This is the introduction to the book:
On February 25, 2005, my father, Dennis Lynn Rader, was arrested for murder. In the weeks that followed, I learned he was the serial killer known as BTK (Bind, Torture, Kill), who had terrorized my hometown of Wichita, Kansas, for three decades. As he confessed on national television to the brutal killings of eight adults and two children, I struggled to comprehend the fact that the first twenty-six years of my life had been a lie. My father was not the man I’d known him to be. Since his arrest, I’ve fought hard to come to terms with the truth about my dad. I’ve wrestled with shame, guilt, anger, and hatred. I’ve accepted the fact that I am a crime victim, dating back to the days my mom carried me in her womb. I no longer fight the past nor try to hide it. It just is. It happened and it’s terrible. Terrible to dream about, terrible to think about, terrible to talk about. Incalculable loss, trauma, emotional abuse, depression, anxiety, posttraumatic stress—these things leave scars. I’ve struggled with forgiveness, fought for understanding, tried to put the ruptured pieces of my life and my family’s life back together. It’s an ongoing battle. But hope, truth, and love—the things that are good and right in this world—continue to fight through the darkness and overcome the nightmares. I am a survivor who has found resilience and resistance in faith, courage, and my sure stubbornness to never give up.
That quite sums the book up in a quite full-rounded way. It's obvious to me that the author has suffered—and suffers—immensely at the hands of her normal father, who is also the serial-killer Dennis Rader, known as BTK.
One of the absolutely best things about this book, is the author's ordinariness, or rather, her being who she is; this book does not suffer from the sensationalism that usually marrs autobiographies that have been spruced up to gallant or even evade the truth, in service of tabloid fodder. She writes about her usual days before knowing her father's BTK, as in this paragraph:
In January 1974, Dad murdered Joseph and Julie Otero and their two youngest children, Josie, age eleven, and Joey, age nine. The three older Otero children found their family’s bodies after walking home from school.
Another powerful stylistic trait throughout the book, is the author's jumps through time, even in the same paragraph at times, giving way to a kind of stream-of-consciousness feel. Still, most of the book is very coherently written:
Mom found comfort in the chime that went off in the hospital right after Grandpa died. It meant a baby had been born at almost the exact moment my grandpa passed. Mom told me later that Dad had wept over his father’s body. Wrecked with grief, he had walked hunched over down the hospital hallway. She said, “I don’t think your dad had ever sat beside someone who died before.” When I heard these words, I was filled with sorrow, picturing Dad next to Grandpa’s frail body. Dad was grieved over the loss of his father—he had loved him, very much. It’s impossible for me to reckon that with Dad taking the lives of ten innocent people.
There are a lot of Bible references throughout the book, and still, it's obvious to see that the author has accepted help from other sources, e.g. therapy and family members.
There are several mind-boggling episodes in this book, unlike most serial-killer books that I've read (and I have read quite a few), especially when the author reveals herself as human in all kinds of facets, as here:
Mom said, “Did you know I was teasing him this fall that he spelled like that guy—BTK?” I grinned a bit at this, trying to stifle a laugh, as I checked Mom’s face.
She was trying to hide a smirk, too, and when our eyes met, we both started giggling. It felt good to laugh.
People died. I’m not supposed to be laughing ever again.
“I asked your dad once why would BTK use a cereal box to communicate with the police—like it was reported in the news. He said, ‘Cereal—like a serial killer.’”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that one.
“Where did he get those boxes? We don’t eat that type of cereal.” And that’s what my poor mom is wondering.
Mom continued: “When I got interviewed, they asked what was behind our hidden door. I asked, ‘What door?’ They said the one in the kitchen behind the table. I said, ‘You mean the door the dryer is behind?’” I snorted, tried to contain it, and gave up, laughing out loud.
Mom and Grandma followed. “The police asked me about safety-deposit boxes—I don’t know why.”
Later, we learned that Dad used secret ones to store BTK items. Mom’s face turned serious, her voice lower.
“Early last year, there was a special about the thirtieth anniversary of the first murders, what happened to the Oteros. It was on TV. Your dad watched it.” Oh. I didn’t know he had watched it.
The letters from and to Dennis Rader are also quite mind-boggling. This one from the author to her father:
We weren’t very thrilled to see your written interview with the local TV station. We also didn’t like seeing your poems and letters on TV. We know you can and will do what you want to do, but we would really appreciate it if you could control that stuff better. Any publicity is bad for the family, especially for the ones that live in Kansas.
Brian and I have the grace of living in areas where we’re not known; and that’s been a blessing these last three months. Mom and everyone else doesn’t have that grace. We’re asking you to stop this type of communication on behalf of us. I have shared this view with your lawyers, and they were going to talk to you about it.
Mom is having the hardest time with everything that has happened. Brian and I share a different kind of bond with you than she does. It is easier for children to love their parents unconditionally (and vice versa) than it is for spouses. For her own sake, she might need to start distancing herself from you, and you’re going to have to try to understand that. She’s stronger than we all thought and she’s going to get through this, just as the rest of us are. We refuse to let the bad stuff win. Mom shared 34 good years with you, Brian 29 years, and me 26 years. We’re trying to hold on to that—not let the other things define you or us. You should not let that define you either. You’re stronger and better than that.
I love you and I know you’re trying to do the right things. I’m truly sorry your life has turned out this way. I want you to know you’re loved and cared for. You’re loved by your children, family, and most importantly God, whose love and forgiveness is much more powerful and greater than any on earth could be. I’ll write again soon.
Their correspondence changes over time, as the author comes to terms with what's happening while being severely affected with PTSD due to her father's legal crimes.
All in all, I feel the book should have been shortened, but on the other hand, its length does serve a purpose. All in all, this is a very human feel of how it can be to be closely related to a person who's committed crimes that were highly publicised for a while and most likely, due to sensationalistic "true-crime tv series", always be current to serial-killer boffins.