American Psycho Paperback – March 6, 1991

Bret Easton Ellis, more than once, captured the essence of America in the 1980's. In his books, most notably "Less Than Zero," Ellis codified the look, sound, and feel of the Ronald Reagan, MTV watching, Yuppie 1980's. Ellis was not nearly as interested in showing the flashy glitter of that time as he was in revealing the dark side of excess in an America spiraling into total chaos. In "American Psycho," Ellis attains the rank of a master satirist, viciously skewering a culture that reduces life to power lunches, Armani suits, personal hygiene, and video stores. Ellis is an American Dickens, holding a mirror up to the face of America and daring us to look deep into its depths. Needless to say, the reflection is not pretty.
Ellis's protagonist in "American Psycho" is one Patrick Bateman. Patrick is at the pinnacle of power: he is young, buff, tan, and filthy rich. He works, when he feels like it, at a powerhouse Wall Street firm. Most of his days are filled with parties, dating, dining out, renting videotapes, and buying the best of everything. Why not? Patrick can afford to do whatever he wants in an America that not only approves of his behavior, but ardently wants to emulate it as well. There is one slight quirk in Bateman's well coiffed persona, one small, minutely unpleasant ritual he feels he must engage in from time to time: Patrick likes to rape, torture, and murder people. His usual victims are prostitutes and homeless people, although he isn't above killing an occasional cop or child. That Patrick is, inside, a raving lunatic of epic proportions doesn't matter as long as he can maintain surface appearances. This he manages to do by keeping up on all the latest fads, doling out fashion tips to those less fortunate, and hanging out with the guys and gals on a regular basis.
The book alternates between power lunches at trendy New York restaurants and stomach churning scenes of murder and mayhem. There is a link between two such disparate activities, and a close reading reveals these links. In essence, Bateman is caught up in an empty, soul crushing existence. The people he knows and the places he populates are devoid of any deep feelings. In order to feel, to experience life, Bateman must kill (or at least fantasize about killing). Murder is his release from the daily banalities of Yuppie life, the only time when he feels as though he is participating in a life activity.
The violence may be extended even further, beyond the confines of Bateman's character, to show the results of a materialist culture on the human spirit. Does the best of everything always result in happy, well adjusted human beings? Are those who have great wealth automatically deserving of our respect because they are wealthy? Are these wealthy denizens guaranteed happiness because they can buy the best bottled water, the best stereo system, the best clothing? Ellis's answer is a resounding, and blood drenched, no. Bateman is not happy with his possessions (at least not beyond any surface pleasure), and actually seems to further deteriorate as he acquires more possessions.
The violence committed by Patrick Bateman is truly sickening on many levels. Ellis provides GRAPHIC descriptions of Bateman's murders, rapes, tortures, and yes, cannibalism. Those who read splatter literature won't see anything they haven't seen in horror books printed by small press publishers, but for those not used to horror films and books the violence here will definitely become unbearable. The violence is not only disgusting; it is cruel as well. It is the type of violence that seeks to humiliate and debase human beings, to bring others down to the dark levels where Bateman resides. However, keep this in mind: how can a book proposing to explore the American soul in the late 20th century avoid using violence as a major plot point? We live in an extremely violent society; to ignore that violence is to be dishonest to any serious attempt at social satire.
"American Psycho" is an important statement on late 20th century American society. Bret Ellis is to be commended for penning a book that plunges into the murky depths of our country's soul to expose our paradoxes and our ugliness. Ellis took a lot of heat for writing this book, probably from those who live lives a lot like Pat Bateman's surface existence. As a final note, be careful about watching the film version of this book. It does not capture Ellis's intentions in any way, shape, or form.

Bret Easton Ellis is a master at describing the anomie of end of the 20th century, but nowhere is that anomie more disturbingly brought to life than in "American Psycho". The book raised a firestorm when it was due to be released; feminists condemned it as misogynistic trash, and when it was finally published, it was in a trade paperback version because the publisher which was to publish the hardcover version pulled it to avoid all the controversy. All hell will probably break loose when the movie comes out, if it is in any way true to the book.

Ellis gives us Yuppie Manhattan in full effect, where the only things that count are money and designer labels; real people are faceless nonentities with interchangeable names, everyone seems to have a Peter Pan complex, dreading the inexorable approach of the big 3-0, and the defining characteristic of the time is its all-encompassing materialism. The anti-hero of "American Psycho", Patrick Bateman, is a serial killer with a penchant for torturing and murdering young women in a quest to give his empty existence some meaning. Bateman is perfect on the surface; he's young (26), handsome, expensively dressed, lives in a trendy condo on the trendy Upper West Side, makes six figures on Wall Street, and can reel off designer names at the drop of a hat. He can glance at anyone for a split second and tell who designed each item of his or her visible apparel. Bateman's life is so devoid of meaning that he thinks all this superficial knowledge actually matters. He can't love anyone, including himself; he treats friends, lovers and acquaintances with equal contempt; and he is totally devoid of compassion, tenderness, remorse, warmth, or anything remotely resembling a conscience. If he has a date with a young woman, it may or may not end in his torturing her to death; as he comments early in the book, "This is simply the way the world -- my world -- moves."

The book was indicted mainly on account of its shock value, and some of the murders are so revolting that you'll want to reach for the Alka-Seltzer. But murder and mayhem aside, the spiritually empty, shallow and soulless people portrayed in "American Psycho" pretty much represent the spiritual emptiness, shallowness and soullessness of the 1980s. Ellis overdid the blood and gore, and the relentless recitation of designer names does become wearying after the first fifty pages, but again, this only serves to emphasize the numbing emptiness of Bateman's inner self. "American Psycho" is a telling portrait of an age of material excess when nothing that really matters, mattered.

Judy Lind

I just finished this book for the first time. I was given it by a friend who said it was the only book that has actually made him physically sick by reading it. Although my gag reflex didn't kick in, the gore was, at times, certainly overwhelming. These were not, however, my main focus in the reading, and I don't think they need to be. The details, the descriptions, the style, and the subject matter commented upon by the narrartor were all extremely engaging. I wasn't privy to the objections to this book when it was originally published but it seems as tho those objections were focused solely on the descriptive gore of the novel.

Anyone who suggests this should be banned or censored simply needs to read the book again. For me, it wasn't a masterpiece nor will the substance of this novel become a central theme of my own social vision. Much of the core satire in this novel can be found in less shocking prose (God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut), but I am still taken by the beautiful style and coldness of the narrartor that the author conveys. A wonderful lesson in literature and clever poignant commentary although not for the weak at heart nor should you expect to learn anything you shouldn't already know.

Still, recommended. For the serious reader.

If you're looking for cheap thrills and detailed descriptions of lude acts, go elsewhere. 400 pages of descriptions of fashion sense will quickly dull whatever rush you're looking for from the seven descriptive murders of the novel.