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 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.

Wow, okay. American Psycho wasn't what I expected. Eck.



I honestly thought I would love this, however, I would have settled for at least mildly enjoying it. Even the most tepid of enjoyment would have been preferred to the actual experience I had.

I know quite a few people who would include this one on their favorites list, but after my experience with it, I don't see why?



I did not enjoy this at all. I was so gut-wrenchingly bored for almost the entirety of the book. I couldn't wait for it to be over!



Let me be clear, it wasn't the content. I read a lot of brutal, gory stuff; frankly, I thought it could have used more of that. Maybe that would have made it more interesting.



Although any scene involving a dog? Yeah, you know I skipped that shit immediately.

It was just brain-drainingly repetitive. I get it. Moving on. Happy to have checked this one off of my TBR, now I know.



Thank you so much to my dear friend, Shannon for gifting me an audiobook copy of this.

I never would have made it through otherwise!



I could eventually have some more thoughts on this, but for right now, I'm over it.

They say that most serial killers and sociopaths start off by killing animals. Building up their evil threshold and barbaric skills. I read this book back in the 1990's. I did think it was a good book but I hated all the animal cruelty. It was a chore to read through to the end. Too much graphic violence and less about the character's psyche. If you love animals give it a wide berth. Also a film starring Christian Bale. I would give that a wide berth too.

If Emily in Paris had a murderous evil twin, it would be this book ✌️

American Psycho es la típica novela plana que entiende pero no procesa. Esta obra pertenece a la clase de las que pueden llegar a abarcar páginas y páginas de retórica insulsa para luego culminar en nada. Bret Easton Ellis interpreta y desarrolla la sociedad consumista yuppie de los años 80, que se reduce a marcas y moda sofisticada. Una muestra de la superficialidad, la posesión y el narcisismo extremo... y ahí se queda. Y por eso mismo American Psycho no es una obra maestra. No va más allá de una lectura crítica sobre la autocomplacencia del individuo. No ahonda en lo esencial de la existencia humana; ignora lo que nos hace, a pesar de todo, personas.

En este trabajo, Ellis apunta a esa idiosincrasia, a los lectores que son testigos o pertinentes a la sociedad que él desprecia. Y si una novela se construye (se refleja) sobre un público estúpido, hueco y trivial, la obra resultante será estúpida, hueca y trivial. Solo será una exposición de lo que nos avergüenza, de lo que nos hace seguir cayendo en una grieta que no dejamos de dilatar. Ellis nos dice que el mundo en el que vivimos es ruin, una riña constante de quién luce más refinado. No hace más que exagerar la parte que ya odiamos ver. Con esto quiero decir que American Psycho no nos hace mejorar, únicamente ironiza sobre el consumismo y el ensimismamiento personal que ya conocemos. Alimenta, expande y difunde lo que detesta, y haciendo eso, se mimetiza con lo que ataca y sucumbe en la simpleza.

Pero además el humano es más que una especie autosuficiente y ególatra, ¿no? Detrás de ese comportamiento pancista, y no por eso menos poderoso, existe la generosidad, la amistad, la compasión, el amor, la auténtica capacidad de ayudarnos los unos a los otros. Ellis solamente nos enseña lo que nos deshumaniza, lo que nos transforma en unos salvajes sin alma. Exterioriza algo que no me parece completamente cierto. No nos pone de manifiesto, por ejemplo, la soledad, la tristeza y la desdicha de un empresario exitoso por las noches, cuando se da cuenta de que todas sus posesiones son basura, que no son más que un traje que usa para mostrarse fuerte ante personas que tienen la misma crisis cuando se apartan de la multitud. No nos muestra que hay cosas que no se pueden comprar. Eso sería lo notable.

