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38 pages 1 hour read

Bret Easton Ellis

American Psycho

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1991

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Themes

Food, Restaurants, and Reservations

Food is a fundamental marker of power and social status. Evelyn preparing sushi at her dinner party distinguishes her as part of a fashionable elite. So too does Patrick’s constant frequenting of expensive restaurants. Dorsia, the restaurant that he fails to get a reservation at, symbolizes the unsatiable within consumer culture. The unobtainable ideal powers frenzied competition and consumption. A character’s relationship to food signals their status. Stash’s ambivalent social position is seen when he plays with, rather than eats, Evelyn’s sushi. As Bateman says, “I caught my maid stealing a piece of bran toast from my wastebasket in the kitchen” (204). For the less wealthy, food, or its absence, is a continual and visceral reminder of marginalization.

This theme becomes more pronounced as the novel progresses. Standing over the remains of one of his victims, Bateman notes how, “her stomach resembles the egg plant and goat cheese lasagna at Il Marlibro or some other kind of dog food” (331). The disadvantaged don’t just lack food in American Psycho. They become food. The social elites chew up and spit them out. Patrick cooks his victims’ parts: “I grind bone and fat and flesh into patties” (332). The capitalism of the 80s and its Darwinian logic exploit and devour people, especially the poor. This is like the cash machine which commands a deranged Bateman to “feed me a stray cat” (380). Consumer capitalism, represented by the machine, purports to support and enhance life, but it consumes it. It uses up and warps life and human beings to perpetuate itself.

Bateman and other elites aren’t free from this. While less obvious victims of the system they are nonetheless poisoned by it. As Bateman says, “I buy a Dove Bar, a coconut one, in which I find part of a bone” (371). In a sense he is observing the deeper reality of the product. Behind the different brands and the illusion of choice is a corrupt system of production and consumption. The consumer themselves becomes meat for the grinder. This even comes to affect Bateman. As he says, quoting a Ted Bundy letter, “I can feel her spreading hot sauce on me already” (350). Grasping the darker truth about consumer capitalism, Bateman realizes that he too is being prepared to be processed and consumed.

Homelessness, Greed, and Reaganomics

As Price and Bateman head in a taxi toward Evelyn’s dinner party at the novel’s start, Price waxes lyrical about his worth. As he says, “I’m creative. I’m young […] highly motivated, highly skilled. In essence what I’m saying is that society cannot afford to lose me. I’m an asset” (3). Price expresses a sentiment that became common in the 1980s, especially amongst the rich. Namely, that greed was good. As championed by Margaret Thatcher in the UK and Ronald Reagan in the US, the idea was not merely that the rich should keep as much of their wealth as possible. It was also that by doing so they were benefiting society. They were allegedly “creating” wealth that would “trickle down” to everybody else.

Easton Ellis satirizes this ethos in American Psycho. He exposes the dangers of such a self-justifying viewpoint. As Bateman observes “the ranks of the unfortunate, weak and aged line the streets everywhere” (268). The conspicuous and excessive consumption of his social milieu is set against the backdrop of mass poverty and homelessness. This ethos justifies indifference to other’s suffering and legitimizes abuse. McDermott waves a dollar bill in front of a homeless woman’s face then burns it. More horrifically, Bateman stabs and blinds a homeless man. This is after telling him to “get a goddamn job” (125). According to Bateman and capitalist logic, if the rich deserve their wealth then the poor must be to blame for their poverty. They are poor because they are lazy, immoral or have the “wrong attitude.” Bateman’s violence appears to be a deranged extension of this logic.

At the same time, it is apparent how little work Bateman or his friends actually do. Most of their time is spent in restaurants or bars or taking drugs. Bateman does not seem to do a single productive thing at work. Vague allusions to the “Fisher account” are made. But the reader never gets to know what this is, or why it matters. Instead, Bateman sits in his office listening to music or filling in crosswords with the words “meat” and “bones.” Patrick did not get his job or wealth on merit. His ex-girlfriend, Bethany reveals that his family owns “P and P,” the company he works for. His self-characterization as a dynamic and productive executive is a sham. Like the neo-liberal ideology he buys into, it is merely a performance and an image designed to mask a more fundamental rottenness.

Repetition, Imitation, and Time

Bateman’s favourite film is Body Double (1984), “a movie I have rented thirty-seven times” (108). Part of the reason for this, as he explains to the bemused woman at the video store, is because of a gruesome scene involving someone being murdered with a power-drill. Yet it is also because it touches on a core concern of his. Namely, how to maintain a sense of identity when so many aspects of life involve the imitation of something or somebody else. This is emphasized by the technology and culture of the 1980s. Celebrated in some circles, this was a period when artificiality and repetition became a recognizable aesthetic. It was also encouraged by then-new technologies such as videotapes, CDs, and the Walkman. These allowed for films and music to be endlessly reproduced and replayed. Unsurprisingly, Bateman is fascinated by all three.

One might question what is wrong with this. Why does the reader necessarily assume that a mythical “original” is always better than a copy? Imitation can be a creative and imaginative act. However, it can also be melancholic and stifling. As Bateman says, “life remained a blank canvas, a cliché, a soap opera” (268). The sense that everything is really just a copy contributes to his loss of self. This is evidenced in his relationship to time. As he says, “May slides into June which slides into July which creeps toward August” (255). His experiences become copies of copies. Endlessly repeating the same conversations and gestures, going to the same places with versions of the same people, time starts to lose all meaning. Everything blurs into one. Even his murdering becomes repetitious and banal. This is reflected in the structure and form of the novel itself. Chapters and experiences like “Harry’s” and “girls” are repeated. At the novel’s end Bateman is back in the same bar he was in at the start. At that point, his delusions are severe. The reader feel the same dislocation from any clear temporal order that Bateman himself suffers.

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