Sometimes an unreliable narrator is annoying because you don't know what the hell is really going on. And, sometimes, like in this case, an unreliable narrator is the best thing ever because I spend all of my time reading with little theories bouncing around in my head about what's really going on.



I read this book because my son had read it and talked to me about it. Then, I read it and was freaked out as all hell that my son had read it. Who the hell put it into his head to read this disturbing stuff?



Well, Mister, you are officially on my list now!

Okay, so if you are thinking you might want to read a good serial killer book, this isn't the one for you. It is supposedly about a serial killer - getting into his head, but it is a lot more of a commentary on the yuppie movement of the 1980's. Everyone is completely obsessed with appearance, brand names, money, and popularity. They are all on this endless treadmill of trying to out-do each other and living in a bubble of narcissism. Our hero, Patrick, is in the middle of it all, but hates it as strongly as he conforms to it.


Are those Ray-ban Wayfarers?

He idolizes famous serial killers and often quotes them in his conversations - like as if they are wise men who have all the answers. Yeah, dude needs some better idols. Even the Biebs would be better. Okay, a little bit better. Maybe.


No. No I don't. And if I ever catch this illness, you have my permission, World, to kill me. I won't even be mad about it.

So, as Patrick goes about his ridiculous life, he is unraveling. He fantasizes about brutally killing people. And, animals. We don't actually know if he did these things or not. He says he did, but the evidence from his surroundings indicate (to me) that he didn't. Like, when he supposedly killed someone in a brutally bloody way and then walks into McDonald's and has a vanilla milkshake and nobody gave him a second look. Hello? Blood? Splatters? yeah, I don't think so.


What the HELL is this? I feel like I need some context here.

I watched the movie after reading the book and I felt like Christian Bale did an amazing job, and it was funny, but I also missed the way the book made me wonder what was actually happening. The movie played it straight, as if he did all of those things. The book was more ambiguous. Or, maybe it was just me. Maybe I'm the unreliable narrator.



Either way... I enjoyed the book. It made me think - and that's a feat.

I could not finish this book. In fact, when I finally (and gratefully) decided to stop reading it, I could not even bring myself to return it to my bookshelf. I actually threw it in the garbage, which I have never done to another book.

It's a shame, too, because up until about 3/4 of the way through, I LOVED this book. The writing is simply brilliant, and Ellis presents a fascinating and thought-provoking view of 1980's American society, made especially poignant by the fact that it is only mildly less disturbing than the view into the mind of a psycho-sociopath.

I thought I was doing really well getting through the elaborately grotesque and increasingly descriptive torture/murder scenes, understanding their placement and function within the bigger picture of the novel, as well as the contrast and compliment they brought to the other, more sane and mundane (but equally elaborate and descriptive) sections.

But really, Ellis. Enough is enough. I stopped reading when I found myself literally on the verge of vomiting, and I am still haunted and disturbed by concepts and imagery that have been burned into my brain forever. Thanks a lot, Bret.

I completely understand why this book is so divisive. It's been nearly two weeks since I finished reading it and I'm still divided on what my views of it are. I was gripped yet bored. I was enthralled yet disgusted. I hated all the characters in it yet I wanted to continue reading about them. Is that due to my sometimes quite weird curiosity for the depraved and the disturbing? Probably. I mean, that's part of the reason I love horror. I could never and would never partake in any horrific acts, I find horror scary, I find it disturbing, I find real life stories of horror appalling, I couldn't hurt a fly let alone anyone else, but I have a curiosity and an interest in the genre and in seeing why other people do or can.

This book is a portrayal of a psychopath (evidenced by the title). It is not an easy read. It is not for the faint hearted. There were parts of the book that made me feel physically sick, even as a seasoned horror enthusiast. It is, however, fascinating in the most disturbing way. Patrick Bateman is one of the most terrifying characters ever created, in my opinion. Why? Because he's realistic. He's handsome, charismatic, and blends into society. He could be anyone. You could meet him on the street and not think twice about him, or if you did think twice about him it would probably be thinking about how attractive or nice you thought he was. He could trick you into trusting him and going back to his place. There are people like this in the world and that thought is scarier than anything else. Most murderer's blend in perfectly because that's how they can get away with their crimes for so long. On top of being a psychotic murderer, he's also racist, homophobic, sexist, and a huge fan of Donald Trump. As if there needed to be anymore reasons to despise him, he hit a home run with those. Do I understand why Bateman has been included on lists of anti-heroes or why he's even considered an anti-hero? No. Definitely not. He is a villain through and through.

