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May. 17th, 2014
American Psycho
May. 17th, 2014 04:42 pmIt takes a while before we come to the first scene in which Patrick Bateman lets his freak flag fly, so to speak, but in terms of horror appeal, it is worth the anticipation. If you can only stand to read one chapter of such a novel, you can probably get its essence and power from this 16th chapter, titled “Tuesday”. It can serve as the short-story version, though you do miss out on the misogyny that otherwise characterizes this notorious piece of work.
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A handpainted cardboard sign attached to the front of the cart reads I AM HUNGRY AND HOMELESS PLEASE HELP ME. A dog, a small mutt, short-haired and rail thin, lies next to him, its makeshift leash tied to the handle of the grocery cart. I don’t notice the dog the first time I pass by. It’s only after I circle the block and come back that I see it lying on a pile of newspapers, guarding the bum, a collar around its neck with an oversize nameplate that reads GIZMO. the dog looks up at me wagging its skinny, pathetic excuse for a tail and when I hold out a gloved hand it licks at hungrily. The stench of some kind of cheap alcohol mixed with excrement hangs here like a heavy, invisible cloud, and I have to hold my breath, before adjusting to the stink. The bum wakes up, opens his eyes, yawning, exposing remarkably stained teeth between cracked purple lips.
-- “American Psycho” by Bret Easton Ellis (p. 126-132)
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A handpainted cardboard sign attached to the front of the cart reads I AM HUNGRY AND HOMELESS PLEASE HELP ME. A dog, a small mutt, short-haired and rail thin, lies next to him, its makeshift leash tied to the handle of the grocery cart. I don’t notice the dog the first time I pass by. It’s only after I circle the block and come back that I see it lying on a pile of newspapers, guarding the bum, a collar around its neck with an oversize nameplate that reads GIZMO. the dog looks up at me wagging its skinny, pathetic excuse for a tail and when I hold out a gloved hand it licks at hungrily. The stench of some kind of cheap alcohol mixed with excrement hangs here like a heavy, invisible cloud, and I have to hold my breath, before adjusting to the stink. The bum wakes up, opens his eyes, yawning, exposing remarkably stained teeth between cracked purple lips.
-- “American Psycho” by Bret Easton Ellis (p. 126-132)
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