Customer Reviews

Imperial Bedrooms

5 star:		(20)
4 star:		(24)
3 star:		(35)
2 star:		(26)
1 star:		(30)

 

 

If you read Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis presents the sequel in a sharp, enthralling short novel. If you didn't read Less Than Zero it's OK, you will be introduced to the same characters but they are now adults. Set in Hollywood, Easton assures us that the movie industry scene has not changed. Narrated in a present tense stream of consciousness, Clay, our wealthy screenwriter, returns to L.A. during Christmas to supposedly help cast for his movie, The Listeners (The Informers?). He meets up with his old crowd, his good friend, Julian, old lover, Blair and ex-dealer, Rip. These teen-agers have not changed; they simply turned into middle-aged insecure, wandering souls. So it's again a blurry state of what are they really doing, what are they really saying?

The beginning of the story moves slowly and then it hits. As Ellis builds the plot through Clay's haze of alcohol and seduction, the story works itself into a mystery with no boundaries. Easton works his magic through a wannabe starlet, Rain Turner, a beautiful, no-talent actress. Well, she wants to be an actress and will do anything, and I mean anything, to get a callback. Clay who will do anything to get what he wants plays the game and strings her along with promises of a reading. It's not joyful. The sex, the extreme violence and the Hollywood scene are real; any talent or courtesy is strictly bogus. Ellis teaches us that Hollywood equals conspicuous consumption. The behavior of Clay and his crowd demands overindulgence in alcohol and ambition. Clay's drinking is evident in almost every scene, whether it is fantasy, reality or the devil. But the meaning is hard to capture and at some point toward the last 50 pages, I stopped trying. If I have to work too hard to decipher the meaning, maybe the timing of a character's epiphany is not meaningful.

I read the book in two sittings - I wanted to see where Ellis was going and the end of the book is shocking in its violence and denouement. He is a genuine writer with original ideas, and I have not read anyone who can match his style. His run-on sentences were often annoying and over the top, but his ability to set a tone is unmatched.

I was a bit surprised to hear Bret Easton Ellis had chosen to revisit the characters first introduced 25 years ago in "Less Than Zero." It is, after all, one of the more quintessential novels about disaffected teens to have come out of the eighties. So specific to time, place, and subculture--"Less than Zero" presented a mind numbing odyssey through the soulless wasteland of LA's over-privileged youth populated by indifference, unrepentant drug use, and meaningless sexual encounters. Capturing the ennui of kids with too much money and too much freedom, "Zero" was more of an experience than anything else, and I think it's fair to say that it polarized its audience with Ellis's stark depiction of moral bankruptcy.

So, to say the least, I was intrigued to see where Ellis might pick up his narrative in "Imperial Bedrooms." The introduction is an absolute delight--a playful riff on the prior novel, its true author, and the movie made from the account. It's a wicked send-up blurring the line between fact and fiction for those who read the initial novel and saw the subsequent, and much maligned, film version. But after the zippy intro, there is a shift in tone more in keeping with expectations. We're reintroduced to the principles of "Less Than Zero" led by Clay (now a successful film writer) returning to his Hollywood home. And while I didn't expect the characters to be unrecognizable, it would have been nice to see some sign of humanity in anyone two decades later. If anything, their indifference has turned to cruelty.

"Imperial Bedrooms" does a nice job of recapturing some of the flavor of "Zero"--however, its sense of story is a lot stronger. This might be welcome to some readers put off by "Zero's" meanderings or loathed by others for its far-fetched contrivance. Much more plot-driven, "Bedrooms" is "Zero" refashioned into a neo-noir piece--replete with mystery, murder, blackmail, and manipulation. My problem with "Imperial Bedrooms" is its complete lack of anyone to root for. While "Less Than Zero" was content to set a mood, "Imperial Bedrooms" story elements beg for a protagonist with at least a few redeeming features. Ultimately, it seems like unpleasantness for the sake of unpleasantness. The kids you may remember are certainly older, but absolutely no wiser. Not a one. And it's a disappointment. A small amount of redemption, or hope even, might have balanced the unsavory aspects of "Imperial Bedrooms." The lack of any depth or character development makes me wonder what the point of Ellis's new enterprise is. KGHarris, 5/10.

I am a huge fan of Bret Easton-Ellis's works, but this book was such a drag. After the first ten pages I was already rolling my eyes at the confusing prose. Not because it was hard to follow, but because it seemed like less of a plot device and more of the author still being bitter about the film treatment of his first novel. Then suddenly the writing style changes back to something more familiar and I'm once again hoping that maybe this book will find its stride.

