“Because most guys I know who work with mergers and acquisitions really don’t like it.”

I believe he said murders and executions dear, and if you were able to stomach the copious amounts of bloodshed in Bret Easton Ellis’s 1991 thriller American Psycho then you read a lot about that- in detail. The book was snubbed by numerous sources, even the editors over at Simon & Schuster pulled out after Ellis received a $300,000 advance, which he kept! (lucky break). Wonder how much of a cut he’ll get from American Psycho tickets?

MIT’s main publication “The Tech” had this to say about American Psycho the book- “Ellis wrote American Psycho to get attention, and he got it. I’ve never read one of his novels before and probably never will again. It is not a great novel by any standard, but it is occasionally very funny, sometimes quite repugnant, and manages to make a weak but definite point about the 80s. It is a black comedy played to extremes, that is all, and the publication of American Psycho will not bring down the pillars of American society. To paraphrase Alfred Hitchcock, relax. It’s only a book. ”

(Caution- contains spoilers)

Patrick Bateman, a 26 year old investment banker and alumni of Philips Exeter Academy, Harvard and Harvard Business school is the epitome of a 1980’s New York Yuppie. The first third of the book is dedicated to his designer lifestyle, daily primping rituals, extravagant dinners and nights out at the most exclusive clubs with access to unlimited amounts substances and women- what man wouldn’t want that? Every fine point within the book is painstakingly detailed in Bateman’s flat, matter of fact and mostly indifferent voice, which makes the last two thirds of the book that more horrifying.

Further on into the book Bateman, who strives to fit in with his Pierce & Pierce colleagues, flits between the extremes of a homicidal maniac (which isn’t described here- sorry guys, you gotta read the book to get the gore) and a the WASPy, mundane businessman he pretends to be. Chapters depicting Bateman’s grotesque murders are fragmented by full passages dedicated to his personal critiques of artists such as Huey Lewis and the News, Genesis and Whitney Houston. Like any serial killer, Bateman’s murders become more complex with experience, hence what was deemed Disney in the beginning of the book is now rated X toward the end.

Casual conversations about restaurants and music releases are interrupted by erratic “banter” including stories about serial killers such as Ed Gein. Bateman, who is rarely taken seriously, even goes as far as to confess his murders to coworkers who believe he is joking. His disconnection with reality is highlighted by his love life which consists of a flippant engagement to a yuppie named Evelyn and his manipulations with woman he eventually murders.

Toward the end of the book, a massively medicated Bateman gives way to his delusions, having visions of talking ATM machines, human-like park benches and talking cereal-I wonder how they’ll depict that in American Psycho the Musical? Bateman completes his transition into the true American Psycho after passionately murdering Paul Owen, a coworker he is frequently mistaken for. Batemen uses Owen’s apartment as a drop off spot to stockpile his victims bodies.

During the last chapter, Batemen visits his catacomb only to realize that the apartment is squeaky clean, freshly painted and up for sale. On the verge of a breakdown, Batemen leaves a laundry list of confessions on a colleague’s answering machine. Readers are left to assume that either Bateman’s rampages were a figment of his imagination, as an acquaintance reveals that Paul Owen is indeed alive, or mistaken identity has come into play.

It may only be a book, but a shoocking one at that, at least in my opinion, so before you grab yourself some American Psycho tickets, flip through the pages, or at least see the movie. But be forewarned, Patrick Batemen enthusiasts will snatch up American Psycho tickets like a table at Dorsia, so start browsing right away!