Leyendo este libro, me preguntaba: ¿por qué necesitaríamos eso? ¿Por qué querríamos leer sobre algo que lamentablemente observamos todos los dias? ¿Qué puede aportar a la humanidad una obra que no hace más que gritar con bombos y platillos que lo que somos es porquería? Si estamos tan mal como expresa Ellis, ¿la verdadera obra maestra no sería aquella que pudiera mostrar lo contrario, el brillo que yace debajo de esa mugre que aparentemente somos?

Y para empeorar más las cosas, el protagonista, un sociópata vanidoso, discriminador, déspota, drogadicto y misógino que no para de torturar y asesinar sin razón. ¿Por qué habrías de elegir una persona así para ser el personaje principal de una novela que por sí sola se muerde su propia cola? Si no era bastante con las conversaciones insufribles y anodinas entre el grupo de yuppies oligofrénicos tratado en la historia, el autor nos presenta la personificación, el representante central de la sociedad materialista, como un monstruo infame que cree que la única forma de felicidad es aquella que tiene un precio delante y que las mujeres son meros pedazos de carne para penetrar. Innecesario, desvirtúa y es repulsivo.

Antes de terminar quiero aclarar que no estoy en contra de la evidencia social. De que un autor destape y escarbe en lo oscuro de nuestra existencia. No obstante, como dije al principio de la reseña, en American Psycho Ellis se queda a medio camino. Saca la manta que nos cubre y revela la mitad de algo que es más significativo. Refiere a un análisis sesgado y marca como verdad un comportamiento que, para mí, es ajeno a la realidad. No me interesa leer sobre personajes espurios o que ejemplifiquen lo que no es ser humano. No es nada que no sepa y estoy cansado de ello. Es verdad que el materialismo existe, y desgraciadamente no sale de su auge; es verdad que los narcisos abundan en la calles y comen a nuestro lado con falsas sonrisas. Pero también es verdad que cuando se alude a lo inherente de la humanidad, se despierta algo más sustancial que la agrietada superficie del individuo. Y allí es adonde me gustaría que hubiese llegado.

También quiero aclarar que esta reseña no la escribe alguien fanático del optimismo que colecciona frases motivadoras que relee cada día a la mañana para darse buenas energías y salir con el mejor rostro a perseguir sus sueños. Mis obras favoritas no son de ese tipo, sino las opuestas. No repruebo el perfil desesperanzador de American Psycho. Pero sí considero que la abordó desde el lado incorrecto.

En fin. Aburrido, tedioso y absurdo. Un libro muy pobre, que no aporta nada relevante. Una obra que no se aventure más allá de lo sabido no debería trascender. No le pongo una estrella porque el vacío existencial de los personajes está muy bien logrado (aunque no requiera desarrollo). La humanidad es y seguirá siendo humanidad, Ellis, y tu libro es y seguirá siendo basura.

So nun habe ich endlich auch das „großartige epochale gesellschaftskritische ironische Werk“ American Psycho von Bret Easton Ellis gelesen und ich sage WÄH! Dies mache ich übrigens nicht wegen der ausufernden Gewaltszenen, die mich allzusehr schockiert hätten oder wegen der allesamt unsympathischen Figuren, sondern wegen der sprachlichen Armut und der kompletten Einfallslosigkeit und Logikferne im Plot abgesehen von den ausufernden Gewaltfantasien, die eigentlich noch das Beste an dem Machwerk sind. Mir graut auch davor, dass dieser Roman von männlichen Zeitgeistyuppies hochgepusht wurde, die die Ironie bejubeln und sich aber offensichtlich fokussierter an den Gewaltszenen aufgeilen, denn der Rest ist fast nicht der Rede wert. Das wäre so, wie wenn man bei einem GINA WILD Porno die ironisch gemeinte „Handlung“ als hohe Filmkunst bezeichnen würde.

