Amy K. Green’s debut novel arrives with the subtlety of a severed arm on your doorstep, and that deliberate shock value sets the tone for everything that follows. Haven’t Killed in Years is a propulsive, darkly comedic thriller that asks uncomfortable questions about identity, inheritance, and whether the apple really does fall far from the tree. The title itself functions as both confession and promise, a sardonic wink from a protagonist who might be the most unreliable narrator you’ll encounter this year.
Green, who works as an accountant on films in Massachusetts, brings a cinematic sensibility to her storytelling, cutting between timelines and perspectives with precision that keeps readers perpetually off-balance. This is not your grandmother’s domestic thriller. It is something stranger, funnier, and far more unsettling.
The Woman Behind the Mask
Gwen Tanner works in human capital management, wears J.Crew outlet clothing, and spends her free time making pottery. She is, by all appearances, the most aggressively normal woman approaching thirty that you could possibly imagine. The prose captures her perfectly: “At any given time, I was overtired and slightly dehydrated, but from the outside, I looked like your standard almost-too-basic law-abiding woman.”
But Gwen Tanner is a fabrication. Underneath the cardigan and fake pearl earrings lives Marin Haggerty, the daughter of convicted serial killer Abel Haggerty, who has spent twenty years constructing an identity designed to make her invisible. When dismembered body parts begin arriving at her apartment, targeting people from her buried past, that carefully constructed anonymity starts crumbling.
What makes Gwen such a compelling protagonist is her refusal to be sympathetic in conventional ways. She does not wallow in victimhood. She does not seek therapy or redemption arcs. She is sharp-tongued, calculating, and entirely aware that something fundamental might be broken inside her. Green never asks readers to excuse Gwen’s darkness; instead, she invites them to understand it.
True Crime Fandom as Cultural Mirror
One of the novel’s most cutting observations involves its satirization of true crime obsession. Dominic, a young man who runs the only Abel Haggerty Murder Tour in Boston, visits the imprisoned killer regularly, believing himself to be capturing something profound about the human condition for his future book. Meanwhile, Gwen watches him romanticize her father’s crimes while sitting inches away, suppressing the urge to scream.
Green uses this dynamic to explore several uncomfortable truths:
- The commodification of tragedy for entertainment
- The way survivors become footnotes in narratives about their abusers
- How proximity to violence becomes social currency in certain circles
- The fine line between academic interest and obsessive fixation
The party scenes featuring true crime enthusiasts playing disturbing games serve as dark comedy, but also genuine cultural critique. These are people who treat murder as content, who fetishize victims and killers alike without considering the human wreckage left behind.
A Voice That Cuts Like a Scalpel
Green’s prose style deserves particular recognition. The first-person narration crackles with dry wit and self-awareness, transforming what could be relentlessly grim material into something almost playful. Gwen observes the world with the detached amusement of someone who has seen too much to take ordinary problems seriously.
The internal monologue maintains a consistent voice throughout, blending dark observations with unexpected vulnerability. When Gwen describes her relationship with her imprisoned father, the prose shifts subtly, revealing the complicated emotions beneath her calculated exterior. These moments of genuine feeling prevent the character from becoming merely a vehicle for cleverness.
The dialogue, too, demonstrates Green’s ear for how people actually speak. Conversations feel natural and often funny, even when discussing terrible things. Porter, Gwen’s well-meaning coworker, provides comic relief without becoming cartoonish, and his interactions with Gwen showcase her capacity for genuine friendship despite her isolation.
Where the Foundation Cracks
No debut is flawless, and Haven’t Killed in Years has structural elements that may frustrate certain readers. The middle section occasionally loses momentum as the plot threads multiply, with some reveals feeling rushed while others are delayed beyond narrative necessity. The pacing, while generally brisk, becomes uneven during the second act.
Some secondary characters remain underdeveloped despite their importance to the plot. Certain motivations feel thin when examined closely, relying on coincidence or contrivance where earned development would strengthen the emotional impact. Additionally, readers seeking strict procedural accuracy may find the investigative elements somewhat loose.
The novel’s tonal juggling act, while mostly successful, occasionally creates dissonance. Shifting from genuine menace to sardonic comedy and back again requires careful calibration, and there are moments where the humor undercuts tension that might have been more effective if sustained. However, this tonal instability also reflects Gwen’s own fractured psychology, which may be intentional.
Exploring the Sins of the Father
The thematic core of Haven’t Killed in Years concerns legacy and whether escape from one’s origins is truly possible. Gwen has spent two decades attempting to outrun her father’s shadow, constructing an identity specifically designed to contradict everything Abel Haggerty represented. Yet she cannot stop returning to the scenes of his crimes, cannot stop testing herself against his memory.
Green handles this material with nuance, refusing easy answers. The nature versus nurture question remains genuinely open; Gwen possesses her father’s capacity for violence, but whether that capacity is genetic inheritance or learned behavior stays ambiguous. This refusal to moralize elevates the novel above typical thriller fare.
The relationship between Gwen and Abel, conducted largely through memory and one devastating prison visit, forms the emotional spine of the narrative. Their dynamic is toxic, manipulative, and somehow still recognizable as familial love twisted beyond healthy parameters.
Final Verdict: A Debut Worth Your Attention
Haven’t Killed in Years announces Amy K. Green as a distinctive voice in psychological thriller fiction. Her willingness to create a protagonist who defies likability while remaining compelling demonstrates confidence that many debut authors lack. The novel entertains consistently while offering genuine substance beneath its pulpy surface.
For readers who appreciate their thrillers with sharp edges, dark humor, and morally complicated protagonists, this book delivers substantial satisfaction. Those who prefer cleaner genre lines or more traditionally sympathetic leads may find Gwen’s detachment challenging.
Green has crafted something that feels both fresh and assured. The Massachusetts setting lends authenticity, the true crime commentary adds relevance, and Gwen Tanner ranks among the year’s most memorable antiheroes. Whatever flaws exist in the plotting are overshadowed by the sheer pleasure of spending time inside this particular damaged mind.
Books Similar to Haven’t Killed in Years
If Haven’t Killed in Years captured your attention, consider exploring these comparable reads:
- My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing: Another darkly comic thriller featuring morally compromised protagonists
- You by Caroline Kepnes: First-person narration from an obsessive, unreliable perspective
- The Kind Worth Killing by Peter Swanson: Twisty plotting with characters who blur moral boundaries
- Confessions by Kanae Minato: Psychological thriller exploring revenge and inherited violence
- Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn: Family trauma, murder investigation, and complicated female protagonists
- A Flicker in the Dark by Stacy Willingham: Another thriller featuring a serial killer’s daughter navigating her dark legacy