This is not an exit.
Having just finished reading American Psycho, I have some pseudo-intellectual garbage to spew. What better place than an illustrious and free blogspot page, I say? Props to Mat for giving me the link to his own blog three times and inspiring me to do the like.
So, the book is one of those that I've read enough about - and, of course, saw the movie on which it was based (and also read enough about) - that I came into it with a pre-formed opinion on how it was supposed to present itself. But nothing can really prepare you for that book. I knew how disgustingly graphic it was, but it was obscenely visceral, which I wasn't prepared for. Nothing can describe how bizarre it was to read that book on the Bart train into work with the SF Bay morning rush hour crowd pushed up against me.
I want to say it was a most excellent book - because it was. But it does not go gently into that good night. It's laborous to get through and it took me a while to finish. I had to keep putting it down for a few days to give myself a breather - it's just too intense and coked up. The last third of it was the worst, definetely not a world that I wanted to dwell in. When Patrick Bateman says somewhere in the middle that he's 26 I totally freaked out. And I couldn't ride in a cab without thinking about the numerous scenes in taxis from the book.
That book hangs with you like a surrealist painting does - just kind of drapes itself over you and takes some shaking off.
In retrospect, the movie does it justice - the book itself is fairly cinematic. But you can't duplicate the effect of a written work on the screen. Came pretty close, though. Directed by a woman as well, which I always forget.
A few things about the weird chapters about the pop musicians from the 80's. I didn't know what to make of these. They just sort of existed in between sections of plot and are, I think, more telling in their form and repetition than in their subject. Kind of odd breaks in the diagesis that seem to serve as gathering pools of thinly-veiled commentary on the commercialism of Bateman's world. Interesting, and some of them are more potent than others. And I get that they were supposed to be a device - and they were perfectly timed. But they left me with a vague sense of overdone-ness. Still not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.
And there is point very near the end where the narrative slips from first person narration to third, only for a few pages. That is a totally perfect example of how this book works - Bateman descending even more so into psychotic madness and, for a page or two, all of a sudden his voice falters and then bounces right back at you. It's brilliant. And completely successful. I'm in awe.
I totally have to see the movie again.
Any book that makes me think this much about it after I've finished it is well worth the read.
So, the book is one of those that I've read enough about - and, of course, saw the movie on which it was based (and also read enough about) - that I came into it with a pre-formed opinion on how it was supposed to present itself. But nothing can really prepare you for that book. I knew how disgustingly graphic it was, but it was obscenely visceral, which I wasn't prepared for. Nothing can describe how bizarre it was to read that book on the Bart train into work with the SF Bay morning rush hour crowd pushed up against me.
I want to say it was a most excellent book - because it was. But it does not go gently into that good night. It's laborous to get through and it took me a while to finish. I had to keep putting it down for a few days to give myself a breather - it's just too intense and coked up. The last third of it was the worst, definetely not a world that I wanted to dwell in. When Patrick Bateman says somewhere in the middle that he's 26 I totally freaked out. And I couldn't ride in a cab without thinking about the numerous scenes in taxis from the book.
That book hangs with you like a surrealist painting does - just kind of drapes itself over you and takes some shaking off.
In retrospect, the movie does it justice - the book itself is fairly cinematic. But you can't duplicate the effect of a written work on the screen. Came pretty close, though. Directed by a woman as well, which I always forget.
A few things about the weird chapters about the pop musicians from the 80's. I didn't know what to make of these. They just sort of existed in between sections of plot and are, I think, more telling in their form and repetition than in their subject. Kind of odd breaks in the diagesis that seem to serve as gathering pools of thinly-veiled commentary on the commercialism of Bateman's world. Interesting, and some of them are more potent than others. And I get that they were supposed to be a device - and they were perfectly timed. But they left me with a vague sense of overdone-ness. Still not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.
And there is point very near the end where the narrative slips from first person narration to third, only for a few pages. That is a totally perfect example of how this book works - Bateman descending even more so into psychotic madness and, for a page or two, all of a sudden his voice falters and then bounces right back at you. It's brilliant. And completely successful. I'm in awe.
I totally have to see the movie again.
Any book that makes me think this much about it after I've finished it is well worth the read.
posted by Black Sheep Girl at 8:22 PM
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