Ok ich weiß worauf der Autor hinauswill Konsumkritik & Gesellschaftskritik an der Manhattan Yuppie Buberlpartie und ihrer weiblichen Anhängsel, die stumpf, dumm, ignorant, geldgeil, hedonistisch, oberflächlich und rücksichtslos sind. - ich bin ja nicht ganz dämlich und auf der Nudelsuppe dahergeschwommen, aber diese Absicht ist so langweilig, langatmig und ungelenk umgesetzt, dass ich mich ob des Erfolges des Romans wirklich wundern muss.

Die unzähligen Markenaufzählungen auf jeder einzelnen Seite und die detaillierte Beschreibungen eines jeden zu sich genommenen Schi-Schi-Menüs inklusive Erwähnung des Luxusrestaurants sind tatsächlich sowas wie eine Zwangsneurose ähnlich dem Zählen von Bodenplatten, auf eine MONK-Art, aber Monk ist witziger, nicht so penetrant und nervig wie uns der Autor den Psycho Bateman skizziert. Wenn Konsumkritik vom Autor angebracht werden soll, hätten auch 100 Seiten gereicht und nicht in jedem zehnten Satz des mehr als 500 Seiten umfassenden Machwerks. Fast scheint es, als hätte Ellis für jedes Product Placement vorabkassiert. Da wäre er reich gewesen, bevor ein Buch-Exemplar verkauft worden wäre.

Bei den Gewaltszenen muss ich dem Autor wirklich Hochachtung zollen. So viel grauslicher schlecht formulierter Splatter Trash ohne Sinn und Verstand habe ich wirklich noch nie gesehen, geschweige denn gelesen. Bedauerlicherweise müssen auch Grausamkeiten, wenn sie als ironische Kritik gemeint sein sollten, wohldosiert und überraschend eingesetzt werden, ansonsten ist es nur ein primitiver Hardcore Snuff Porno und keine hohe Literatur.

Im Bereich der Gesellschaftskritik gibt es durchaus ein paar innovative Szenen, weswegen sich das Werk bei mir ungewollter Weise auf zwei Sterne schraubt. Der Visitenkartenschwanzvergleich und der Restaurantumbestellwahnsinn, in dem alle den Überblick verlieren, waren wirklich sehr witzig. Kleine Jungs die Essen und Tische in Restaurants nur bestellen aber stattdessen saufen, koksen, konkurrieren und wie Waschweiber tratschen - gäähnend langweilige Typen. Und die angehängten Weiber sind auch nicht besser.

Auch im Finish auf den allerletzten Seiten versucht der Ellis, die logischen Löcher im Plot zu stopfen und mysteriös eventuell anzudeuten, dass alle Gewaltszenen möglicherweise einem Drogen-Hirngespinst entsprungen sein könnten. Auch dafür zolle ich ihm Anerkennung, aber zu wenig und viel zu spät.

Also bleibt als Fazit eine kurze Inhaltsbeschreibung:

Essen bestellen, saufen, koksen, tratschen, saufen, Drogen, Gewalt, Tisch bestellen, saufen, Drogen, tratschen, saufen, Gewalt, Blutrausch, Folter, Gewalt, Gewalt, Blutrausch, Folter, Drogen, Gewalt, Gewalt – kurz gesagt ein entbehrliches Stück Zeitgeistroman, das in der Realität hoffentlich nicht mehr so eine Rolle spielt.

Nachtrag: Uppsi ich habe den SEX vergessen

“I had all the characteristics of a human being—flesh, blood, skin, hair—but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that my normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning”

Bleak,bleak,bleak.
Armani, Ralph Lauren, Hermès...........
Double breasted suits,silk ties.....
“I have to return some videotapes”.

