Book Review: American Psycho

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis: A Book Review

When American Psycho came out in 1991, it horrified people—and not just a little bit. It wasn’t a mild discomfort or the polite kind of outrage that fuels book bans in high schools. No, this was deep-seated, visceral revulsion. It’s grotesque, violent, and dripping with nihilism. But beyond the gore and Gucci suits, Ellis wasn’t just spinning a shock-value thriller; he was holding up a mirror to a society ruled by image, greed, and moral rot. Patrick Bateman, a successful, attractive, and utterly psychopathic young man, becomes a reflection of the most disturbing aspects of the American Dream—and what a terrifying reflection it is. But why does this story still hold such a grip on us decades later? Because Ellis forces us to confront a question we’d rather ignore: what if Bateman is just us, stripped of all pretense?

The Origin: How Bret Easton Ellis Dreamed Up the Monster

In the 1980s, Bret Easton Ellis was living the dream—or what looked like a dream. He was young, successful, and mingling with Manhattan’s elite. But behind the glitz of exclusive restaurants and designer labels, Ellis felt increasingly disconnected. He once described this era as feeling “like a ghost,” drifting through a sea of beautiful, hollow people. It was in this existential fog that Patrick Bateman was born.

Ellis set out to write a satirical critique of the vapid, consumerist culture he saw around him. But as the novel took shape, it transformed into something darker. Bateman was more than a character; he became a grotesque embodiment of the toxic environment Ellis inhabited. The author later admitted he was both repelled by and fascinated with Bateman, seeing him as the logical endpoint of a world obsessed with wealth and appearances.

And then there’s the controversy over where Ellis might have “borrowed” the idea. Some critics argue that American Psycho owes its existence to The Little Golden Calf, a satirical Russian novel by Ilf and Petrov about a charming but morally bankrupt con artist. Others point to Vladimir Nabokov’s Despair or even Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment as inspirations. Ellis himself has acknowledged the influence of authors like Hemingway and Camus, but any claims of outright theft are more a reflection of the novel’s universality. After all, Bateman, like every other man, was molded by unchecked ambition.

Patrick Bateman: The Everyman of the Soulless Elite

Patrick Bateman is a walking paradox: the epitome of 1980s yuppie culture and its ultimate repudiation. He’s charming and repellent, successful yet utterly hollow. His obsession with status and outward perfection masks a terrifying void.

What makes Bateman so unnerving is his banality, even more than his violence. He isn’t a criminal mastermind or a misunderstood antihero. He’s a man who kills simply because he can. In a world that values style over substance, there are no real consequences for people like him. His victims are interchangeable, as disposable as the business cards he obsesses over.

Ellis doesn’t ask us to sympathize with Bateman, but he does force us to see parts of ourselves in him. How much of our own identity is built on similarly shallow foundations? Are we so different from Bateman, or have we just not been pushed to his extremes?

How I Found the Book

I came across American Psycho in the most unexpected way. It was a Sunday morning, and I’d planned to spend it relaxing, maybe catching up on some lighter reading. Instead, fate—or maybe Patrick Bateman himself—intervened. While strolling through my neighborhood, I noticed a sidewalk sale outside a small second-hand bookstore. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find literary gold; the tables were cluttered with dog-eared romance novels, outdated cookbooks, and chipped coffee mugs. But then, there it was: a pristine copy of American Psycho, its minimalist cover gleaming in the sunlight like a beacon. Flipping through the pages, I was immediately struck by Ellis’s stark juxtaposition of luxury and horror. It was like stumbling upon a wolf in Armani clothing. Intrigued and slightly unnerved, I bought the book on the spot. A week later, I was done reading—and thoroughly unsettled.

Violence as a Symptom, Not the Disease

American Psycho is violently explicit. It dives headfirst into brutality. From graphic murders to unspeakable acts of sadism, Ellis spares no detail. But here’s the thing: the violence isn’t the point. It’s a symptom of something much darker—a society that dehumanizes its members until violence feels like the only way to assert control. Bateman’s atrocities aren’t random; they’re the logical extension of a world that values profit over people and image over substance. Ellis uses violence to make us uncomfortable, to force us to confront the moral bankruptcy of Bateman’s world—and, by extension, our own. The real horror isn’t that Bateman kills; it’s that he exists at all.

The Unreliable Narrator: Real or Imagined?

One of the most debated aspects of American Psycho is its ambiguity. Did Bateman really commit those murders, or are they just the delusions of a man unraveling under the weight of his own psychopathy? Ellis leaves it intentionally vague, and that’s what makes it so unsettling. If Bateman’s crimes are real, then his world’s indifference is even more damning. But if they’re imagined, then Bateman’s descent into madness is just as horrifying. Either way, Ellis traps us in Bateman’s fractured mind, blurring the line between reality and delusion.

A Book That Divided a Generation

When American Psycho hit the shelves, the backlash was immediate and intense. Feminist groups condemned its graphic depictions of violence against women. Critics called it pornographic and morally bankrupt. Ellis received death threats, and some stores refused to stock the book. Yet, as time passed, the novel found its audience. Today, it’s hailed as a modern classic, a biting satire that exposes the rot beneath the American Dream. But even now, it’s a polarizing work. Some see it as a profound critique of capitalism and consumerism; others view it as a gratuitous exercise in shock value. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between. Ellis doesn’t offer easy answers, and that’s precisely why the book endures. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about ourselves and the society we’ve built.

The Legacy: A Satire Wrapped in Blood and Laughter

Decades after its release, American Psycho remains as relevant and disturbing as ever. In an age where Instagram influencers and tech billionaires have replaced Wall Street yuppies, Bateman’s world doesn’t feel so far removed from our own. Ellis’s novel is a cautionary tale, a darkly comedic satire wrapped in the trappings of a horror story. It’s a reminder that when we prioritize image over integrity, wealth over humanity, we create a space for monsters like Patrick Bateman. And maybe, just maybe, we’re not so different from him after all.

Final Thoughts

Love it or hate it, American Psycho is a novel that refuses to be ignored. It’s a brutal, unflinching look at a world where the pursuit of success comes at the cost of our humanity. Ellis doesn’t just tell us a story; he holds up a mirror—and what we see staring back at us is terrifying.

Available on Amazon.