It never did. From that point until the last page it meanders aimlessly from one forced plot point to another and finally culminates with an ending that was telegraphed clumsily and obviously from well within the beginnings of the book. Top that with some dumb, forced violence that lacks the poetic detachment of "Less Than Zero" or the visceral need for identity in "American Psycho" and you have a book so dull and desperate that it feels literally like the pawing advances of an aging 40 year old. Their hair full of dye, face trying to remain neutral so that crow's feet and lines don't show, and a palpable sense of a drowning man's desperation roiling just underneath the surface.

Ellis wants his characters to be understood in this piece but does them little justice. No one's changed or even given a chance to change. They move within the pages of this slim volume like cut out paper puppets with all the emotional depth of a Dixie cup. Why do I care that Julian is dead? Who the hell is this other female character, Flew? Why do I care about her? Oh she's dead now? Why did that happen? Who is Kelly Montrose and why do I care? Oh he's dead and this effects the characters somehow? The plot stumbles over itself to try and get somewhere and ends up reading like an overly violent fluff piece in the society column.

In short: It's a jumbled mess and is best to be avoided. I'm going to read "Less Than Zero" once again and forget that "Imperial Bedrooms" ever existed.

Brat pack `80s literary bad boy, Bret Easton Ellis is back. Following his familiar characters through the city of angels, Ellis' latest novel, Imperial Bedrooms, is a sequel-of-sorts to Less Than Zero. Set twenty-five years we revisit Clay, Blair and lovable junkie Julian, now in their mid-forties. Adopting L.A.'s narcissistic ennui to hard-boiled detective fiction genre, Ellis' clever choice of modern day Los Angeles turns out to be a perfect setting for a Chandler-esque thriller. Always a master of tight dialogue that both say so much and nothing at all, Ellis' prose lends well to his purpose. However, for all his Marlowe-inspired moves, Imperial Bedrooms falls short of the mark when Ellis' gets too wrapped up in his own fictional tricks. In the end, Ellis' tale of Sam Spade in land of the superficial comes across more self-indulgent than satisfying.

The book begins with two quotes: One from Raymond Chandler as well as a Elvis Costello lyric on the nature of repeating the "old conceits, glib replies and same defeats" in life. Perhaps a prophetic combination of what works (the Chandler aspects) and what doesn't (the repeated self-reference) of this novel as a whole. The latter is an especially telling quote for not only a sequel with little character development in two decades, but also for an extremely ironic, self-referential author. Like Less Than Zero, this new tale is narrated by Clay, who begins by telling the audience about a book that was made about his and his friends' lives that was then made into film. Right from the outset there are two typical Ellis stylistic at work: the continual re-use of his novel's characters as well as his intentional blurring between fact and fiction.

At times, Ellis' own voice bleeds through his narrative, in his (accurate) critique of the movie version of Less Than Zero, as well as the movie's decision to casting Clay as the moral center of the story. It is almost as if Imperial Bedrooms was created just to nullify any truths or re-writes to Ellis' original characters. In fact, Clay's turn from being the seemingly innocent victim of the story to perhaps the most malicious killer of the bunch, feels slightly forced.

While his digs can be distracting, Ellis is at his best when he keeps to the elements of good noir fiction. The protagonist at work in the menacing city streets of Los Angeles; short, staccato-like dialogue; real bar, restaurant and street names; and our hero's exacerbated drinking and sexual exchanges with aspiring actresses. The feeling that Clay is continually being watched and danger lies all around him. No one is really `good' in this world; everyone is on the make. Where `40s noir might have including petty gangsters, Imperial Bedrooms implores a small time escort service that everyone seems to be involved in and the plot is advanced through sexual relations.

Yet for all his exalting characteristics of hard-boiled noir, it is a fine line between homage and satire and toward the end of the novel Ellis tips his hand. When it becomes apparent that Clay may be directly involved in the gruesome murders, the novel starts to unravel. It's when Ellis' characters become more like caricatures of his previous novels that this book ultimately fails. Clays' splatterpunk dream sequence, reminiscent of Ellis' American Psycho, doesn't appear to fit within the plot and the carefully crafted suspense built on unlikable characters is severed. Combined with the unfulfilling ending, this novel leaves the reader feeling slightly conned. Ellis' cocksure Clay comes off too indifferent and self-involved to be a modern day Philip Marlowe. For all its impressive similarities to American hard-boiled fiction, Imperial Bedrooms remains slightly undercooked

How ironic that the cast of "Imperial Bedrooms," who use the movie industry for sex and money, live inside a sequel written with the same lack of respect for vision, craft, or even the basic details of the book it follows. Where "Less Than Zero" was an expertly-told tale of disconnected debauchery in 80's Hollywood, this is a slapped-together, offensively underdeveloped piece of thriller pulp, with none of the pop zeitgeist commentary beyond incessant, too-obvious texting, and which seems to capitalize on "Zero" solely for brand recognition. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Ellis had an agent hounding him, and wrote this in two weekends to shut her up. And which is worse, really: the cynical angle, or the idea that Ellis can genuinely produce work this bad?