There were some incredibly dull passages of the book, showing the mundanity of his life. He does the same things over and over. There's repetition. His life is repetitive and therefore so is his commentary on it. He cares more about labels and what other people are wearing than Carrie Bradshaw. He believes his opinion on everything is far superior to anyone else's. He hates everyone else and simultaneously wants to be included and loved by them. He thinks he's better than everyone else which brings humour into the book from whenever someone else knocks him down a peg. Or at least, I found it hilarious. He goes into great detail about food which no one ever seems to actually eat and fancy restaurants that they go to which are ridiculously expensive. These are all what I assumed (maybe wrongly so) to be satire and social commentary on life and the wealthy. I usually have mixed feelings about satire and/or social commentary. I think they can be brilliant and hilarious when done well but sometimes they are surrounded by an air of snobbery which ruins it for me. The kind of 'I realise how stupid this thing is and anyone that does it/uses it/etc. is an idiot and I'm clearly better than all of you for realising it' attitude. That can kill it for me sometimes. I picked up on elements of it in this book which I didn't particularly take to but they weren't overpowering and luckily didn't ruin the end result for me.

On the other hand, there are passages that are so graphically violent that it is hard to actually read. I had to stop a few times in certain parts because I felt ill. The violence he commits towards men is bad enough but the violence he commits towards women is on a whole other level of sadistic. I mean, if you weren't worried about going home with someone before reading this then after reading it you would definitely question the decision. You would also make sure he doesn't have any rodents and isn't a regular customer at hardware stores.

I admit I did get confused. I still don't understand what actually happened with Paul Owen and those girls. Does anyone know? I'd love to hear other people's thoughts on that part because I got a bit lost.

The ending threw me off as well, it just ended. I guess I can understand the reasoning behind it and why it works in this novel but I turned the page expecting more and it was just suddenly over.

Overall, although I never plan on reading it again I am glad I've read it. I do plan on watching the movie again at some point as I've only watched it once a few years ago and had forgotten a lot of it which I realised while I was reading this and also because the only cast member I could remember that was in it was Christian Bale. Did not remember that Reese Witherspoon was in it at all, and was surprised when her name was on the cast list when I looked it up the other day. So it's definitely due a re-watch and I can see what I think of it now that I've read the book. While I can't say that I fully enjoyed the book and I definitely would not recommend it to everyone, I still think it was excellently written and a truly great book.

in my manic pixie dream girl era

This book shocked me. Though not for any of the reasons I might have expected.

Not shocking fact #1: This book is about a psychopath.
Yes, how very astute of me. I hadn't seen the movie before I picked American Psycho up, but most people who know a bit about books know a bit about Patrick Bateman. Despite this book not being very old, Bateman has a certain infamy amongst fictional serial killers and psychopaths. He is so wholly devoid of morality, completely disconnected from reality and human emotion, and obsessed with things, reeling off designer name after designer name, presenting what could be seen as Ellis' criticism of modern society and consumerism.



Not shocking fact #2: This book is extremely graphic and violent.
Well, it is a book about a serial killer; I didn't expect flowers and happiness. I should warn you if you're the kind of person who gets squeamish easily or are upset by graphically violent and disturbing scenes - this isn't the book for you. Bateman describes in a detached first person narrative each grisly atrocity he commits. He is 100% sociopathic, so unmoved by what he does and so immune to any plea for mercy.

"I imagine her naked, murdered, maggots burrowing, feasting on her stomach, tits blackened by cigarette burns, Libby eating this corpse out, then I clear my throat." (This is just the stuff I feel okay including without spoiler tags).

Not shocking fact #3: Patrick Bateman is a misogynistic piece of crap.
But I don't think that necessarily means the book or the author is. Or maybe yeah, Bret Easton Ellis could be a raging misogynist, but that's really not the point I took from the book. Bateman most definitely harbors no feelings or sympathy towards women, he deconstructs the women he meets, piece by piece, until they're reduced to just a sum of boobs, ass and vagina. His psychopathic nature is not limited to women, but his absolute and unending disdain for the female sex is apparent from the very beginning. Though, he's a psychopath so I'm not sure what some people were expecting.



The misogyny debate about this book greatly interests me. If there is one thing - probably above everything else - that I can't stand in books, it must be the positive depiction of sexism, slut-shaming and/or abusive relationships. But I've never thought that just showing the existence of something as part of a story equates to endorsing it. I suppose American Psycho might promote misogyny in the same way that any violent art might promote violence.