I seriously considered DNFing it around 150 pages,but I pushed myself to see why it is considered an important piece of literature and I was not disappointed.Everything the author does,the dispassionate tone,bleakness,the violence ,the depravity has a reason.He was trying to tell us something and he managed to do it exceptionally well.The violence and depravity was just too much for me,but I understood why he did that.I see it's literary significance and also the significance of the idea itself.
I did NOT enjoy it one bit,but I really appreciate it for what it is and what it does. I have not stopped thinking about it.The last 150 pages were a revelation.It really is a brilliant book with a great theme.
I am never going to pick it up again,not sure if I can handle the movie.But I know it's not going to get out of my head any time soon.
I went from "Bret Easton Ellis is a twisted depraved bastard" to "Bret Easton Ellis is a brilliant author with a great deep mind"
Not a pleasant experience,but very enlightening!

What the actual hell I just finished reading?!
Now I need a therapy!!!

The gore in America Psycho made me laugh my ass off.

I know that makes me sound like some edgy teenage internet try-hard. Like I'm lining up to get Clive Barker's Lament Configuration and ascend to the realm of the cenobites. But I'm not posturing, I'm not hardcore. I puked as a kid when I watched Return of the Living Dead. Lots of people online call folks "snowflake", but I think I actually might be one, because I cry during sad scenes in books. I get emotional about old pictures of my cats. And while I don't always believe in ghosts, if I see a spooky movie I'll be turning on all the lights in the house and be jumping onto the ceiling every time I hear a floorboard creak.

American Psycho is supposed to be this awesome titan of "extreme horror", this nightmare of splatter that will haunt you forever. And for some people I'm sure that's true. But I actually thought Richard Matheson's Hell House had more disturbing violence.

I think a lot of American Psycho is really well written and at the same time really ridiculous. It's an extremely over the top novel. Both in character and in content. The gore is unflinching, but it didn't affect me, because I didn't see it as genuine. It was like reading a temper tantrum.

How to explain American Psycho? If you watched the movie adaptation and loved it, the book is either a lot more of what you enjoyed, or a lot more of what you didn't.

Or both.

Remember the hilarious scene where Patrick Bateman talks about Huey Lewis and the News? Imagine that for six hours.

American Psycho the book is like an awkward late-night infomercial for a pop 80s Solid Gold compilation album that is inexplicably interrupted every now and again by elaborate pornographic death scenes from a Lucio Fulci movie.

All the while there's a hidden message squeaking 'help me' like that scene in the Fly where the guy gets caught in a spider web.

The main character is a comically hollowed out shell with no personality except his pop culture interests. So a lot of his dialog is just filler. He interacts with other characters who are as obsessively shallow and uninteresting as him and they grind out scenes that are so tedious they feel about as long as Neptune's orbit.

I am convinced that if there is a hell it is a yuppie-centric 1980s Wall street landscape. A concrete prison full of gossip-engorged, preppy, soft-headed, weenies discussing Phil Collins music while doing so much cocaine that their haemorrhaging nostrils gush more gore than a severed limb in a Japanese anime.

By the time American Psycho gets to its extended slasher sequences it was like an oasis in the desert.

"At last" I scream "actual human interaction!"

Sure it's people getting brutalised with fire-axes and folks eating sex organs like they're so much luncheon meats, but at least the main character finally shuts the fuck up about sweater vests.

I know I'm supposed to be so freaked out by the gore in this book but I was actually looking forward to each murder scene because the only time Patrick Bateman comes alive is when he's shoving hungry rodents up people's orifices.

And I'm pretty sure that is the whole point of the novel.

Whether everything you read in the story is actually happening or not the protagonist is a big bundle of repressed emotional turmoil. He's obsessed with fitting in and driven to stand out. Every aspect of his identity and his behaviour and his relationships is about conforming. But deep down inside he basically wants to be a monster and go crazy across the country eating villagers and howling at the moon.

There's an internal struggle happening in the main character, and that struggle is between the character's desire to become something and his desire to be nothing at all.

He's been so utterly consumed in corporate conformity and business culture that it's his whole identity. He wears it like armour but it's so restrictive that it's like a Victorian corset pushing his intestines out of his ass. So any existence he can see outside of that pill-bug shell is met with total antisocial hatred.

