I’m still reading American Psycho.  At this point in the book, I can safely say that it is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time.  Not only is it intelligent, ironic, and satirical all at once, but it’s just really entertaining and absorbing.  Patrick Bateman is a character that you love to hate (or maybe the other way around, I’m not exactly sure) and whose behavior is so utterly depraved that it honestly is downright disturbing.  Not only is he a killer, he’s a pervert, a narcissist, a chauvinist, and basically an all-around @$$hole.  And yet, despite all that, Ellis writes him in such a fluid way that his huge charisma is carried off the page right at us, drawing us into Patrick’s web.  And while the book is dark and sadistic, it is punctuated by some genuinely funny moments, like when Patrick has an awkward run-in with Tom Cruise in a penthouse elevator.  These moments never seem out of place, however, as they are described through Patrick’s twisted perspective.  One of my favorite things that Ellis does with Bateman’s character is his frequent runaway trains of thought.  As Bateman is a truly uncaring individual, when someone will be speaking to him, Ellis will begin writing about something completely unrelated to show how Bateman’s attention has drifted elsewhere, be it cars, luxury suits, beautiful women, high-end restaurants, etc.  I’m not sure what more I can say about this book that I haven’t touched on already, but to clarify what really makes this book for me is the satirical, black-comedy-esque look at American 80s excess.  I’m a huge fan and supporter of the counter-culture movement, and this book reminds me of something from that movement.  It almost seems reminiscent of the works of Hunter S. Thompson (author of such renowned works as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas).  American Psycho is a book that doesn’t necessarily hate America, but it’s a book that sees America for what it is, and is not afraid to paint the picture of what it sees.  And let me tell you, this vision of America is not pretty.  And while the book is extremely graphic and explicit in all manner of ways, never once does it try to capitalize on it or sensationalize it, it is there for a reason rather than gratuitous fluff.  So often these days books, and in turn, authors, have so little to say, and so it’s extremely refreshing to find someone who has so much to say, perhaps too much to fit into one book. After I finish this novel, I will have to check out Ellis’s other work, as he is definitely a brilliant writer.  His understanding of character creation and establishment is unparalleled, as well as his understanding of how to connect with and absorb a reader and his overall knowledge and understanding of American culture.  If you dig great writing, counter-culture satire and aren’t easily offended or disturbed, I would highly recommend this book, it’s great.

I’ve finished the last book I was reading, Picnic at Hanging Rock, and just picked up a new one, namely American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis. It is by no means related to my author study, but it’s a book I’d been meaning to check out for a long while, so why not? The book is a tale about 80s excess taken to the extreme, and the hypocrisy and irony of the general lifestyle and society of the time.  On a deeper note, it’s a book about our secret vices, and how they play a role in shaping our society.  We follow Patrick Bateman, a wall-street golden boy, as he goes about his business while secretly indulging in his own “hobby” of sorts.  To put it simply, mass murder.  Bateman is a textbook psychopath who gets off on causing harm to others, whether out of greed, jealousy, or just for kicks. Ellis introduces us to the mind of this character brilliantly.  The story is told from a first-person perspective which Ellis does, I think, to put us into Patrick’s mind, to really understand his thought process.  He handles this with an expert hand. Throughout the first five or so pages of the book, there is only Bateman’s descriptions of what goes on around him. We get no sense of internal feelings or emotion, and not once does Ellis use the word “I” outside of dialogue.  There is one simple reason for this. Bateman has no emotions, save for the seven deadly sins.  This is an ingeniously simple way to put us in the shoes of an emotional blank slate. However, as a book centered around a completely flat protagonist is no fun, Ellis instead prefers to shape Bateman’s character through his actions and the occasional thought. So then, with such a cold character, why would Ellis decide to write the book using a first person perspective?  My theory: yes to get inside his head, but also to show us Bateman’s selfish, detached nature.  We feel distant from all the goings on in the book, as if we, like Patrick, are merely cold observers. And it works.  In addition to Ellis’s top-notch craft of his characters, what I really love about the book is the small metaphorical details he throws in. For instance, at one point they see a cop car cruising the wrong way down a one way street. I took that as a metaphor for how during the 80s in New York, those with power thought themselves above the establishment, and also how the society was sort of regressing, or going the wrong way, if you will.  In the same chapter, a sign on a bus for Les Miserables, the great operatic musical, a brilliant work of art is defaced with an offensive sexual slur, juxtaposing the beauty and high society with the ugly and awful truth of the excessive lifestyle, a theme that constantly repeats itself.  The book may be called American Psycho, but it is very much an anti-American piece about the downward state of affairs in our country and lost social values, a theme which I am also incorporating into a pretty big piece I’m planning, so it’s great to have another source of inspiration. Also, the book is just fantastically well-written, so I would definitely say check it out if you are not easily disturbed.

