American Psycho: Patrick Bateman is gay and has AIDS

[vasili denisov]

I'm bored.

So, last week I finally got around to reading American Psycho, a book which I'd avoided because I'm really not into serial killers. Beyond the subject matter, it's a very strange book; maybe because of the subject matter, people don't notice how strange it is. Characters seem to show up for no reason at all; people give their lines unusual readings; great emphasis is placed on seemingly trivial things;Bateman, a handsome powerful financier seems to think he's going to end up marrying his dowdy secretary. Only towards the end, after going back and looking at it detail by detail, did I start to realize the book is an elaborate joke, ostensibly about one thing (a serial killer), and instead about something entirely different (a bunch of closeted gay men, two of whom contract AIDS).

Since this is a fairly popular book, I'd like to hear the reactions of others.

Here's a close reading which should make it clear. Obviously, *SPOILERS*

That Bateman might be gay only occurred to me by the end of the book with this strange episode.


I have no idea what the hell I'm saying but I nod, waving to someone at the bar, an older man, his face covered in shadow, someone I only half know, actually, but he manages to raise his champagne glass my way and smile back, which is a relief.
"Who's that?" I hear Evelyn asking.
"He's a friend of mine," I say.
"I don't recognize him," she says. "P & P?"
"Forget it," I sigh.
"Who is it, Patrick?" she asks, more interested in my reluctance than in an actual name.
"Why?" I ask back.
"Who is it?" she asks. "Tell me."
"A friend of mine," I say, teeth gritted.This character doesn't show up before or after this.

Then there's this at Gio's, where Bateman gets his pedicure.

"You're back so soon," she says.
"I was only here two days ago," I say, confused.
"I know, but…" She stalls, washing her hands in the sink. "Never mind."
"Helga?" I ask.
"Yes, Mr. Bateman?"
"Walking in here I spotted a pair of men's gold‑tasseled loafers from Bergdorf Goodman, waiting to be shined, outside the door of the next room. Who do they belong to?" I ask.
"That's Mr. Erlanger," she says.
"Mr. Erlanger from Lehman's?"
"No. Mr. Erlanger from Salomon Brothers," she says.
Again, there's no commentary accompanying this. He doesn't mention he's going to kill the owner of the shoes; it's just left hanging.

And this is from the interview after he supposedly kills his co-worker Paul Owen.

How could I describe Paul Owen to this guy? Boasting, arrogant, cheerful dickhead who constantly weaseled his way out of checks at Nell's? That I'm heir to the unfortunate information that his penis had a name and that name was Michael? No. Calmer, Bateman. I think that I'm smiling.

Again, huh? There's nothing to indicate that Bateman and Owen talk about anything sexually intimate in the conversations given us in the book. How does Bateman know something like this?

It's most obvious here, where he runs into Paul Denton, the bisexual character from Ellis' Rules of Attraction.


But Paul Denton keeps staring at me, or trying not to, as if he knows something, as if he's not quite sure if he recognizes me or not, and it makes me wonder if maybe he was on that cruise a long time ago, one night last March. If that's the case, I'm thinking, I should get his telephone number or, better yet, his address.

Before they leave, Denton looks over at our table, at me, one last time, and he seems panicked, convinced of something by my presence, as if he recognized me from somewhere, and this, in turn, freaks me out.
Again, Denton is never mentioned ever again in the book. Denton and he know each other, and yet they're both fearful of the fact that they might have known each other and where.

Another unusual point is that he refers to the cruise as happening a long time ago, yet it only took place a year ago. Why would someone in their mid-twenties (when their sense of time is not as expansive as it is in childhood) refer to something from only a year ago as a "long time ago"? Because something's taken place which has moved that event to another, more distant time. And why does he need to see Denton in person by getting his address? He needs to see Denton about something very, very important. My guess is that in the interim Bateman has found out he has AIDS and that he suspects he got it on this cruise.

That Bateman has the virus also explains the strange reading in this encounter with Luis. Everything between Luis, a co-worker who makes advances towards him, and Bateman is strange. Rather than simply dismissing the advances easily, everything in their encounters seems far more prolonged than it should be. This, however, is the strange line:

"You are sick," I tell him.
"If I'm sick it's because of you," he says too casually, checking his nails. "Because of you I am sick and I will not get better."

This is in the middle of Luis making all kinds of overt, passionate claims of love to Patrick; why, of all the things said, is this the line that is described as being "too casual"? Luis isn't a gay man hitting on a straight guy, Patrick Bateman; they've in fact had sex, and Luis has made the mistake of them actually wanting an "out" relationship.

How does Bateman hide the signs that he has the virus? By constantly tanning. Characters are constantly noticing his ridiculous deep tan. How do we know a tan can help hide AIDS symptoms like Karposi's blotches? Timothy Price tells us.

"I was getting acne on my legs and arms and the UVA bath wasn't fixing it, so I started going to a tanning salon instead and got rid of it. Jesus, Bateman, you should see how ripped my stomach is. The definition. Completely buffed out…," he says in a distant, odd way, while waiting for the driver to hand him the change.

That "distant, odd" way, one of the many times Price says his lines in an unusual way, is because he too is using a tan for the same ulterior reason Bateman is.

On a side note, the book makes clear in many ways that the killing of the women is complete fantasy. It does this in a number of ways, but one of them is the clear contrast between Bateman's sex with the characters we know and his victims.

This is the sex, all of it unsatisfying, that Bateman has with his non-victims:

After attempting to have sex with her for around fifteen minutes, I decide not to continue trying.