And I always remember a conversation I had with this guy way back in high school. We all had to read weekly news stories every Friday morning in our form rooms and one week there was this piece about "cheat dating" sites. As in, sites that encouraged married people to have affairs with others looking for affairs. I remember being pretty horrified and saying to this guy "I really don't think that should even be allowed, it just encourages people to cheat". And he shrugged and said "The way I see it, if you're the kind of person who's going to stumble across that site and think 'woah, what a great idea', there probably wasn't much hope for you anyway". And, you know, I think he was right.


The #1 most shocking fact about this book: It was soooo boring.
Yeah... I wasn't shocked by the violence, the psychopath, the graphic language, or the misogyny. But it never once occurred to me that a book which promised so much horror could have me wanting to skim read with boredom.

The fact is, I found being inside Bateman's emotionally-detached mind really repetitive and dull after a while. It was impossible to form any kind of emotional connection with him and, because of the first person narration, it was also impossible to form much of an emotional connection with anything or anyone else in the novel. Secondly, the really gritty stuff doesn't happen until the second half of the book; the first half is filled with Bateman's constant descriptions of designer clothes, his misogyny-filled rants with his almost equally repulsive friends, and his completely unerotic porn-fuelled masturbation sessions. By the time things got nasty, I was already losing interest.

Boredom - way more than the graphically violent and disturbing - is unforgivable to me.

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”...there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there. It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist. There are no barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold onto one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?”

I let Keeten finish putting in that quote before I popped him in the head with his own tire thumper. Oblivious fucking bastard, so caught up in words that he didn’t even hear the soft tread of the boogeyman.

You want to talk to him? Well, fuck you. You’ve got me.

Anyway, he’s a little tied up right now. Hardy har har har!

If you are worried about him, you should be.

For now, I feel under control. I washed down a handful of Valium with a couple of three finger pours of J&B to create a euphoria of calm before I popped the lock on his sliding glass door.

I’m looking at this bum. Is this how normal people dress? He’s wearing black Timberland boots, faded Land’s End jeans, a crimson red Out of Print T-shirt of the Odyssey, and a purple, wrinkled Territory Ahead button-down shirt. Homeless people in New York dress with better class than this guy.

Fashion is everything, well, and great hair products.

Here’s an example of a guy who knows how to dress. I must confess I killed him. I mean, just having great taste in clothing is never going to be enough to save anyone...from...me.

”Paul Owen walks in wearing a cashmere one-button sports jacket, tropical wool flannel slacks, a button-down tab-collared shirt by Ronaldus Shamask, but it’s really the tie--blue and black and red and yellow bold strips from Andrew Fezz by Zanzarra--that impresses me.”

Or how about this fine description of a hardbody who has a fine eye for great clothes. You have to love those sculpted bodies of these rich bitches, who have all the time in the world to turn their figures into works of art.”She’s wearing a red, purple and black hand-knitted mohair and wool sweater from Koos Van Den Akker Couture and slacks from Anne Klein, with suede open-toe pumps.”

For this visitation to the land of cows, I still dressed nice, even though I’m running the risk of getting blood on some very, very fine cloth. “I’m wearing a six-button double-breasted chalk-striped wool suit and a patterned silk tie, both by Louis, Boston, and a cotton oxford cloth shirt by Luciano Barbera.”

I smell good, too. I just checked in the mirror, and my hair looks fucking amazing. I should buy this guy a nice suit. I’ll put it on my platinum American Express card. The rubes will pogo stick around the store when I bring that out of my. . . . Jesus, he needs a real haircut, too. I ask him, jokingly, if he cuts his own hair. He nods his head.

Unfuckingbelievable.

So why am I here in Kansas, you might ask? I’m choosing to make that a bigger question because I’m holding the tire thumper. Haha! Well my friends, I am drawn this way. I come out of the sickest depths of Bret Easton Ellis’s demented mind. In other words, I’m created in the image of God.

n  

Who am I?
Who am I?
I’m you!

n

We are marginally different, but the rage that is in me is in you. Maybe you haven’t tapped into it yet, but you may when you least expect it. I do understand that we may see different things in clouds, for instance. ”When we look up at the clouds she sees an island, a puppy dog, Alaska, a tulip. I see, but don’t tell her, a Gucci money clip, an ax, a woman cut in two, a large puffy white puddle of blood that spreads across the sky, dripping over the city, onto Manhattan.”