I am currently in the process of reading my second independent reading book, Picnic at Hanging Rock.  It’s a novel of mystery and suspense from the Australian author, Joan Lindsay.  The setting is a girls’ boarding school in Australia in the year 1900.  On a picnic to the nearby massive rock formation, Hanging Rock, three girls and a supervisor vanish without a trace.  The rest of the novel follows the ensuing investigation, revealing shocking human truths along the way.  Picnic at Hanging Rock is a novel of questions, not answers.  The book is full of mystery, but never once do we ever get the sense that Lindsay feels obligated to really attempt to solve the mystery.  That’s not the point.  The book is not a whodunit.  While revelations are come to about the girls (I won’t spoil anything) the rock at the center of the entire mystery remains shrouded in mystery.  With no satisfying literal conclusion, one must search for a deeper meaning in the text.  And believe me when I say that there is no shortage of meaning to be found in these pages.  What I personally got out of the story was a striking commentary on the social stigma around female emotions and sexuality and the repression of such “uncomfortable” ideas.  The rock is freedom from repression.  When the girls first begin to explore the slopes of the rock and shed their shoes and stockings, they shed any bonds that the school, i.e. the order and structure of everyday society, has over them.  When the girls disappear, they leave behind a younger girl, Sara, who wasn’t allowed on the picnic.  Sara has an infatuation with Miranda, the most beautiful and mysterious of the vanished girls, which Miranda may or may not share.  Whether it is simply a sisterly bond or something more scandalous remains unclear, but either way, I feel like it holds great meaning. I’m not exactly sure what.  Overall, Lindsay is master of creating a huge amount of depth for her characters and ideas.  The book is so rich, we feel as though there is so much about these character’s lives that goes unexplored, as if we are just reading the tip of the iceberg.  Despite this feeling, never once do we truly desire to know more than what Lindsay presents us with.  Any more would overcomplicate things.  Reading the text as it is, we already feel voyeuristic, as if we are witnessing something forbidden and secret.  And yet Lindsay relishes that feeling, basks in it, and we can’t look away. It’s too haunting.  With beautifully crafted sentences and flowing prose, the novel is truly deserving of its status as a classic. A film based off Joan Lindsay’s novel was made during the 1970s brilliantly directed by Peter Weir.  With a haunting soundtrack and gorgeous colors and cinematography, not to mention superb acting and direction, I would also highly recommend checking that out.  It is just as good as the book, if not slightly better.

For my first independent reading book, I read Anthony Burgess's science fiction epic, A Clockwork Orange.  For those that aren't familiar with the novel or the brilliant film adaptation directed by Stanley Kubrick, the narrative follows Alex DeLarge, a teenage hoodlum in a dystopian British society.  Alex is an amazing character, as he completely and genuinely lacks all remorse.  The story told from his perspective is extremely disturbing but gripping at the same time.  As it’s told in the first person, Burgess writes using all the slang that a teenager in a dystopian future would, which equates to an entirely new language in sections.  Thus deciphering the book is half the battle in reading it.  This writing style really makes the reader focus on contextual cues and syntax, making it a much more thought-provoking read than it otherwise would be.  That being said, I had seen the film before reading the novel, so I was already familiar with much of the language going into the text.  Looking back, I do regret this, as I could read the book easily when it was intended to be a much more in-depth experience.  It was, however, still a great read.  One part that especially stood out to me, and in a negative way, unfortunately, was the final chapter.  Originally, I had heard that the final chapter, in which Alex grows up and learns the error of his ways, was required for an American release so that it would have a happy ending.  However, upon reading the book’s introduction, Burgess states that this chapter was intended and that because the film left it out, he disowned Kubrick’s work.  Personally, I disagree with Burgess on this point.  In my opinion, I believe that the story works much better without the final chapter.  The final chapter seems to destroy the point of the film, which is to me to explore the limits of freedom of will and to demonstrate the general public’s psychological attraction to a protagonist of any type.  To have Alex grow out of his evil ways gives the entire story a different bent which, personally, I don’t think has a place in the novel.  Overall, though, I think the book is fantastic.  It’s a tale about constitutional rights and having a right to your own thoughts and actions.  The government tries to limit Alex’s violent tendencies with a new scientific procedure, and this is the main conflict in the book.  besides the disjointing of the last chapter, the text is brilliant, and the characters and themes fascinating.  I would gladly recommend it to anyone interested in cautionary tales or science fiction of any kind.  However, the film is extremely disturbing in many ways, so I would say that anyone who’s squeamish might want to steer clear of this one.  As a testament to the book’s power, I finished the text several days ago, and am still thinking about it today.  It truly is a lasting book. It has power.  Moving forward, I’d definitely like to read more of Burgess’s work.