Roughly I push my cock back into her and bring myself to an orgasm so weak as to be almost nonexistent and my groan of a massive but somewhat expected disappointment is mistaken by Courtney for pleasure and momentarily spurs her on as she lies sobbing beneath me on the bed, sniffling, to reach down and touch herself but I start getting soft almost instantly – actually during the moment I came – but if I don't withdraw from her while still erect she'll freak out so I hold on to the base of the condom as I literally wilt out of her. After lying there on separate sides of the bed for what might be twenty minutes with Courtney whimpering about Luis and antique cutting boards and the sterling silver cheese grater and muffin tin she left at Harry's, she then tries to give me head. "I want to fuck you again," I tell her, "but I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly, taking her mouth off my limp shrunken dick, glaring at me, "If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway."


She admires a Palazzetti vase while I slip on the condom. I get on top of her and we have sex and lying beneath me she is only a shape, even with all the halogen lamps burning. Later, we are lying on opposite sides of the bed. I touch her shoulder.

This, a small fragment, is what sex is like with his victims:

Tired of balancing myself, I fail off Christie and lie on my back, positioning Sabrina's face over my stiff, huge cock which I guide into her mouth with my hand, jerking it off while she sucks on the head. I pull Christie toward me and while taking her gloves off start kissing her hard on the mouth, licking inside it, pushing my tongue against hers, past hers, as far down her throat as it will go. She fingers her cunt, which is so wet that her upper thighs look like someone's slathered something slick and oily all over them. I push Christie down past my waist to help Sabrina suck my cock off and after the two of them take turns licking the head and the shaft, Christie moves to my balls which are aching and swollen, as large as two small plums, and she laps at them before placing her mouth over the entire sac, alternately massaging and lightly sucking the balls, separating them with her tongue.


Anyway, this is a longer post than I expected. There's more, like how Timothy Price is also in the closet and has AIDS, how the women blackmail the various men, how Bateman thinks his secretary would be a good beard, how the Fisher account has to do with gaymail, etc.

[Pax Britannia]

Most of the characters in the book are frauds at some level. It wouldnt surprise me if they were all bi.

[vasili denisov]

Most of the characters in the book are frauds at some level. It wouldnt surprise me if they were all bi.
I originally thought Patrick was just bi; but when I go back through the book, he doesn't seem to enjoy sex with any of the women except the fantasy situations with the victims. I don't think it's a case of him only being turned on except in those conditions; it's a guy who very much wants to be heterosexual and hates women for not being so. Also, I don't understand why a bisexual guy would have to end up marrying a dowdy woman like Jean; but I could see a gay man using her for cover.

[Pax Britannia]

I originally thought Patrick was just bi; but when I go back through the book, he doesn't seem to enjoy sex with any of the women except the fantasy situations with the victims. I don't think it's a case of him only being turned on except in those conditions; it's a guy who very much wants to be heterosexual and hates women for not being so. Also, I don't understand why a bisexual guy would have to end up marrying a dowdy woman like Jean; but I could see a gay man using her for cover.

Good points, however I dont think Patrick enjoys human contact at all, man or woman. He seems to find people contemptable on almost every level. We cant really fit Patrick into normal social categories because he is in his own words "utterly insane".

[vasili denisov]

Good points, however I dont think Patrick enjoys human contact at all, man or woman. He seems to find people contemptable on almost every level. We cant really fit Patrick into normal social categories because he is in his own words "utterly insane".
I think there's a temptation to look at the events, which are Patrick's obserrvations, his reactions as simple disorder, there's no reason to it. I suppose my approach is the same as there is to any natural pheonemena; there is an order that can be discerned, or there is an order, but we cannot discern it. In this case, we're talking about something far simpler, a written work, where either you have disordered events for the sake of disorder (the frightening random chaos of a lunatic mind), disorder due to poor writing (Ellis was going to write additional scenes with Paul Denton but forgot), or there is a deliberate, subtle structure, not one imposed by a reader, where things "represent" other things, but without which the motives and actions of the characters are very mysterious.

As for Patrick hating everybody; he doesn't. He considers Timothy Price the only "interesting" person he knows. He wants to be close to Jean, and their conversations are the closest he gets to letting the veil drop.

As for another moment where he connects with someone, we have this moment where he's watching U2.

But when I sit down something strange on the stage catches my eye. Bono has now moved across the stage, following me to my seat, and he's staring into my eyes, kneeling at the edge of the stage, wearing black jeans (maybe Gitano), sandals, a leather vest with no shirt beneath it. His body is white, covered with sweat, and it's not worked out enough, there's no muscle tone and what definition there might be is covered beneath a paltry amount of chest hair. He has a cowboy hat on and his hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he's moaning some dirge – I catch the lyric "A hero is an insect in this world" – and he has a faint, barely noticeable but nonetheless intense smirk on his face and it grows, spreading across it confidently, and while his eyes blaze, the backdrop of the stage turns red and suddenly I get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge and my own heart beats faster because of this and it's not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to Bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer, and it's just Bono onstage – the stadium's deserted, the band fades away…
So we have this moment where he's mesmerized by this magnetic singer, and clearly taken in the guy's physical appearance. Afterwards, we get his reaction, and it's not the passion felt of a well-liked song, or the excitement of seeing a celebrity; it's someone who is sexually turned on, and very anxious about the fact that he's turned on.

And then everyone, the audience, the band, reappears and the music slowly swells up and Bono turns away and I'm left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh, my hands clenched in fists of tension.

[the creeps]

i will post later. i have to return some tapes

[the creeps]

the bono hard on thing, i was under the impression it was due to his freakish love of music. chapters of the books are devoted to music artists. or it could have been a drug reaction. i am sure some coke was snorted before the show.

and the boring sex with the boring girls. i took that to mean, bateman was a nasty ass freak that could only get his mojo working with freaky conditions. since all the women were fucking all the same guys, batman couldn't fully expose his kinky side. he would be topic of chatter, and since that is what fuels that circle, never could he be the freak.

