Imperialist nonsense

2 02 2012

Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis

Clay is a successful screenwriter, middle-aged and disaffected; he’s in LA to cast his new movie. However, this trip is anything other than professional, and he’s soon drifting through a louche and long-familiar circle – a world largely populated by the band of infamous teenagers first introduced in Less Than Zero. But his debauched reverie is about to be interrupted by a violent plot for revenge and Clay’s seemingly endless proclivity for betrayal and exploitation looks set to land him somewhere darker and more ominous than ever before.

Yes it is debauched and violent and very Easton Ellis. But unfortunately, the plotting could not be much weaker, the characters more feeble and the narrative more plodding. Really poor. And can’t believe the Guardian said this about it:

‘Easton Ellis adds the playful self-advertisements of Philip Roth to the ambiguously complicit social reportage of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Imperial Bedrooms ranks with his best exercises in the latter register, teeming with sharp details of a narcissistic generation’

Comparing this tosh to Roth and F Scott Fitzgerald? Afraid not.

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