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John Douglas Follows The Wake Of The Homicidal Maniac In 'Obsession.'
By Christopher Weir
Obsession, by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker (Pocket
Books). Paper, $6.99.
IN THEIR DEBUT book, Mindhunter, famed FBI profiler
John Douglas and writer Mark Olshaker not only conducted a compelling
probe into the minds of serial killers, but also allowed Douglas
so many tedious pages of autobiographical chest-thumping that
they put readers in the unenviable position of blurting out, "Bring
on the bloodshed!" Worse yet, their next collaboration, Journey
into Darkness, seemed like little more than an exercise in
meeting a publishing contract deadline. But now, in Obsession,
the pair finally catches a serious groove, navigating the dark
world of sexual predators with impassioned conviction, justified
outrage and, yes, sustained focus.
Establishing his theme early, Douglas writes, "With the
rare exception of the truly insane individual...the predator,
and particularly the sexual predator, commits violent acts because
he chooses to do so. The operative word is always choice.
That's where I stand, and if you don't agree with that, or aren't
open-minded enough to let me try to convince you in this book,
you may as well stop reading right now."
Convince us, he does.
From serial rapists to serial killers, stalkers to molesters,
Obsession methodically explores the motivational dynamics
of sexual predators, ultimately revealing them not as impulsive
lunatics, but as simple egomaniacs on a personal warpath to hell.
Sure, they're obsessed. But, as Douglas observes, "A predator
can be obsessed with killing, just as I can be obsessed with hunting
him down. But he isn't forced to kill any more than I am forced
to pursue him."
Of course, common denominators emerge amid the various case studies.
Not surprisingly, a vast majority of predators come from disturbed
childhoods (although Douglas also points out that a vast minority
of disturbed childhoods spawn predators). More telling, however,
is the slow escalation in associated behavior, from voyeurism
to peeping to burglary.
Such patterns, however, are rarely employed by the legal system
as a greater means toward prevention, so the offenders slip through
the judicial cracks until they do something particularly heinous.
Even stalkers, despite the implementation of belated anti-stalking
legislation, still enjoy a certain societal anonymity while making
no secret of their terroristic end-games. Quoting security expert
Gavin de Becker, Douglas writes, "Why does America have thousands
of suicide prevention centers and not one homicide prevention
center?"
Douglas opines that our collective values and romanticism may
be partly to blame: "Think of all the movies in which boy
meets girl, boy pursues girl, girl rejects boy, boy persists and
eventually triumphs, and they presumably live happily ever after.
In some ways, this type of stalking is another criminal symptom
of a society that doesn't get the message that when a woman says
no, she means no."
Ultimately, Douglas insists, the typical predator occupies a
narrow world of self-gratification, one in which remorse is something
expressed not as a function of being sorry, but rather as a response
to simply getting caught.
Consequently, he is careful to deflect attention away from the
predator's egomaniacal orbit, emphasizing instead the pain, suffering
and injustice visited upon victims and their loved ones. Along
the way, he forges a blueprint for enhanced awareness--one that
aspires to proactively reduce the impact of predators on our collective
lives.
"I've seen too much of this," Douglas concludes. "I've
spent too much time with wonderful people whose lives have been
irretrievably shattered by one of these monsters, and each time
I think about how it could be my own."
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