“And as things fell apart
Nobody paid much attention”

From its chilling opening line “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”, the virtually plotless ‘American Psycho’ drags us screaming and giggling into the empty heart of a decadent society obsessed with money and status. Wall Street trader Patrick Bateman’s relentless restauranteering and terrifyingly banal monologues on designer clothes juxtapose powerfully with him graphically torturing and killing lots of people – predominantly women. These outraged by the violence – and there have been many, including the usual suspects, some who shamelessly admitted to not having actually read the book – miss the point however. Firstly, the horror is more real than that within, for example, the equally violent ‘Silence Of The Lambs,’ simply because ‘American Psycho’ is written in the first person. Secondly, ‘American Psycho’ might not be what it seems – Patrick may (or may not be, such is the ambiguity of the narration) fantasizing. One clue to this well-discussed theory is in the quotation from Dostoevsky at the beginning of the novel:

“Both the author of these Notes and the Notes themselves are, of course, fictional. Nevertheless, such persons as the composer of these Notes not only exist in our society, but indeed must exist, considering the circumstances under which our society has generally been formed. I have wished to bring before the public, somewhat more distinctly than usual, one of the characters of our recent past. He represents a generation that is still living out its days among us. In the fragment entitled “Underground” this personage describes himself and his views and attempts, as it were, to clarify the reasons why he appeared and was bound to appear in our midst. The subsequent fragment will consist of the actual “notes,” concerning certain events in his life.”

Another clue: when asked what he does for a living, nobody reacts to Patrick’s reply of “…murders and executions, mostly.” His Ted Bundy obsession is largely ignored. Hysterical telephone confessions to a colleague following an apparent murderous rampage are laughed off as a joke. Neighbours appear deaf to the sounds of nailgun bangs and screaming emanating from Patrick’s apartment. And nobody seems to miss the victims.

Despite these ambiguities, the violence – real or imagined – is shocking, but not half as shocking as the realisation that Patrick’s numbing monologues on Whitney Houston, Phil Collins and Huey Lewis and The News satirise the shocking acceptance by western consumers for undemanding, banal and mentally degenerative art-forms. Look around you. Be very afraid. That smooth young man at the bus stop could well be a Phil Collins fan. Such a nice man, said his baffled neighbours, after the police broke into his flat and found the refrigerator, wardrobe and garage stuffed with the warbling, anodyne drivel of a fourth-rate mockney drummer.

‘American Psycho’ vividly makes the case that society is responsible for creating the warped aspirations of people like Patrick Bateman. Bleak, funny and unsettling, this savagely clever satire forces us to confront issues we’d rather ignore. Even more relevant now than when published in 1991, ‘American Psycho’ is essential reading. If you can be bothered, of course.

The elusive Dan McNeil is a contributing reviewer for Ink magazine. His short sharp fiction has appeared in Redsine, Fantastic Metropolis, Antipodean SF and Whispers Of Wickedness, and has been translated to German. He's currently writing his first novel and compiling a collection of short fiction. You'll occasionally find him here or you can read two of his stories on the Showcase section of this site here

© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.