[Pax Britannia]

I think there's a temptation to look at the events, which are Patrick's obserrvations, his reactions as simple disorder, there's no reason to it. I suppose my approach is the same as there is to any natural pheonemena; there is an order that can be discerned, or there is an order, but we cannot discern it. In this case, we're talking about something far simpler, a written work, where either you have disordered events for the sake of disorder (the frightening random chaos of a lunatic mind), disorder due to poor writing (Ellis was going to write additional scenes with Paul Denton but forgot), or there is a deliberate, subtle structure, not one imposed by a reader, where things "represent" other things, but without which the motives and actions of the characters are very mysterious.

The trouble (or glory) with literature is that we can both read things into it that the author did not intend. I believe Ellis was portraying Bateman and most of the people around him as sexually ambigious. To me a big theme of the book is how everyone in Batemans world is so similar that they cant tell each other apart. Think of the numerous times in the book someone greets Bateman with a different name, or Bateman struggles to put a name to the face. Obviously im not suggesting that living in a world of crushing uniformity immediately breeds homosexuality or even bi-sexualism. What I suppose i'm getting at is that Ellis see's these people as being stereotypical repressed public school boys. Bateman probably isnt gay but his panic at any pseudo-homosexual thoughts shows that he must at least doubt his own sexuality. This in and of itself doesnt make him gay, but it does play into the feeling off facade that everyone in Batemans world puts up.

As for Patrick hating everybody; he doesn't. He considers Timothy Price the only "interesting" person he knows. He wants to be close to Jean, and their conversations are the closest he gets to letting the veil drop.

I can hate a man and still find him interesting, but again maybe i'm being too quick to judge. As for Jean she really is Batemans only connection to the outside world, she isnt rich or a yuppie. I believe that sort of throws him off balance and he's not sure how to deal with her.

As for another moment where he connects with someone, we have this moment where he's watching U2.

So we have this moment where he's mesmerized by this magnetic singer, and clearly taken in the guy's physical appearance. Afterwards, we get his reaction, and it's not the passion felt of a well-liked song, or the excitement of seeing a celebrity; it's someone who is sexually turned on, and very anxious about the fact that he's turned on.

Well as 'the creeps' has already mentioned I think that sexual response probably came from his intense love of music. I also find that when Batemans admiring someones body he's almost always comparing it to his own. Maybe a little bit of self love going on there? But you're right the whole U2 thing is pretty damning.

[nuclearjew]

Oh, I thought this thread was about this guy (http://forum.gorillamask.net/member.php?u=1079http://).

[the creeps]

the part of the book that kind puts holes or helps your case, i am not sure which, is when patrick goes into the bathroom to strangle one of his "friends" and the guy is taking a piss and instead of freaking out that pat is chocking him, he thinks pat is putting the moves on and gets into what was going on.

[nuclearjew]

Doesn't that happen in the movie too? To Luis Carruthers?

[the creeps]

i haven't seen the movie in ages. but that sounds about right.

[vasili denisov]

The trouble (or glory) with literature is that we can both read things into it that the author did not intend. I believe Ellis was portraying Bateman and most of the people around him as sexually ambigious.
I think it's possible to read many things into any book; the reason I started looking more closely at this book is because there were so many details that seemed to me incongruous and not making any sense whatsoever. The points I make are ultimately based on circumstantial evidence; given what is said here, what is the likelihood that this is what the writer intends?

To me a big theme of the book is how everyone in Batemans world is so similar that they cant tell each other apart. Think of the numerous times in the book someone greets Bateman with a different name, or Bateman struggles to put a name to the face.
I don't doubt that that's one level to it; I think there's a second level to it as well, if you look closely at how people mistake Timothy Price and Patrick Bateman.

[vasili denisov]

the part of the book that kind puts holes or helps your case, i am not sure which, is when patrick goes into the bathroom to strangle one of his "friends" and the guy is taking a piss and instead of freaking out that pat is chocking him, he thinks pat is putting the moves on and gets into what was going on.
There are two major scenes with Luis Carruthers and they're both unusual. The first involves Luis taking a leak, Bateman coming up behind him about to strangle him, Luis kissing his hand, Bateman turning away and walking out of the bathroom. There's only one thing that stands out in the scene as a little unusual; it's that Luis makes these intimate gestures and Bateman, instead of repulsing them immediately, and saying "Get the fuck away from me, you faggot", seems paralyzed and uncertain by them.

The second scene is even stranger given that we've already had this encounter. Luis is this effeminate, frail man, yet Bateman is very frightened of him.

Like a smash cut from a horror movie – a jump zoom – Luis Carruthers appears, suddenly, without warning, from behind his column, slinking and jumping at the same time, if that's' possible.This is a guy who has this fantasy idea of himself as a mass murderer, yet he's very scared of this overtly gay man.

What's strange for me in the second scene is the tone. This, supposedly, is a gay man who mistakenly hit on him once in a bathroom. Bateman should be dismissing him immediately and quickly. Yet the whole dialogue seems way more freighted with emotion and repressed feeling than it should.
I don't, can't, look at him, but I sense he's moved closer to me. His voice confirms it.
"Patrick?… Hello?"
Closing my eyes, I move a hand up to my face and mutter, under my breath, "Don't make me say it, Luis."
"Patrick?" he says, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"
A hideous pause, then, "Patrick… Why aren't you looking at me?"
"I'm ignoring you, Luis." I breathe in, calming myself by checking the price tag on an Armani button‑up sweater. "Can't you tell? I'm ignoring you."
"Patrick, can't we just talk?" he asks, almost whining. "Patrick – look at me."
After another sharp intake of breath, sighing, I admit, "There is nothing, not-hing to talk–"
"We can't go on like this,' he impatiently cuts me off. "I can't go on like this."
I mutter. I start walking away from him. He follows, insistent.
Why are there things that Bateman can't say and that Luis feigns innocence about? In the context of this guy trying to hit on Bateman in a toilet, there seems to be way more emotional involvement than there should be. Intuitively, Bateman should be dismissing him with a quick "You're insane. Go away. Now.", instead of this prolonged dialogue.