Here are my beefs.

"Bedrooms" starts with an acknowledgement of "Zero": "They had made a movie about us," which reads as an offensively self-important excuse to criticize the movie adaptation (I almost put the book down from Ellis' sheer audacity). The sole upside is that the book doesn't (and can't) get any worse.

Now, the action, where Ellis' familiar name-dropping staccato comes shooting in and saves the day. Except it doesn't. The problem, which becomes apparent quickly, is that the meandering narration of "Zero" has been replaced with a cheesy plot of crime and intrigue. Ellis has said that he was looking to emulate Ray Chandler's crime thrillers, which he should have done in a fenced-in sandbox miles away from "Zero." Cliche alert: from the beginning, Clay is being followed, from a blocked number that say, "I'm watching you." Spoiler alert: we find the stalker, but not why they would want to text like this. Spoiler alert: and it happens constantly for the first hundred pages. The rest of the pamphlet is full of similar face-palmable cheese and plot holes.

Then there's the people. We shouldn't expect character development in this bunch, but we aren't given even characters. That prostitute/actress Rain is the Helen of Troy for the book's conflict is completely incomprehensible. There is nothing likable or special about her, Clay emphasizing how *dull* she is. And yet, the men of "Bedrooms" fight violently over her. It's completely schizophrenic writing.

To Clay. As we breathlessly watched Clay spiral deeper into evil in "Zero," our sense of horror followed his descent, while at the same time part of us became desensitized along with him and at least partially understood him. In "Bedrooms," he's not merely apathetic, but suddenly psychotic, and what little we had to care about is completely absent. The character himself is incomplete, flattened, with inscrutable motivations. Where the hell is the connection to the lost, numb teen of "Zero?" How did he get so ruthless and, more unfitting, desperate? It's as if Ellis has completely forgotten who he is, and even how to write a coherent personality.

You might notice a lot of disappointed comparison to "Zero" in this review. So let's wonder - what would "Bedrooms" look like if its character names were simply replaced, and the godawful tumor in the beginning excised? Would it be transformed into a palatable piece of L.A. noir trash?

The short answer is no, although the low bar of "palatable" makes the race close. Certainly my biggest problem is that the "Bedrooms" Clay belies a lack of understanding of the "Zero" Clay, or at least why he was important. Without this lurking cognitive dissonance, perhaps the remaining flaws are not fatal, although the intrigue remains uncomfortably cheesy, the climax lukewarm, the sexual violence misplaced, and the ghost visions silly. And more importantly, the motivations of the main characters still make no sense. So: the book sucks.

To his credit, Ellis' viciously cropped sentences and lurid descriptions are still wonderful to read. It's only when the nonsensical characters and plot get in the way when problems arise, and the straight narration of ugliness which could be hauntingly beautiful in the first novel is rendered garish, self-indulgent and meaningless.

If you're smart enough to be offended by franchise-milking, steer clear.

I don't get all the bad reviews on here. Its not like Ellis just went off the reservation and wrote something completely different. Imperial Bedrooms is just like the rest of his books. You either like his style or you don't.

As for me, I've enjoyed pretty much everything Ellis has written to date. Having said that, I was most worried about opening this book ever since I heard he had written a sequel to Less than Zero. That could have been a recipe for disaster. Probably should have been. Like having your favorite band from the 80s decide to reform in 2010 and put out a terrible new record and ruin all of the great memories of them that you had.

I loved the length of the book. Its a super quick read that you can finish over an evening or two, and it just works. You get glimpses of the backstory, hints at other pieces of these characters, etc; Its just really well done.

Like others of Bret's works, they are almost an acquired taste that either resonate with someone or they don't - for those who "get it" its a profound and often personal commentary on the vacuousness of life and nihilism - for those who don't get it, it would be pointless, rambling and incredibly violent.

For me, this book talks to a time in my life where I very nearly died on the inside - its a poinant reminder of the alternatives, if I hadnt chosen life instead.

There are layers of complexity that I can't possibly articulate, so I won't even try - give it a read and see what you think. Its pretty short.