I understand I’m a bit more depraved than you are, but I’m wealthy. I’m incredibly handsome. I’m a fashion intelligencia. I’m way smarter than you. I have a larger responsibility to approach the world with a greater degree of honesty.

”This is no time for the innocent.”

Everyone deserves to die, especially this moron reviewer who thought he was going to write a fucking review of my fucking book today.

WRONG!

Look at this passage he noted.

”If she likes me only for my muscles, the heft of my cock, then she’s a shallow bitch. But a physically superior, near-perfect-looking shallow bitch, and that can override anything…”

I don’t like him making notes about Courtney. I rip aside the duct tape on his mouth, which had to fucking hurt, and asked him, WTF?

“I was going to make a point about you complaining about the shallowness of what Courtney liked best about you, but you are a hypocrite because what you like about her is just as shallow as what she likes about you. Plus, you would need more depth for her to appreciate something else about you.”

Can you believe that? I’m writing it just like he said it; then I bash him with the club a couple of times. I think I heard something snap. Fuck! I’m really trying not to lose control here. I have to put the tape back on his mouth because he is hollering with too much volume. Whimpering is fine, even encouraged, but there is no sound proofing on the walls, so we can’t be screaming. I really much prefer the way women scream. The tenor of their voices trips the light fantastic in my head.

How many people have I killed? Well, too many to count. It is amazing what you can get away with when you have as much money as I do and look like I do. People are begging to spend time with me. It seems to me like they are really begging to be dismembered, burned with acid, eviscerated.

We do have a few things that we need to get straight, and then I need to head back to New York. I’ve got some video tapes that need to be returned, and the late fees are fucking outrageous.

Huey Lewis and the News is the greatest American rock band...ever. Indisputable. I notice that Keeten has the greatest hits, which earns him a painful bash to the knee. You have to buy the complete albums. The rest of their songs are as important and fantastic as their hits.

Second, Donald J. Trump is a genius. I admire him more than anyone else on the planet. It takes a psycho to recognize a psycho. As far as I know, he is keeping it together, but I feel a kinship with him, a calling in the blood. Haha! did he ever pull the Art of the Deal on all of you.

Okay, so you see that I am fair. I let Keeten participate in the writing of this review, but I just couldn’t let him do it alone. I was sitting in my apartment, gazing with fascination at my favorite vagina, the one with the Hermes blue ribbon tied around it, and thinking, I’m not going to let this hayseed from Kansas write a review about me.

I’m thinking about taking one of his fingers to nibble on during the flight back, so... maybe... I can get to New York without murdering anyone.

You’d give up a finger if it meant saving some other poor innocent life, wouldn’t you Keeten?

So you think you want to read this book? HA! Ellis, the sick bastard, did not spare the grotesque descriptions of my activities. In fact, I read the damn book, and even I was starting to yawn a bit through all the blood and mayhem. I think he made his point about what kind of depraved monster, a true creature of God, I am WAY before he quit relating yet another senseless death. And yes, I know they are senseless because not one of my victims has quelled the beast. Blood only begets more blood.

Don’t hate me. I’m just a product of the entitlement system. I appreciate it that you all let me be me. Your ability to live with letting my madness run rampant means you are actually more insane than I am.

Something for all of you to keep in mind...Patrick Bateman is still out here. Yes, I’m alive and frankly very fit looking. The tanning bed is a wonderful investment. I bought the same one as Donald. If you have a hardbody, come to New York. Look me up. I’ll take you out on the town and show you something you’ve never seen before.

I see from the notes here on the desk that Keeten is going to call this a Masterpiece.

He isn’t looking so sure anymore. He’s a bit gray, and some blood has trickled out from beneath the duct tape. I used the tape from his garage. It obviously isn’t as good as the brand I normally like to use. *Sigh*

If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
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Videorecensione: https://youtu.be/Xefovt60n1M

3 stars

Patrick Bateman, apart from being an American and a psycho, is actually many other beautiful beautiful things.

➢ He may hate all black people but atleast he likes Whitney Houston
➣ Loves women and all their insides
➢ Visits gay pride parades.
➣ A little sadistic but tips well
➢ Loves a sausage

I actually read this book a few years ago, but I stumbled across the Goodreads reviews of it, and felt I needed to add my voice, because it is such a difficult piece of lit in a lot of ways,and honestly, it probably is more deserving of a thesis paper than of a measly little review on Goodreads.
American Psycho is a brilliant book. Genius. It will no doubt deservingly be remembered as Bret Easton Ellis's masterpiece, his tour-de-force of sadist misanthropy.