[vasili denisov]

I'll just post this dealing with how the various men in the story seem to be blackmailed over being gay. It's a connecting theme that makes a lot of incongruous moments suddenly make sense.

There's this unusual, unexplained moment in the opening dinner.

"I have to talk to you," Evelyn says.
"What about?" I come up to her.
"No," she says and then pointing at Tim, "to Price."
Tim still glares at her fiercely. I say nothing and stare at Tim's drink.
"Be a hon," she tells me, "and place the sushi on the table. Tempura is in the microwave and the sake is just about done boiling…" Her voice trails off as she leads Price out of the kitchen.Then they come back.

Evelyn and Timothy come back perhaps twenty minutes after we've seated ourselves and Evelyn looks only slightly flushed. Tim glares at me as he takes the seat next to mine, a fresh drink in hand, and he leans over toward me, about to say, to admit something, when suddenly Evelyn interrupts, "Not there, Timothy," then, barely a whisper, "Boy girl, boy girl." What Evelyn and Price talk about is never brought up again. Bateman suspects they're having an affair, but Evelyn dismisses it, a later scene suggests she knows nothing about Price's life, and they go back and forth between playfulness and nastiness in a way that suggests brother-sister than lovers.

There's a strange connecting thread with Meredith, Price's ex.

"Yeah," I say, staring directly at Price. "Ask Meredith if I'm a homosexual. That is, if she'll take the time to pull my dick out of her mouth."
"Meredith's a fag hag," Price explains, unfazed, "that's why I'm dumping her."
Calling your ex a fag hag is a little unusual, no? There's then this passing reference to Meredith, where it seems one thing is being said (you have to pay money to get laid), when in fact Price might be saying something else (you have to pay money to keep a beard).

"Hey, I'm going out with Courtney tomorrow night."
"Her?" he shouts back, staring at the tracks. "Great." Even with the noise I catch the sarcasm.
"Well, why not? Carruthers is out of town."
"Might as well hire someone from an escort service," he shouts bitterly, almost without thinking.
"Why?" I shout.
"Because she's gonna cost you a lot more to get laid."
"No way," I scream.
"Listen, I put up with it too," Price shouts, lightly shaking his glass. Ice cubes clank loudly, surprising me. "Meredith's the same way. She expects to be paid. They all do."
Then we have this later moment. We find out Meredith was dating Paul Owen before he disappeared during the detective interview.

"Listen, like I said, I was just hired by Meredith." He sighs, closing his book.
Tentatively, I ask, "Did you know that Meredith Powell is dating Brock Thompson?"
He shrugs, sighs. "I don't know about that. All I know is that Paul Owen owes her supposedly a lot of money."
Why he owes her this money is never brought up.

Blackmail is also somehow connected with the mysterious Fisher account. Bateman becomes obsessed with finding out how Owen acquired it, then midway through the book, after Owen's disappearance it's never brought up again. There are two hints that it's blackmail, one klunky, one subtle.


"Are you still handling the Fisher account?" I shout back.
"Yeah," he screams. "Lucked out, huh, Marcus?"
"You sure did," I scream. "How did you get it?"
"Well, I had the Ransom account and things just fell into place." He shrugs helplessly, the smooth bastard. "You know?"That's an interesting account name, isn't it?

Here's where Bateman tries to find out from Owen about how he got the Fisher account.

Every time I attempt to steer the conversation back to the mysterious Fisher account, he infuriatingly changes the topic back to either tanning salons or brands of cigars or certain health clubs or the best places to jog in Manhattan and he keeps guffawing, which I find totally upsetting.
The tanning salons, health clubs, best places to jog in; those aren't random conversation choices. Owen isn't changing the subject, he's answering it. He's talking about pick-up places for gay men. He's been able to use that information to blackmail people to hold onto the account.

Here's one last detail that made no sense to me whatsoever when I first came across it. It's part of Bateman's conversation with Jean, where they come close to discussing marriage.

When I find the strength to look back at her, it strikes me how useless, boring, physically beautiful she really is, and the question Why not end up with her? floats into my line of vision. An answer: she has a better body than most other girls I know. Another one: everyone is interchangeable anyway. One more: it doesn't really matter. She sits before me, sullen but hopeful, characterless, about to dissolve into tears. I squeeze her hand back, moved, no, touched by her ignorance of evil. She has one more test to pass.
"Do you own a briefcase?" I ask her, swallowing.
"No," she says. "I don't."
"Evelyn carries a briefcase," I mention.
"She does… ?" Jean asks.
"And what about a Filofax?"
"A small one," she admits.
"Designer?" I ask suspiciously.
"No."
What the hell is going on here? She has one more test? It involves a briefcase and a filofax? Who asks these things about a potential marriage prospect? The only way this makes sense to me is that Bateman is deeply worried about blackmail with whoever he marries. He wants someone simple and ungreedy. Someone he won't suspect of carrying photos or evidence away in a briefcase or documenting anything in a filofax.

