So the main character hangs decapitated heads from his erect penis. So what?
From the second it was first (almost not) published, AP has been a controversial work that's managed to piss off and entrance almost three decade's worth of readers. Pat Bateman is our loveable anti-hero, a man with the looks, the money, the drugs, the killer job and the killer babes. And, of course, he just likes killing people in general. As the body count rises, people seem to care less and less. And why should they? There isn't much room for anything in between all those coke binges, orgies, and dinner reservations at the most happening spots in town.
But the gore, people, the fucking gore. Between that and the way women are treated, it's no wonder BEE has recieved numerous death threats. If we look beyond that, though, we see all of our narcissistic flaws. The violence seems so distant, the sex, equally hollow. Still, there's something lurking in this book that we all can identify with.
I may be lynched, but I'm giving this fucker five stars, both for its lucid but still gorgeous language and its gritty social commentary. Reading American Psycho may be like masturbation, but that juicy orgasm you feel at the end of it all makes the novel worthwhile. Stand in front of the mirror, because I don't think I'm the only one who secretly wishes that they could live as freely as Pat Bateman does, even if we don't all share his psychopathic tastes.