This effort feels like an after thought, and in the literary sense, re-visitations are rarely satisfying. There is dread, paranoia, and anxiety, but it leads to a bleak bukkake-like jerk of snuff, whimper, and "didn't you see my hand in all this?" chicanery that doesn't satisfy at all.

Neither female characters, Blair or Rain, serve any purpose. They are Flies.

The nonsensical sexual violence seems misplaced and borrowed from his previous, and totally unrelated works. And Clay, the main character, is a polished weasel certainly capable of pushing you out of a moving car while you are sleeping, but in no way does he deliver any believable physical or sexual dread.

Lunar Park was luminous, inventive, mature, surreal and fascinating.......Read it.

Imperial Bedrooms is light, vapid, mildly entertaining and Ellis-ordinary.

Your choice.

After the meandering Glamorama and the uninspired Lunar Park, I was afraid that the mesmerizing writing style that Bret Easton Ellis had established (and incrementally expanded on) in his first three books (Less Than Zero, Rules of Attraction, American Psycho) had dissipated and become a thing of the past. But given how much I liked those first three (and since the last two were still tolerable) I jumped on Imperial Bedrooms as soon as I heard about it. And I read the whole thing from cover to cover without stopping.

This is partly due to the fact that it's a pretty short book (a novella more than a novel) and that the story is laid out in short blocks of writing, but it's mainly due to how captivating the story is. Leaving behind the bloated writing style of Glamorama and the standard style of Lunar Park, Ellis returns to his roots in this sequel to his debut novel Less Than Zero and recaptures his succinct, coldly clinical style of writing along the way.

Aside from a strange (but brief) introductory section of the novel where Clay (as the narrator) discusses the successes of Less Than Zero as a book - and its failure as a movie - the story picks up pretty quickly. Clay, Julian, and Blair are all back. As are Rip and Trent and a few other characters readers of Less Than Zero will remember. Clay is now a screenwriter, living mostly in New York but bouncing back and forth to L.A. He's in L.A. at the start of the story, working on casting for a new film he's written, "The Listeners" - which seems a pretty direct reference to his collection of short stories "The Informers" which was recently made into a poorly received movie.

As Clay floats between casting calls and parties - never fully engaging with the people around him, he finds himself becoming obsessed with a struggling actress. His relationship with her makes his life a lot more complicated - dangerously so - but he finds himself unable to care about this. In typical Ellis style, the reader is never fully admitted into the thought processes behind Clay's decisions or how he really feels about any given situation. The strongest of emotions are hardly given a passing mention and most conversations last only a few sentences.

There are a few graphically disturbing passages reminiscent of American Psycho (though not quite as detailed) but for the most part Ellis sticks to emotional detachment and mental self destruction as themes rather than physical pain and torture.

The title is a reference to the Elvis Costello album of the same name - a musician that Clay was into in Less Than Zero - but plays nicely into Clay's manipulation of the Hollywood scene for his own sexual gratification.

For those that thought Bret Easton Ellis had run out of steam (or perhaps OD'd a few too many times) after American Psycho, Imperial Bedrooms is a welcome return to form. And for those that are new to Ellis... well, I recommend reading Less Than Zero before this book, but it works fine as a stand-alone as well.

I love some BEE, but 'Imperial Bedrooms' was not very good. In a funny way, the novella itself (clocking in at just over 4 hours on audible), is an amalgamation of what Hollywood has become. If BEE was a focus group, this is the result. The need to do more of the same has die-hard fans bored to tears, especially when we only get a book every 5 years. The book is a Betty Crocker cookie recipe of equal parts deadpan observation, textbook narcissism, CSI-like violence, and the mentioning of the building 'Doheny Plaza' crow barred in about 200 times.. In early books, the nihilism and deviance seemed to be perhaps a statement on Hollywood's ravenous mentality or youth's fear of death and growing old. This one really seems like a half-hearted attempt to cash in on a franchise. I thought, as a whole, Lunar Park was surprisingly solid, even with it's sentimentality. He was exploring new territory. Now, pushing 50, his abuse and sexual fetishes read more like some closet Max Hardcore, a creepy pedophile who he "lampooned" in earlier works. I am a fairly seasoned reader who can pick up on sarcasm and satire, but I'm angry at the laziness of this novella. I really don't think I'm alone on this one. Sorry, Bret.. That said, the early chapter of Clay discovering someone had been in his apartment was pitch perfect. Just never capitalized on the suspense you were trying to build. Like the Cubs, I have to say, "Maybe next time... "