Just one final thing on blackmail: it's also the only thing that makes the cabdriver scene at the end make any sense if you believe the killings are all in Bateman's head. In the scene, Bateman is suddenly kidnapped in a cab because he's "that guy" who killed Solly according to the driver. Bateman is forced to give over his valuables then left behind.

"You're the guy who kill Solly." His face is locked into a determined grimace. As with everything else, the following happens very quickly, though it feels like an endurance test.
I swallow, lower my sunglasses and tell him to slow down before asking, "Who, may I ask, is Sally?"
"Man, your face is on a wanted poster downtown," he says, unflinching.
"I think I would like to stop here," I manage to croak out.
"You're the guy, right?" He's looking at me like I'm some kind of viper.
Another cab, its light on, empty, cruises past ours, going at least eighty. I'm not saying anything, just shaking my head. "I am going to take" – I swallow, trembling, open my leather datebook, pull out a Mount Blanc pen from my Bottega Veneta briefcase – "your license number down. . ."
"You kill Solly," he says, definitely recognizing me from somewhere, cutting another denial on my part by growling, "You son‑of‑a‑bitch."

"What are you going to do?" I ask. "Isn't there a reward of some kind?"
"No. No reward," he mutters, shuffling the bills with one hand, the gun, still pointed at me, in the other.
"How do you know I'm not going to call you in and get your license revoked?" I ask, handing over a knife I just found in my pocket that looks as if it was dipped into a bowl of blood and hair.
"Because you're guilty," he says, and then, "Get that away from me," waving the gun at the stained knife.
"Like you know," I mutter angrily.
"The sunglasses." He points again with the gun.
"How do you know I'm guilty?" I can't believe I'm asking this patiently.
"Look what you're doing, asshole," he says. "The sunglasses."
This incident isn't in Bateman's head, it's actually happening. My guess is he is on a wanted poster, but it's not put up by the police for any of the murders, so there's no reward. He's on such a poster warning others that he's been having sex even though he has AIDS, and he's ended up infecting a friend of the driver's.

[the creeps]

at first read, you tend to lean towards vanity or social status as the reasons bateman wants to know the things he wants to know.

"Hey, I'm going out with Courtney tomorrow night."
"Her?" he shouts back, staring at the tracks. "Great." Even with the noise I catch the sarcasm.
"Well, why not? Carruthers is out of town."
"Might as well hire someone from an escort service," he shouts bitterly, almost without thinking.
"Why?" I shout.
"Because she's gonna cost you a lot more to get laid."
"No way," I scream.
"Listen, I put up with it too," Price shouts, lightly shaking his glass. Ice cubes clank loudly, surprising me. "Meredith's the same way. She expects to be paid. They all do."

i would take this to mean, social climbers want money to maintain their lavish life style. but as i read i often wondered why they shared women ? i thought this could be a slap in the face type thing. " haha i took your women because i am better looking, make more money or have better cards"

[HollywoodHogan]

I never even looked at Bateman being gay in the book at all.
I just viewed him as an extreme misogynist, racist, and rich bigot. Things that I would expect a yuppie to be...well minus the killing part. I always just thought it was his "fun" outlet of what seems to be a lavish, yet extremely vapid and boring lifestyle..

Interesting perspective, however.

[vasili denisov]

i would take this to mean, social climbers want money to maintain their lavish life style. but as i read i often wondered why they shared women ?
There's no real way to prove that the women are blackmailing the men; like I said before, it's just a question of trying to make sense of a bunch of unexplained, ambiguous moments. And yes, the same women do get passed around. Meredith is a "fag hag", but she "dates" Timothy Price, Van Patten, Richard Cunningham, Paul Owen, and Brock Thompson.

Again, there are unusual moments with both Cunningham and Thompson.

"How is Meredith?" I ask, trying to mask my void of disinterest.
"Oh god She's dating Richard Cunningham." Evelyn moans. "He's at First Boston. If you can believe it."

What in what she's said is so unbelievable? Unless it's an implication that accompanies someone dating Meredith.

Then there's this unexplained moment with Brock, a character who never shows up again in the book.

I also run into Meredith Powell later this week, on Friday night, at Ereze with Brock Thompson, and though we talk for ten minutes, mostly about why neither one of us is in the Hamptons, with Brock glaring at me the entire time, she doesn't mention Paul Owen once.

Brock really doesn't like Bateman, whether because he suspects or knows something is never made clear.

i thought this could be a slap in the face type thing. " haha i took your women because i am better looking, make more money or have better cards"
There's a "dog that doesn't bark" aspect to the whole novel. If you had a bunch of men pulling women from the same pool, you'd expect the rivalry and oneupmanship that you talk about. Bateman likes the idea that he's dating Courtney behind Luis' back; but the focus is mainly that he's more manly than Luis. Other than that, that the men are dating the same women produces remarkably little friction or tension.

[the creeps]

patty winters show today was on men that post on internet forums, and the women who love them..... it was a very short episode.

[vasili denisov]

Evelyn and I had dinner with two of her friends, a portfolio manager and his wife, a portfolio manager, at the new bistro, Le Quoi. I was feeling hungry, so I had the two sprigs of parsley next to a chinese ideogram in cherry sauce. I wanted to talk about the collection of arms in my freezer, but there was never a conversational opening. Our voices were highway lanes and the words rolled down them.
"-we're able to tear the coupons off the bond warrants then sell them to the lenders-"
"-rubies set in this hand-made leather-"
"The knife hit bone, but I barely heard her cry because of the gag."
"-the genius of the security is it ties together Brazilian coffee futures and Swiss real estate-"
"-snow conditions at Bergamo this year were awful, just awful-"
"I started cutting off her toes, and force fed her each one. It got boring by the fourth, and I looked around for matches."

