American Psycho

Perhaps the most violent book I've ever read, certainly one of the most disturbing. It is dark, depraved, disgusting, and funny enough to feel bad about. Passages make you want to put the book down and stare, others make you laugh ruefully - others are just outright funny. I walked away from this book, not really knowing what to make out of it.

Bateman is a vapid nitwit, knowing essentially nothing except for fashion, audio/visual equipment, and how to misuse power tools. He clearly does not know himself or those around him. There is a recurring bit throughout the book that no one recognizes anyone else, and this relates to one of the core themes of the book: it simply doesn't matter. Vanity, surface, status - the image of status - that's all Bateman understands, and all anyone in the book is interested in (except for Jean, and a few characters that Bateman totally dismisses).

I feel compelled to share: I am wearing a “Slaughterhouse Five” shirt from the Writer's Museum in Chicago, white khaki pants from Old Navy, the socks and briefs are from Bombas, the watch is from Apple, the glasses Warby Parker (prescription, to Bateman's chagrin). The last haircut was... perhaps five months ago. My shoes are perhaps four years old and from Shoe Carnival.