            For my independent reading project, I’m still reading Stephen King’s first installment of the Dark Tower series, The Gunslinger.  So far it’s pretty awesome.  It follows a gunslinger in a fantasy old west-esque world as he follows a sorcerer clad all in black known as the man in black for as yet unknown reasons.  One thing I can say that King is a master of is gripping the reader from the very beginning by throwing them right into the middle of the action.  Even forty pages into the book, I have very little idea of what’s going on, and yet I find it very hard to put down. 

One of the ways King is able to achieve this is by creating constant undertones of tension.  In other words, you always get the sense while reading that something big and bad is brewing.  An example of how he does this in this particular book stems from the environment the gunslinger inhabits.  It’s a harsh, unforgiving world.  A town that he spends much of his time at is inhabited by mistrusting, inbred hillbillies and junkies jacked up on a plant called devil grass (basically weed on steroids).  This kind of thing being the general theme of the book creates a constant sense of unease in the reader.

I guess that’s the main reason I like Stephen King novels.  You never know what’s going to happen next, but you always know that something is going to happen.  This book has just done more to convince me that King is the master of subtext.  I suppose part of the reason that one always wonders what’s going to happen next is King’s reputation as one of the best horror author’s in the business.

But yeah, I digress.  This book is dope, so if you like Stephen King/horror/surreal westerns (kind of a specific category, I know) check it out, you won’t regret it.  I can’t wait to update the interwebs on what happens next on the journey of the gunslinger.

So I just finished my last book, Devil in the White City, and keeping with the dark themes, I decided to pick up a Stephen King novel.  As I decided to fully invest myself in a long-term reading project, I picked up the first in his longest and most near-and-dear series, The Dark Tower Series, the first of which being The Gunslinger. As his magnum opus, the Dark Tower series embodies all that is Stephen King, presenting a completely strange, surreal, and supernatural world in which nothing is what it seems.

The Gunslinger follows the unnamed title character as he pursues another man, known simply as the man in black, through a vast desert toward a mysterious tower--the Dark Tower.  The reader is thrown into this pursuit right away with absolutely no explanation, being forced to find their bearings amidst the barren landscape of King’s dreamworld.

Being most of the way through the first chapter, I can’t help but think that nothing I’m reading is actually meant to be taken literally.  With such a strange premise, reminiscent of the midnight movies of the ‘70s, it seems to me to at this point be some fantastical dream-journey through a metaphorical landscape of King’s devising.  As to the purpose or overall message contained within said metaphors, well, I can’t speak to that just yet.

Overall, it’s a great read so far.  King’s writing style leaves nothing to be desired, with beautifully crafted sentences rich in visual detail.  In addition to his fantastic writing ability, King was really able to let his imagination run free with this series, and it definitely pays off. The world he’s created, both with the characters and the imagery is both stark and bleak as well as dream-like and fantastical.  If you enjoy Stephen King, or are simply a fan of epically fantastical adventures, I’d definitely recommend picking this one up.

I’m still reading Gary Larson’s The Devil in the White City.  The further I get into this book, the more interested I am to hear what happens next, especially when it comes to Holmes.  The text still follows a similar format, jumping between focuses. One chapter will be focused on the World’s Fair head architect, Daniel Burnham, and the next will be focused on H.H. Holmes, the notorious serial killer, and so on.  At this point in the book a new protagonist has emerged as well, one George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. the inventor of the ferris wheel.  The attraction was first created for the Columbian Exposition, and Larson expands on the trials and tribulations involved, intertwining ferris’s story with that of Burnham.  While closer to the beginning of the book, the chapter focuses seemed rather disjointed, as it’s progressed, Larson shows us how Holmes’s actions intertwine with those of Burnham and Ferris.  More than that, the contrast between the visionary idealistic architects and the undeniably sociopathic serial killer makes for a very interesting dynamic.  With such vastly different characters, Larson not only relates a historical tale, but also explores the human psyche and in fact, what it means to be human.

On the one hand, you have Daniel Burnham, a man with so much vision he was able to pull off something that no one had ever seen before, a leader of both technological and cultural advancement.  On the other is a man some would not even consider human at all, as he possesses none of the emotion or empathy to be considered such.  Two very different sides of humanity juxtaposed against each other.  That kept in mind, I’ve begun to realize that the real protagonist in Larson’s text is humanity as a whole.  I can’t wait to finish the book and find out what happens next; again, if you’re reading this and haven’t checked out this book, I suggest you do so.