[nuclearjew]

Bret Easton Ellis is a homosexual. What do you think his motive would be in making Patrick Bateman a closeted homosexual who has AIDS?

[the creeps]

so vas, you were saying that you think all the killings never happened ? can you expound on that. because i really want to believe that shit happened. the fact that i feel the killings took place make the book a million times better than the movie.

[vasili denisov]

so vas, you were saying that you think all the killings never happened ? can you expound on that. because i really want to believe that shit happened. the fact that i feel the killings took place make the book a million times better than the movie.
For me, there are a number of details that make me think the killings couldn't have taken place.

The sex. Everywhere else, Bateman is a lousy at it. In those situations, he's suddenly this erotic acrobat. And it's not just his performance; if you look at the scenes with the escorts, he only puts on a condom when they have anal sex. In another scene, there's no indication that he uses any protection at all. I can't conceive of a prostitute in the early 90s not insisting that he use protection, especially since he's doing things like passing his dick from one girl's vagina to the escort's.

Believability. Throughout the book, Bateman strikes me as this bumbling, slow, ineffectual figure. Suddenly, in these situations he's this figure of incredibly effective and lethal force. I can't think of that as anything but fantasy.

The police. There is no way that people are killed or disappear and the police would not get involved. If a child was freshly killed in a trash can during the day at a crowded zoo, it would be a huge story. If an apartment was found filled with body parts, it couldn't be quietly hushed up.

There's a point in the date with Bethany where he says it explicitly.

I stop tapping my foot and slowly scan the restaurant, the bistro, wondering how my hair really looks, and suddenly I wish I had switched mousses because since I last saw my hair, seconds ago, it feels different, as if its shape was somehow altered on the walls from bar to table. A pang of nausea that I'm unable to stifle washes warmly over me, but since I'm really dreaming all this I'm able to ask, "So you say there's no nonsmoking section? Is this correct?"
There's a reason why he says it specifically there about the non-smoking section, but it's too complicated to get into right now. The scene with Bethany also makes no sense as anything but a dream. It's this uncomfortable, awful date where at the end she's repulsed by him, then they leave the restaurant and suddenly she wants to sleep with him.

There's also this point when he returns to Paul Owen's building.

And on a rainy Tuesday morning, after working out at Xclusive, I stop by Paul Owen's apartment on the Upper East Side. One hundred and sixty‑one days have passed since I spent the night in it with the two escort girls. There has been no word of bodies discovered in any of the city's four newspapers or on the local news; no hints of even a rumor floating around. I've gone so far as to ask people – dates, business acquaintances – over dinners, in the halls of Pierce & Pierce, if anyone has heard about two mutilated prostitutes found in Paul Owen's apartment. But like in some movie, no one has heard anything, has any idea of what I'm talking about.

The building looks different to me as I step out of the taxi, though I can't figure out why. I still have the keys I stole from Owen the night I killed him and I take them out, now, to open the lobby door but they don't work, won't fit properly.Either he's never been to the building, or, since once he goes up he recognises elements of the apartment, he was there once, a long time ago. But he hasn't been going there regularly to further mangle the women's parts.

[vasili denisov]

Bret Easton Ellis is a homosexual. What do you think his motive would be in making Patrick Bateman a closeted homosexual who has AIDS?
I'm not entirely sure; I'll re-phrase it differently: why not just make a book about a closeted gay man with AIDS? He likes the idea of a man who is not what he appears to be written as a book that is not what it appears to be?

I also think, if you can consider the killings as fantasy, Bateman, though Ellis might have contempt for him, also finds some sympathy with him. TO give one example of these sympathetic details, though it's very much between the lines, I think he makes the point that Bateman's parents found out he was gay and partly disowned him because of it.

You have this scene.

I spend all day thinking about what kind of table my brother Sean and I will be seated at tonight in the Quilted Giraffe. Since it's his birthday and he happens to be in the city, my father's accountant, Charles Conroy, and the trustee of his estate, Nicholas Leigh, both called last week and mutually suggested that it would be in everyone's best interest to use this date as an excuse to find out what Sean's doing with. his life and perhaps to ask a pertinent question or two.

"No," Charles said, then quietly mentioned, "Tell him your mother is… worse."
I mulled over this tactic, then said, "He might not care."
"Tell him…" Nicholas paused, then cleared his throat and rather delicately proposed, "it has to do with her estate."
Though Patrick is the older brother, he doesn't bring up his share or inheritance of the estate. Even if it's a ruse, he doesn't anticipate his brother bringing it up.

There's this in the date with Bethany.

"And you're at… P & P?" she asks.
"Yes," I say.
She nods, pauses, wants to say something, debates whether she should, then asks, all in a matter of seconds: "But doesn't your family own–"
"I don't want to talk about this," I say, cutting her off. "But yes, Bethany. Yes."
"And you still work at P & P?" she asks. Each syllable is spaced so that it bursts, booming sonically, into my head.
"Yes," I say, looking furtively around the room.
"But–" She's confused. "Didn't your father–"
"Yes, of course," I say, interrupting. "Have you had the focaccia at Pooncakes?"
His father is incredibly wealthy; the wealth goes back at least a generation, because we find out that his grandfather had garden topiaries. Yet something has gone wrong, because he's not involved with their business.

Then there's this one brief scene with his mother. Something has gone very wrong because she's in forced medical confinement; the windows at her room have bars. I hesitate to bring this up, because it depends on the much abused technique of eye symbolism.

My mother and I are sitting in her private room at Sandstone, where she is now a permanent resident. Heavily sedated, she has her sunglasses on and keeps touching her hair and I keep looking at my hands, pretty sure that they're shaking.

I don't say anything. I've spent the last hour studying my hair in the mirror I've insisted the hospital keep in my mother's room.


