91 pages 3-hour read

The Idaho Four: An American Tragedy

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2025

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide features discussion of graphic violence, death, stalking, strong emotional trauma, and explicit discussion of misogyny, mental health, and social alienation.

The Importance of Community and the Dangers of Isolation

In The Idaho Four communities and individuals work to reorient themselves and resist isolation in the aftermath of the violence. The victims’ lives were defined by tight-knit friend groups, close family bonds, and the comfortable familiarity of a small-town campus. Their deeply social lives contrast with the isolation of their eventual murderer, who struggles to fit in with his hometown and later finds himself ostracized in his academic program. His violence spreads his isolation outward, destabilizing the sense of safety and community that defined Moscow and leaving survivors struggling with a sense of psychological isolation as they find themselves unable to trust their neighbors:


The fact that everyone in Moscow knows everyone else has morphed overnight from a sense of comfort to something deeply unsettling. Neighbor suddenly mistrusts neighbor. Friend mistrusts friend. Customer mistrusts vendor. People are shutting themselves in. Hiding from one another (191).


Over the course of the novel, survivors combat this isolation by finding ways to rebuild community around the memory of their lost loved ones.


Bryan Kohberger’s life is defined by exclusion. Though he tries to present himself as polite, professional, and “normal,” the cracks quickly become evident. By the time he enters a PhD program in criminal justice, a lifetime of isolation has already left him angry, misogynistic, and latently violent. Classmates document his threatening behavior, and professors note his inappropriate interactions and his discrimination against female undergraduates. In his mind, his eventual firing from his graduate program reinforces his inability to belong. This isolation extends to his family after the murders: They find themselves socially exiled, their privacy shattered. Kohberger embodies the emotional harm that comes from extreme isolation.


Stacy Chapin is Kohberger’s antithesis: At every turn, she chooses belonging. She roots her grief in community-building and memory. Throughout the book, Stacy is seen extending ‘belonging’ to others—the Moscow police officers upon their first meeting, for example, and the Sigma Chi brothers. Each gesture pulls her family and others into a shared circle of memory and purpose. She establishes a charitable foundation in Ethan’s memory, determined to ensure that he is remembered for his life rather than his death. Fundraisers for the foundation double as opportunities for community building, and the foundation’s name, “Ethan’s Smile,” symbolizes his ongoing presence as a force for good in the world.


Steve Goncalves initially experiences isolation more sharply than Stacy does. His drive to investigate on his own and his mistrust of institutions keep him at the margins, often alienated even from allies. Grief that cannot find resolution, in this case, turns to suspicion and anger. In this way, he represents the metastasis of Kohberger’s isolation: In acting out his isolation through violence, Kohberger isolates others. Even so, Goncalves’s activism on behalf of his daughter gives him a sense of purpose and unites him in community with many of the online “sleuths” who are convinced that the case is being mishandled. Though this community sometimes blunders into harm, their steady pressure ensures that investigators and prosecutors do not give up.


The broader community also undergoes a shift from a sense of belonging to one of isolation. Before the murders, Moscow residents prided themselves on the safety and intimacy of their community. People rarely locked doors, students felt comfortable walking home at night, and neighbors were trusting. After the murders, that belonging shattered into fear. Students pushed furniture against their doors, townspeople armed themselves, and rumors bred suspicion among social networks. Community belonging gave way to guarded self-preservation and mistrust.


Ultimately, the theme of isolation and belonging illuminates the human stakes of violence. In the wake of Kohberger’s violent act, families must decide whether grief will connect or isolate them, and communities must rebuild trust in the wake of fear.

Online “Sleuthing” and the Commodification of Tragedy

Another major theme is the havoc wreaked as online “sleuthing” communities turn the private pain of a small community into mass entertainment. The murders draw national media attention, but the explosion of speculation on social media reveals how quickly the pursuit of “truth” can collapse into reckless rumor, stigmatization, and exploitation.


The book highlights this most clearly through the Facebook pages moderated by Kristine Cameron and Alina Smith. What begins as a forum for sharing information quickly devolves into a breeding ground for conspiracy theories and unfounded allegations. Innocent people are accused of involvement; Kaylee is falsely suspected of having an OnlyFans account; classmates are suggested as suspects. The damage of these accusations is not abstract—social networks are fractured, suspicion blooms between friends, and the trauma of grieving families is deepened.


