Lethal Lit: a True Crime Fiction Case Study

a quick and dirty process post

This is the third in a series of posts chronicling my process preparing a conference presentation looking at representations of true crime creators in fiction. You can read the first post, about the time frame I’m looking at here, and some data crunching about literary modes here.

Those of you who have been following my conference presentation writing adventure know that last time I came to the disheartening realization that the real work of analysis would have to soon begin. But I have to remember, this is still the fun part! I spent the last two weeks re-listening to the podcast Lethal Lit, which super-cool ‘stacker Alex Segura co-created and co-produced along with Monica Gallagher in 2018. Stumbling across this property a few years ago was a big part of my inspiration for this project, so I was delighted to discover that the show was just as good as I remembered. (Spoilers for seasons 1 &2 follow!)

My talk (and hopefully someday book), aims to use literary analysis to explore how true crime creators are represented in fiction. I’m interested in whether and how these texts address the criticisms of “real life” true crime texts and creators. My idea now is to approach the texts on my spreadsheet with questions like:

• Do the creators center the victims/have authentic connections to the crimes they are discussing, or is the approach more exploitative?

• Do the texts themselves address the “true crime so white” problem through racially diverse creators and/or victims?

• What is the relationship between the fictional creators and the criminal justice system?

Using these questions as guides to analyzing Lethal Lit, I’m delighted to report Tig Torres is a particularly rich character. The podcast opens with teenaged Tig returning to her hometown of Hollow Falls (I think it’s in New England or upstate New York? Maybe Alex can confirm lol) from New York City because of her father’s job loss. It’s a particularly fraught homecoming because her Aunt Beth was framed for the serial murders of six townspeople a decade prior.

Tig is Latina, and the podcast highlights her close relationship with her abuela, with whom she lives. She also notes how Hollow Falls has been negatively impacted by globalization. Rather than descending from New York City to voyeuristically report on the town and its bloody history, she is intimately connected to the place and the crimes. Her aunt is both a victim of the Lit Killer and a victim of the criminal justice system—she is posthumously wrongly accused. The goal of her podcast is to “uncover the truth, clear my aunt’s name, and put the real killer behind bars.” A familiar quest to many, many popular podcasts of the present and recent past including, of course, Serial.¹

Tig has an adversarial relationship with incompetent authorities (the local police and her principal) as she tries to clear her aunt’s name, and she also comes across a community of armchair detectives—a group called “Murder of Crows”—who, as her friend Max speculates, probably carry “creeper membership cards.” Tig’s retort, “it’s not that creepy; a lot of people are interested in true crime” is one of the many ways the show comments on itself, and the phenomenon of true crime, in a way that approaches metatextuality.²

Tig’s successful identification of the real Lit Killer (at great personal danger—the show is quite exciting!) results in the successful fulfillment of her show’s stated mission, and a confirmation that true crime creators can do reparative work in the real world. Characters on the podcast comment on its popularity in real time, with one character noting that, “you’ve created a movement with this podcast of yours,” and one of the last episodes featuring Tig, audibly crying, saying “I did this for her. For my family.” However, it comes at an emotional cost to Tig. She confirms that being close to death “does something to you,” and she discovers her boyfriend has been compromised by the Lit Killer.

The second season of Lethal Lit features one of my favorite (meta)features of fiction: including a “bad” version of the text’s own genre for comparison.³ Because of the popularity of Tig’s previous podcast, true crime tourists have come to Hollow Falls, and have brought with them competing podcasts that model inauthentic, exploitative types of true crime.⁴ Season 2 also includes a Koenig-like true-crime podcast host named Jane Ferrante (not sure of the spelling as I’ve had some trouble tracking down transcripts) who performs a heel turn so spectacular that Tig abandons the format entirely by the end of the final episode.⁵

Lethal Lit also has two in-universe novels which I haven’t had a chance to read yet, (though it seems Tig picks up her podcast again in the second one), but overall this property is exactly the kind of complicated text I’m interested in analyzing. Tig Torres demonstrates a genuine and ethical approach to true crime storytelling, which is only highlighted in the second season by the desperate and depraved antics of Murder Boy and Jane Ferrante. Lethal Lit explores both the possibilities and the limitations of true crime through its fictional representation of Tig’s podcasting, and it also has the added benefit of beautiful sound design and a compelling plot. I will definitely be buying some merch!

1. At one point, Tig calls her classmates working at the school newspaper “junior Sarah Koenigs,” solidifying the connection.

2. Basically a lit crit term for texts that comment on themselves as fictional or the conventions of their genre in a knowing manner

3. A great example of this is found in Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, which includes passages from a fictional novel, The Lost Weekend, that is stylistically overwrought and sentimental. The inclusion of “bad” writing highlights how “good” Hemingway’s stark and direct prose is by comparison.

4. My personal favorite: Murder Boy.

5. A full three months before Tina Fey’s Cinda Canning, a similar character, makes a similar move on season 2 of Only Murders in the Building!