In the photograph of my father he's wearing a six‑button double‑breasted black sport coat, a white spread‑collar cotton shirt, a tie, pocket square, shoes, all by Brooks Brothers. He's standing next to one of the topiary animals a long time ago at his father's estate in Connecticut and there's something the matter with his eyes.

When I first read it, I thought, okay, Bateman inherited his malevolence from his father. But going through this scene again, I think it's entirely different. Bateman's mother wears sunglasses the whole time, sunglasses he bought her. She has a mirror in the room, which he insisted be there. The last moment in the scene is that something is wrong with his dad's eyes. What's wrong is that his father hated him because of his sexual orientation; his mother shares in this, there's something "wrong" with her eyes too, and he doesn't want to see them; but Bateman also wants her to see what she is every day, so there's the mirror.

[vasili denisov]

so vas, you were saying that you think all the killings never happened ? can you expound on that. because i really want to believe that shit happened. the fact that i feel the killings took place make the book a million times better than the movie.
I'm just going to give another answer to this question; I think a problem with the movie is that it gives a definite answer (that the killings never occurred), where the book leaves these things ambiguous. You can pick up various clues which point to the murders taking place in Bateman's mind, but you're never given this explicitly. What makes the book compelling for so many readers is the strange contrast between the very sharp, unblinking details of the sex and violence, the very things which are often kept offstage or in low light, and Bateman's daily life, which is shrouded in murk.

I also don't think a movie where a hidden theme made explicit would work either; the doubleness that's possible in the book, where a scene has one sense in a first reading and another, entirely different sense in a re-reading is only possible in a book and very different from re-watching a movie.

To give first an example of a joke that works in the book no matter what the theme: the name of Bateman's firm is Pierce & Pierce. This is a pun, suggesting the piercing of a knife. There is, however, a second joke, with Pierce being a man's first name.

However, there are other jokes in the book playing off a secondary gay theme that would be impossible in a movie. For instance, when Bateman is having sex with Courtney, he has to stop because he remembers something:

"Yeah," I say, moving on top of her, sliding my dick gracefully into her cunt, kissing her on the mouth hard, pushing into her with long fast strokes, my cock, my hips crazed, moving on their own desirous momentum, already my orgasm builds from the base of my balls, my asshole, coming up through my cock so stiff that it aches – but then in mid‑kiss I lift my head up, leaving her tongue hanging out of her mouth starting to lick her own red swollen lips, and while still humping but lightly now I realize there… is… a… problem of sorts but I cannot think of what it is right now… but then it hits me while I'm staring at the half‑empty bottle of Evian water on the nightstand and I gasp "Oh shit" and pull out.
"What?" Courtney moans. "Did you forget something?"

"Patrick what are you doing?" she calls from the bedroom.
"I'm looking for the water‑soluble spermicidal lubricant," I call back. "What do you think I'm doing? Looking for an Advil?"
Bateman has forgotten to use spermicide; this could be just one other foible of sex in the 80s, except that it would fit with a man who is used to having sex with men and has forgotten about the additional precautions needed to prevent pregnancy. The joke that I think Ellis puts in there is how Bateman remembers:

while still humping but lightly now I realize there… is… a… problem of sorts but I cannot think of what it is right now… but then it hits me while I'm staring at the half‑empty bottle of Evian water on the nightstand and I gasp "Oh shit" and pull out.
It's while staring at a phallic bottle that he's reminded of who he's with right now.

The ambiguity helps out Ellis with his biggest weakness, which is his characters. Timothy Price is very simply conceived; he's an arrogant, belligerent, nasty individual. What makes him compelling is that despite this, he engages in behaviour that's completely opaque. At the beginning of the book, he is often very worried about something, something which is never revealed. He then disappears for most of the book. He returns, without any hint of where he's been, with the Lenten mark of the penitent on his forehead. He is now a different man, how or why is not made explicit, which is shown by his getting upset at Reagan's deceptions. One can connect the dots and make the point that he is gay and suffering from AIDS, but if this were made explicit in a movie, it would ruin the possibility of complexity in his character. Leaving it dark, his character could be many things, while this definition makes it one thing.

Connecting the dots, we have him early on often very worried about something:

Timothy hasn't said anything since we left P & P. He doesn't even comment on the ugly bum that crouches beneath a Dumpster off Stone Street, though he does manage a grim wolf whistle toward a woman – big tits, blonde, great ass, high heels – heading toward Water Street. Price seems nervous and edgy and I have no desire to ask him what's wrong.

A distracted Price, his voice still tense, answers quickly with an exact, clear enunciation that can be heard over the din in Harry's.
"Has Van Patten stopped working out?" I ask. "He looks puffy."
"It looks that way, doesn't it," Price says.
"Doesn't he have a membership at the Vertical Club?" I ask.
"I don't know," Price murmurs, studying his plate, then sitting up he pushes it away and motions to the waitress for another Finlandia on the rocks.
Then there's this meeting with Madison, that has a few unusual details.

"Mr. Price," shouts Madison. "Very good to see you, sir."
"Madison," Price cries back. "We need your services."
"Looking for trouble?" Madison smiles.
"Something more immediate," Price shouts back.
"Of course," Madison shouts and then, coolly for some reason, nods at me, shouting, I think, "Bateman," and then, "Nice tan."
Then Price leaves. Evelyn and Bateman talk about what's happened to him.