The moderators themselves embody the dual nature of online sleuthing. Kristine and Alina envision themselves as advocates helping the investigation, but they are also caught up in the thrill of fame and the pursuit of monetization. When Kohberger’s arrest brings the Facebook page back into the national spotlight, Kristine views it as validation, even a potential professional launchpad for the podcast the friends have dreamed of. The lure of monetization and recognition illustrates how grief and tragedy are commodified in an online economy that runs on attention. Their bitter and public falling-out mirrors the toxicity of the online communities they helped foster.


The victims’ families are not immune from the impact. The Goncalves family feared the effect of rumors in the absence of clear information, a fear made manifest in the wild accusations against Kaylee and Jack. The information blackout from law enforcement, combined with the lurid nature of the case, created a public demand for information—a vacuum that online sleuths eagerly filled. Their intrusion sensationalized the tragedy and compounded survivors’ grief. Stacy Chapin underscores this point when she speaks at a true crime convention after the trial. The authors summarize Stacy’s message to the convention-goers: “In their fascination with crime, they should not forget the victims” (390). Among the many risks of true-crime fandom is that it can obscure victims’ lives by focusing all its attention on the crimes—or even the criminals—that ended those lives.


Structurally, the authors underscore this theme by pairing factual evidence with examples of online distortions. A simple mention of an underlined book, for example, or a strand of animal hair becomes, in the hands of internet “detectives,” the foundation for elaborate narratives about misogyny and copycat killings. In the digital age, true crime has become mainstream entertainment. False accusations can be life altering, and rumors can tarnish the memories of victims who are no longer able to speak for themselves. Victims are displaced from their own stories, their humanity distilled to shallow, superficial, often-inaccurate portraits. The book does not outright condemn the curiosity, but it does reveal how destructive this curiosity can become when left unchecked.

The Scarcity of Privacy in the Digital Age

The scarcity of privacy in the age of social media threads through The Idaho Four, touching victims, families, law enforcement, and even the accused. For the victims, privacy was fragile long before the murders. Maddie, Kaylee, and Xana were popular, attractive young women living in a culture where sharing one’s private life online is expected. Their social media accounts were full of college life: photos with friends, glimpses into daily routines, and snapshots of milestones. In the aftermath of the murders, these posts are retrospectively reframed as security risks. Kohberger was able to locate Maddie online and liked many of her pictures, a chilling detail that suggests he monitored her through those channels. Investigative reports suggest that Kohberger used social media to message one of the victims repeatedly before the murders, demonstrating the access that these platforms allow to strangers. The very platforms designed to foster belonging and visibility instead created opportunities for surveillance. Kohberger weaponized the victims’ self-expression against them.


The aftermath of the murders amplifies the collapse of privacy. Emily Alandt’s Snapchat post, for example, becomes an object of suspicion, with strangers dissecting her words for hidden meaning. Private communications are dragged into public spotlights to be scrutinized by strangers who feel entitled to interpret them. Even moments of raw humanity, such as Maryann Kohberger’s collapse at her son’s extradition hearing, are captured and recirculated online as content.


This erosion of privacy has implications for institutions, too, in some cases revealing issues within them. Washington State University, for example, finds its shroud of silence threatened by its association with Kohberger. The administration’s choice not to share Kohberger’s disciplinary history after the arrest looks to some like an effort to obscure their own responsibility. Similarly, Chief Fry’s attempt at silence backfires. Though he means to protect the integrity of the case, his withholding of information creates a sense of secrecy that breeds mistrust. In a digital age, the line between privacy and secrecy has become blurry, with many believing that they have a right to access any and all information.


Kohberger himself represents a paradox of digital privacy. On one hand, he scrubbed much of his online footprint, leaving only a few fragments behind. On the other hand, his academic work and suspected online persona as “Pappa Rodger” leave behind enough crumbs to fuel speculation. The book’s structure reinforces this theme. A social media photo becomes a breadcrumb in a narrative of obsession. A reference to a page number becomes evidence to be dissected online. Privacy is shown to be fragile. The larger takeaway is troubling: In the digital age, ordinary acts of connection can create avenues for surveillance and violence. Simply posting a photo, sharing a routine, or maintaining an online presence exposes users to the scrutiny of strangers, potentially dangerous ones.

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