BEE
Literary Note 1
The French edition of Bret Easton Ellis' "Lunar Park" (Robert Laffont, Pavillons, 2005) has no writing on it whatsoever. One merely sees a photograph of the author, in grey tones. Indeed that photo is a masterpiece, a semi-profile that shows the finesse, sensitivity, intelligence of the author. This is how French publishing presents it's own, undoubtedly praise as such for Ellis' work. The joy in realizing that it was Ellis - whom I had never seen - made me 'caddie' the book: I knew I was in for a threat, a few laughs, literary companionship.
I read the infamous "American Psycho" years ago. There is no doubt that Ellis is a serious craftsman - he gets up in the morning, writes on a schedule, polishes his work - and that he is in a class of artists, with something to express in each and every work. It is hard to say that Psycho was a joy because there are scenes of true horror in the book but I read it through. Anything that comes after this kind of catharsis has to be interesting.
"Psycho" was also an advance in intelligence from earlier takes on the issue of the mentation of extreme acts of violence. Norman Mailer might research a serial killer. Ellis researches Wall Street yuppies - at best, insensitive types with the patience to worry about money all day - AND extreme crime at the same time and presents the two together precisely because they do not mesh. It is safe to savage the yuppie for his crassness because after all this specimen is a deranged killer; and it is possible to explore one's own capacity for violence because the hopelessness that underlies such acts is missing for a successful stock broker. There is complicity here, between reader and writer, the literary contract is fulfilled.
In "Lunar Park", Ellis escapes from gay prison. His main character - called BEE as is the author and with a similar biography - is married with two children. Real celebrities cameo in and out, the plot is Steven King, the wife John Updike. Like John Updike, Ellis doesn't know the first thing about women and is quite incapable of creating a physical female character, (something for which his female readers should perhaps be grateful). This is a constant in a great deal of masculine books. Men and women are never more distant from each other as when each is trying to describe the other sex: women are pale psycho-rigid creatures who either refuse or demand sex precisely when it is inappropriate...and so on. One of the great moments in J.K. Rowling's" Harry Potter" is giving Harry an invisibility cloak. Women know they are invisible to men after reading male authors.
I have not finished "Lunar", but rather catch bits and pieces of it now and again, interlaced with other books and studies on quite different topics. It is a safe heaven of easy reading but I am not stretching it out but rather fit it in when I am just that tired. Ellis lifts the blanket, now and again, on what seems to be a central theme: the fear rippling through New York post 9/11. There is nothing much to say about it, I am afraid, but needs to be endured. Fear of the bomb was like that when I was a teen-ager. One had nightmares, would alternatively be fascinated with the subject or would want to forget the whole thing. It fueled a powerful anger towards political leadership: why wouldn't they do anything about it. Ellis' next work is meant to be about life in Washington. I am looking forward to it.
Literary Note 1
The French edition of Bret Easton Ellis' "Lunar Park" (Robert Laffont, Pavillons, 2005) has no writing on it whatsoever. One merely sees a photograph of the author, in grey tones. Indeed that photo is a masterpiece, a semi-profile that shows the finesse, sensitivity, intelligence of the author. This is how French publishing presents it's own, undoubtedly praise as such for Ellis' work. The joy in realizing that it was Ellis - whom I had never seen - made me 'caddie' the book: I knew I was in for a threat, a few laughs, literary companionship.
I read the infamous "American Psycho" years ago. There is no doubt that Ellis is a serious craftsman - he gets up in the morning, writes on a schedule, polishes his work - and that he is in a class of artists, with something to express in each and every work. It is hard to say that Psycho was a joy because there are scenes of true horror in the book but I read it through. Anything that comes after this kind of catharsis has to be interesting.
"Psycho" was also an advance in intelligence from earlier takes on the issue of the mentation of extreme acts of violence. Norman Mailer might research a serial killer. Ellis researches Wall Street yuppies - at best, insensitive types with the patience to worry about money all day - AND extreme crime at the same time and presents the two together precisely because they do not mesh. It is safe to savage the yuppie for his crassness because after all this specimen is a deranged killer; and it is possible to explore one's own capacity for violence because the hopelessness that underlies such acts is missing for a successful stock broker. There is complicity here, between reader and writer, the literary contract is fulfilled.
In "Lunar Park", Ellis escapes from gay prison. His main character - called BEE as is the author and with a similar biography - is married with two children. Real celebrities cameo in and out, the plot is Steven King, the wife John Updike. Like John Updike, Ellis doesn't know the first thing about women and is quite incapable of creating a physical female character, (something for which his female readers should perhaps be grateful). This is a constant in a great deal of masculine books. Men and women are never more distant from each other as when each is trying to describe the other sex: women are pale psycho-rigid creatures who either refuse or demand sex precisely when it is inappropriate...and so on. One of the great moments in J.K. Rowling's" Harry Potter" is giving Harry an invisibility cloak. Women know they are invisible to men after reading male authors.
I have not finished "Lunar", but rather catch bits and pieces of it now and again, interlaced with other books and studies on quite different topics. It is a safe heaven of easy reading but I am not stretching it out but rather fit it in when I am just that tired. Ellis lifts the blanket, now and again, on what seems to be a central theme: the fear rippling through New York post 9/11. There is nothing much to say about it, I am afraid, but needs to be endured. Fear of the bomb was like that when I was a teen-ager. One had nightmares, would alternatively be fascinated with the subject or would want to forget the whole thing. It fueled a powerful anger towards political leadership: why wouldn't they do anything about it. Ellis' next work is meant to be about life in Washington. I am looking forward to it.
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