I effing HATED it.

American Psycho is a brutal satire of the American upper middle class, set amongst the yuppies of New York during the boom era of the 1980's. Patrick Bateman is the main character and narrator, a bland upwardly mobile business man whose personality is a terrifyingly blank slate. He defines himself solely by the products he uses, the clothes he wears, the places he is seen eating or partying. He is also a murderer. In the course of the book, he murders a homeless man, a colleague, and numerous prostitutes, all with less emotion than he bestows upon his hair gel.
Ellis slyly balances the relative passion with which Bateman might discuss Huey Lewis in one chapter with a dispassionate yet detailed and horrific play-by-play of rape and dismemberment in the next.
The banality and sly humor (Bateman's analysis of Whitney Huston is both disturbingly off-kilter and hilarious) of the early non-violent passages of the book make the murders all the more jarring to the senses when they start coming thick and fast at the end, and black humor gives way to an out-and-out brutality the likes of which have not been touched in any other book I've ever read.
At first glance, it seems as though it is the juxtaposition of the banal and the brutal that make American Psycho shocking. In fact, however, what wrenches the gut is the sameness of detail and emotion with which both torture and nouvelle cuisine are treated. Ellis's muse is at once a monster and a metaphor, not just for the Reagan era, but for the potential darkness of post-modernity in toto. He is a camera. His world is reduced to an inventory of details, equally weighted; a chair, a suit, an arm, a head.

Reading American Psycho is a much less enjoyable experience than you might think, based on its titillating reviews or even Guinevere Turner's smart film adaptation (which was my original impetus for reading the book). The book is many times darker, nastier, uglier, grosser, crueler than I was prepared for, and I am a pretty die hard fan of horror and true crime lit.
Like many other women who read this book, I found myself getting faint and queasy, and ended up hurling it across the room in disgust. I couldn't make it to the end. As a female and a feminist, I found the book problematic.
Of course, the character of Bateman is supposed to be vile, but his misogyny is so pronounced that I find it hard to simply glom it on with the rest of his misanthropic tics. Sure, he kills his a*hole co-worker, and a few other dudes here and there, but mostly, he kills women. And unlike the asexual murder of his colleague, these womens' deaths are hyper-sexualized. They are all committed post-coitally, they are almost all prostitutes. While I don't think that Bret Easton Ellis is unaware of the misogynist content of A.P., I nevertheless find it more disturbing because of the narrator's lack of analysis, and because of a dearth of the clever commentary Ellis sneaks in during so many other moments in the novel. It is heady territory, just waiting to be mined by some iron-willed feminist scholar with the eggs for it, but I am not that woman, and if you don't think you're that woman either, then I would STRONGLY advise avoiding American Psycho.
Putting it bluntly: the scenes of women being raped, beaten, tortured and killed in this book are numerous, long, detailed, and presented with an absolute lack of empathy. For myself, this book made me feel as though I had been sexually assaulted. And while I appreciate the genius of such a book, that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Brands, bands, bloody demands - welcome to "American Psycho"! You can say a lot of things about this novel, but subtle it is not: It's an over the top satire on Wall Street capitalism, and it contains extreme violence that is somehow hilarious (yes, I said that). The plot: Our unreliable narrator, young broker Patrick Bateman, enjoys flexing his wealth and his status, pop culture, and killing people - or doesn't he? This thing is a wild romp written by a guy who enjoys expensive items, surface aesthetics, and pop culture, while also seeing potential dangers for society - but a serious critique of capitalism this is not, and it does not intend to be. Easton Ellis' main provocation is that he indulges in ambiguity, that he refuses to take a clear moral stance, and that he demands from his readers to deal with it (case in point: White). And doesn't he have a point, that our lives are contradictions, and that these contradictions tend to drive us mad?

I had a blast reading this insane, surreal, relentless novel, that can probably best be compared with Fight Club: Both play with the growing divide between outside reality and psychological inner worlds, both put their fingers in wounds and draw problematic conclusions. It's punk. And I can't help but marvel at how deeply the protagonists of these books are ingrained in the collective cultural psyche: Everyone knows wealthy Bateman and his hobby (serial killing) as well the first rule of fight club. "American Psycho" also had a huge impact when it comes to questions of popmodern surface aesthetics - which aren't as superficial as you might expect. The attitude that these appearances consist of signs that send signals, as afficionados of semiotics would put it, that presentation and habitus are real, has been perceived as a provocation in some leftists circles (not that they don't have their own codes, mind you). In Germany, Ellis has played a monumental role in the creation of a whole genre: Pop literature. The word "Eurotrash" is mentioned six times in "American Psycho" (hello, Eurotrash - its author Christian Kracht has written a review and a parody on "American Psycho" when he started his career, and his first prize winning text about homelessness was entitled "Less Than Zero" after Ellis' novel from 1985).