"Rumor is," I say, "he's in rehab. This champagne isn't cold enough." I'm distracted. "Doesn't he send you postcards?"
"Has he been sick?" she asks, with the slightest trepidation.
"Yes, I think so," I say. "I think that's what it is. You know, if you order a bottle of Cristal it should at least be, you know, cold."
"Oh my god," Evelyn says. "You think he might be sick?"
"Yes. He's in a hospital. In Arizona," I add. The word Arizona has a mysterious tinge to it and I say it again. "Arizona. I think."
Why does the word "Arizona" have this mysterious aura for Bateman? He never mentions why. The word never comes up again, except in one place, which might give a hint as to why it has resonance for Bateman. It's in the scenes where he's harassed by Luis.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, count to ten, open them and make a helpless attempt to lift my arms back up to strangle Luis, but they feel weighed down and lifting them becomes an impossible task.
"You don't know how long I've wanted it…" He's sighing, rubbing my shoulders, trembling. "Ever since that Christmas party at Arizona 206. You know the one, you were wearing that red striped paisley Armani tie."

"Anyway," he says, once we've reached the other side of the store, where I pretend to look through a row of silk ties but everything's blurry, "you'll be glad to know that I'm transferring… out of state."
Something rises off me and I'm able to ask, but still without looking at him, "Where?"
"Oh, a different branch," he says, sounding remarkably relaxed, probably due to the fact that I actually inquired about the move. "In Arizona."
Then Price returns.

He sits down, across from me, on the other side of the Palazzetti glass‑top desk. There's a smudge on his forehead or at least that's what I think I see. Aside from that he looks remarkably fit.He looks remarkably fit...considering what?

While writing it down for him, I mention, "You've been gone, like, forever, Tim. What's the story?" I ask, again noticing the smudge on his forehead, though I get the feeling that if I asked someone else if it was truly there, he (or she) would just say no.
Bateman can see this Lenten mark, but he worries that others cannot. That there is something that binds him to Price, that their situation is similar.

At the end of the meeting, there's this:

As he leaves I'm wondering and not wondering what happens in the world of Tim Price, which is really the world of most of us: big ideas, guy stuff, boy meets the world, boy gets it.
There may be a double meaning there.

Finally, we have the last scene where Price complains about Reagan. This is taken as political commentary, though I don't think it is. Price is bothered about someone else's deceptions, not the president's, but he uses the one to complain about the other. How do we know this? Ellis tells us.

The first and really only one to complain is Price, who, though I think he's bothered by something else, uses this opportunity to vent his frustration, looks inappropriately stunned, asks, "How can he lie like that? How can he pull that shit?"This is Price's next line, addressing Bateman.

Price looks away from the television screen, then at Craig, and he tries to hide his displeasure by asking me, waving at the TV, "I don't believe it. He looks so… normal. He seems so… out of it. So… undangerous."After, another line that could be addressed to Bateman. The cigar, I think, could be a phallic symbol. Another double meaning, that could be very funny, if taken as that; a "well, I won't be getting much fun out of you again" or "look at the trouble you get me into".

"I just don't get how someone, anyone, can appear that way yet be involved in such total shit," Price says, ignoring Craig, averting his eyes from Farrell. He takes out a cigar and studies it sadly. To me it still looks like there's a smudge on Price's forehead.Then, another very ambiguous moment.

"How can you be so fucking, I don't know, cool about it?" Price, to whom something really eerie has obviously happened, sounds genuinely perplexed. Rumor has it that he was in rehab.This is where it's clearest that this has nothing to do with Reagan, only with Bateman and Price. What's inside doesn't matter, only who they project to the outside world.

"Oh brother." Price won't let it die. "Look," he starts, trying for a rational appraisal of the situation. "He presents himself as a harmless old codger. But inside…" He stops. My interest picks up, flickers briefly. "But inside…" Price can't finish the sentence, can't add the last two words he needs: doesn't matter. I'm both disappointed and relieved for him. Then, we have Price's last moment in the book, an exchange with Bateman.

"Bateman," Price says, relenting slightly. "Come on. What do you think?"
I look up, smile, don't say anything. From somewhere – the TV? – the national anthem plays. Why? I don't know. Before a commercial, maybe. Tomorrow, on The Patty Winters Show, Doormen from Nell's: Where Are They Now? I sigh, shrug, whatever.
"That's, uh, a pretty good answer." Price says, then adds, "You're a real nut."

[avalonboy]

what i couldnt understand is the whole pat bateman returning to the apartment, where he was sure he killed two prostitutes. the way the realtor says "dont make any trouble" and "dont come back" is almost like shes hiding something. like the killings did take place.theres also the whole "there was no ad in the times" thing. like shes testing him for some reason, to see if hes got some alterior motive for being there other than seeing the apartment

[vasili denisov]

what i couldnt understand is the whole pat bateman returning to the apartment, where he was sure he killed two prostitutes. the way the realtor says "dont make any trouble" and "dont come back" is almost like shes hiding something. like the killings did take place.theres also the whole "there was no ad in the times" thing. like shes testing him for some reason, to see if hes got some alterior motive for being there other than seeing the apartment
I think she's hiding something, but I don't think it has anything to do with the killings. When Bateman goes to the building, a number of things are off. He doesn't recognize it from the outside and his key doesn't work, which suggest the building he's been visiting all this time is in his mind.

I believe it's Paul Owen's old apartment. What the landlady is hiding, possibly, is that there's a stigma about either or AIDS or gay men renting. She thinks Bateman is an ex-boyfriend of Owen, and wants him away from there for that reason.

[Richard Hawes]

I signed up for this forum simply due to the deep thought put forth in this thread...I am amazed and the food for thought left here is really close to driving me to read this amazing book all over again...I always thought some of the instances described here seemed off to me but I never in my dreams could have concocted the analysis set forth...

vasili denisov I applaud you for your thinking...is there anything else you'd like to express regarding this? Such as Patrick's left wing views on AIDs as described in the book?