![]() ![]() I killed him and ate his liver.” Like a lecherous M.F.K. Instead of quietly succumbing to her fate, she discovers a new interest: “Giovanni. Her work has been published in glossy magazine spreads “as slick as oiled thighs,” but those days have come and gone, and her “inevitable slow ebb into obscurity” with the rest of print media is looming. She’s a 51-year-old bestselling author, revered food writer, and James Beard Award winner. “Maybe he was my middle-aged madness, my little red Corvette, my last great gasp before I headed off into menopause.” Summers’ narrator is far from your stereotypical psychotic serial killer. Imprisoned for life (plus 20 years), she fondly recounts a decade of killing her lovers, starting with the last unsuspecting victim, whose grisly demise begins with a delicious duck confit and abruptly ends with an ice pick to the neck. ![]() “Why, I wonder now, did I kill him?” ponders Dorothy Daniels from her prison cell. Think Eat, Pray, Love if the narrator were a wildly articulate and charming cannibal. ![]()
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