Like it or not, this novel is a staple in the postmodern literary canon - while its author won't win a Noble Prize (and to be clear: he schouldn't), he clearly made a bigger impact than some authors who did. And regarding the criticism that the novel is misogynistic: The protagonist is misogynistic, but he's also a serial killer and more of a stock character, a foil of a soulless capitalist. It would be a very hard case to make that this means that the novel promotes hate against women. Does it also promote cocaine and toture after this logic? And was 80's Wall Street a place that promoted feminist empowerment and should be portrayed as such?

You can learn more about the novel and its impact on German pop literature in our podcast episode on, well, pop literature (also feat. Jörg Fauser, Rainald Goetz, Benjamin von Stuckrad-Barre...).

Great book can’t wait to never read it again

4th Read: I read this book way too much, but I LOVE it, and every time it gets funnier. Anyway this time I’m writing an essay on doppelgängers and New York City so reread to annotate and get quotes. Literally every word of this is complete genius and I am never going to get over this book. It belongs in an art gallery. (But please be careful because it is absolutely rife with extreme sexual violence and triggering content.) Peace out.

--

3rd Read: Amazing. Astounding. Wonderful. Disgusting. Does anything even get any better than this. I don't think so. Bret Easton Ellis has me whipped.

--

2nd Read: Reread this for uni. Still absolutely insane and I would give this a billion stars if I could. The dissociation of identity, the drive towards consumption and consumer culture, the ambiguity of reality and fantasy, it's all in there guys.
I've been thinking lately though if I prefer Rules of Attraction to this. I don't know. I think I might. But all of Ellis's books are just so good. Aahhh. Reading the Informers next.

--

Let me give you some background to my experiences of this novel before I jump in to my review. Until I moved out of my parents house when I was eighteen, my mother wouldn't let me read this. We had the book on our shelf and it had been there for years and years, but she would flick through the pages, grimace, and say no. The reason was because of the sexual violence. I was told not only by my Mum but by my friends that it's the most explicitly and disgustingly violent book that had ever been written. I was jealous of my friends that got to read it, and grew up expecting it to be a slasher-fest from start to end with no redeeming qualities apart from it's shock factor.

I finally decided to read it after falling in love with Donna Tartt's The Secret History. It is well known and Tartt and Ellis were friends in college and shared first drafts of their works with each other, and so, hungry for more of this style, sought out American Psycho.

If you are turned off from starting this book because of preconceptions similar to mine, don't be. This novel was one of the best things I've read this year.

The first half of the book hardly includes any sexual violence, and is instead a portrait of our narrator Patrick Bateman. It becomes clear from the offset that he is obsessed with image - of himself and of others. Whenever he meets somebody new he will narrate what they are wearing and judge them accordingly. The conversations he has are so shallow, misogynistic and elitist that there was no way I could take it seriously. But this was want Ellis wanted from us - the novel is a deep criticism of this attitude. At times they were so doped up on drugs that the narrative switched from first person to third person and back again. The treatment of women and the working class was terrifying and raw. Yet Bateman's voice within this was perfectly sustained and didn't lapse; instead it intensified as the novel progressed.

Bateman indeed starts to become more neurotic as the story goes on. And yes, there are some deeply disturbing and horrific descriptions of torture in this novel, but the way they are written is fascinating. Bateman carries them out like they are nothing - like we'd make a cup of coffee in the morning or play the piano. It is a pastime for him. I found that Bateman's attitude towards this, and the pleasure he took was performing these acts as possibly more terrifying than the acts themselves.

Most of all, I am shocked by the depth of this novel. It is not what I thought it was; it does not rely solely on its controversy or it's violence, but every line seemed to carry some kind of weight whether it be satire, metaphor, irony, or foreshadowing. It was an immense construction and I (problematically) loved reading this. There are scenes which will stick with me - for example, when he sees a homeless girl sitting on the ground and drops a dollar into her coffee cup, only for her to raise her head in a sneer as he realises the cup is full of coffee and she is reading holding a bag full of university books. Small passages such as this have so much meaning and conjured so much discussion with-in me.

I am excited to give Less Than Zero another try after liking this so much!