He views both outcasts and his own corporate cage with a barely concealed fury. He wants to eradicate them all and torture them and brutalise them with battery acid and chainsaws and then hump their bloody giblets.

He hates the outsiders because they don't belong and he must belong to survive. He's jealous. And he hates being forced to belong to survive. He hates being forced to conform.
All of the main character's anger is reactive towards the fragility of his own identity and the powerless terror he feels when he's forced into this soulless conformity.

IT'S HIP TO BE SQUARE. GET IT?

When all is said and done, the psychopath is an outcast, like many other groups. The biggest difference is that unlike a lot of the downtrodden, the psychopath can hide. So they live in terror of being discovered and exposed to the same brutality and scorn as other people who are different. This makes the psychopath often overcompensate in trying to belong to and maintain (and glorify) the status quo. Or they isolate themselves so nobody can see the real them. Or both. Their fear over being seen as different makes them into these pop culture licksplittles and it also makes them very, very, VERY angry.

When you see Patrick being horrifically offended when he unintentionally gains the affections of a gay co-worker, you can taste the main character's fear at being discovered.

Not that he's necessarily gay (because I don't think he can feel anything for anybody), but that he is a mutant. He doesn't belong. And his realisation that the gay character recognises that outsider nature in him, rends him straight out of his mindset.

American Psycho is a disturbing and difficult book. But the most disturbing element of American Psycho is how sad it feels. There's this weird loneliness. This crippling melancholy.

Speaking of anime, it was Rumiko Takahashi's birthday recently. Ranma 1/2 (her masterpiece) was a great show. Great music in that show. Surprisingly deep when you listen to the lyrics.

Most people love 'Don't Make Me Wild Like You' by Etsuko Nishio but I think Ranma 1/2 songs hit their peak commercially and artistically with the Japanese rock band Picasso and their sonic epic 'Piece of Love'.

*puts on rain jacket, gets gerbil*

8/10

(first review - will probably add another after a reread:)
We meet Patrick Bateman (here again - he appears briefly on Rules Of Attraction; he also appears even more briefly in Ellis' later books, at least two of them), in the physical and professional peak(ish) of his life, fit, in a good age, doing well enough... but he's now entering a dark mental phase that shows in his killings and increasing desperation; his world is full of shallow people, and his violence seems to go by unnoticed and not-believed (it is not certain if he really does (all of) them, or if it's his mind's fantasies).

Rating this 3.5 - the violence (rape, torture, necrophilia, cannibalism, murder - and not just women, but also men, animals and one child) makes certain chapters hard to read, but I will mark these parts in my book soon, so I can skip them during re-reads. Because outside the violent stuff, it's actually pretty decent.

This is my third copy of the book, gave the previous ones away because of *those* bits. I'm thinking of keeping this one. I need to reread the book to give a deeper review, and to mark it as I said above. So this is is just 'what I remember' sort of review now :)

Review of the first 200 pages because, I can't bring myself to finish it. Maybe one day I will be more into self-punishment and finish it but for now, I'm done.

I don't get it. Maybe I missed the point. Was it supposed to be funny? Cause it wasn't. It was complete and utter nonsense. Absolutely unenjoyable.
 
The book follows Patrick (the psycho) and his group of ridiculously idiotic friends. For 98% of the 200 pages I read, Patrick described the clothes he was wearing, his workout routine, or how much every woman he comes across is in love with him. Then he gets together with his friends and it's even worse. They talk about clothes and argue about who someone is that just came into the bar (they seem to know or at least think they know everyone but can never agree on who the person is. Then people come up to them and have mistaken them for someone else but they just go along with it). The other 2% was Patrick (the psycho) fantasizing about murdering people he has interactions with.

I couldn't stand it and I couldn't bring myself to wade through 200 more pages of satirical bull shit. It might have been over my head. I might have missed the point. But do yourself a favor and don't read this.