build better lives for themselves, each one struggles with moments of cruelty and mistakes. Imperatively, they accept responsibility for their shortcomings and work through their traumas—internally, in therapy, or with close friends. Doing so helps them avoid perpetuating further hurt. Notes on an Execution posits that while no one can control everything that happens to them nor how their brains process it; everyone can choose to be good.
The ending of Notes on an Execution is clear from the moment in Chapter 9 when Ansel’s escape attempt fails. He will be executed by lethal injection, and his chapters are structured as a countdown to his death. To those who believe Ansel is an irredeemable psychopath, this may be a desirable outcome. By exploring the meaning of psychopathy and the repercussions of the death penalty, however, Kukafka encourages thinking twice about writing off a human being entirely. Notes on an Execution proposes that even those labeled as psychopaths share fundamental human qualities and that condemning any unwilling person to death is unjust.
In her interview with Kailey DelloRusso, Kukafka references an article by Sarah Marshall in The Believer titled “The End of Evil.” Written after Marshall visited the site of Ted Bundy’s execution, the article’s thesis is that dismissing a killer as a psychopath “eliminates their humanity.” It allows the comfort of separating him from the rest of humanity, turning him into a monster rather than reckoning with the knowledge that all humans are capable of evil acts.
Ansel is identified as dangerous from childhood. Even Lavender expresses reservations about his odd, sometimes alarming behavior, describing his gaze as “looking right through you” (26). After years of being told he is different, Ansel identifies with his diagnosis of psychopathy. Being told over and over that he is “neurologically incapable” of love leads him to accept this as a fundamental truth about himself. He believes that he is somehow less than and more than human, a conviction that hampers his ability to reach out for help, as he believes he is beyond it.
Ansel’s chapters reveal that society at large is woefully unequipped to understand and help people labeled as psychopaths. Ansel’s life has been marred by abuse and loneliness since childhood. His fundamental human needs have gone unmet since he was four years old. By narrating his chapters in the second person and including a detailed account of his traumas, Kukafka allows the possibility of empathy for her killer. Ansel displays flashes of emotions like fear and remorse. He hopes that his murders will somehow cleanse him and make him like everyone else.
After killing Lila and finding himself “devastatingly […] unchanged” Ansel seeks help at a hospital but is met by the same “confused and vaguely alarmed eyes” (152) he’s known since childhood. Even people whose jobs revolve around helping don’t know what to do with or for Ansel. “Psychopath” is a bucket he is put in and left to rot.
Through Ansel’s internal monologue, Kukafka gives nuance to his character. Outside of his worst acts, he has moments of calm and goodness. Most significant is his two-week stint at the Blue House, during which he forms the kind of authentic connection that he is allegedly incapable of. Being treated like a normal person makes Ansel realize a vision of himself as a good and loving person, but it’s too late to prevent the harm he’s caused.
After establishing Ansel’s personhood, Notes on an Execution confronts the morality of executing him. Ansel did immeasurable harm in his time on earth by taking away four human lives, yet he is still a human who wants to live. Killing him is presented by the state as justice, but to the friends and families of his victims the punishment feels hollow. At best it’s an easy out for someone who deserves a lifetime of suffering and at worst it’s state-sanctioned murder, not only of Ansel but of other, potentially innocent people. Ansel’s execution plays out in excruciating detail, from his last plea for mercy to the pain of the lethal chemicals “bursting through [his] veins” (305).
Ansel dies alone and afraid. His execution doesn’t bring closure for his victims or their families. Notes on an Execution closes with the argument that taking an unwilling human life is not justifiable just because that person is labeled a psychopath.