American Psycho
Bret Easton Ellis, 1991
Τρόμου Αστυνομικά και θρίλερΣύγχρονη πεζογραφίαΛογοτεχνική πεζογραφία
Ατμόσφαιρα: ανησυχία, φόβος και μελαγχολία.
Μια σελίδα από το βιβλίο
Everything failed to subdue me. Soon everything seemed dull: another sunrise, the lives of heroes, falling in love, war, the discoveries people made about each other. The only thing that didn’t bore me, obviously enough, was how much money Tim Price made, and yet in its obviousness it did. There wasn’t a clear, identifiable emotion within me, except for greed and, possibly, total disgust. I had all the characteristics of a human being - flesh, blood, skin, hair - but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that the normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning. Something horrible was happening and yet I couldn’t figure out why - I couldn’t put my finger on it. Βιβλία με παρόμοια αίσθηση
Πού θα το βρεις
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Ερωτήσεις αναγνωστών
- Πώς είναι το «American Psycho»;
- Ατμόσφαιρα: ανησυχία, φόβος και μελαγχολία.
- Τι να διαβάσω μετά το «American Psycho»;
- Αν σου άρεσε το «American Psycho», δοκίμασε «The Tenant» (Freida McFadden), «Bunny» (Mona Awad) και «Το κορίτσι του τρένου» (Paula Hawkins).
Μια γεύση από τη ροή
The private prayer of anyone who has ever watched a perfect clique from outside.
I quietly prayed for the hug implosion all year last year. That their ardent squeezing might cause the flesh to ooze from the sleeves, neckholes, and A‑line hems of their cupcake dresses like so much inane frosting. That they would get tangled in each other’s Game of Thrones hair, choked by the ornate braids they were forever braiding into each other’s heart‑shaped lit‑ tle heads. That they would choke on each other’s blandly grassy perfume. Never happened. Not once.
Bunny · Mona Awad
Ένα σπίτι που δεν μπορείς να πάψεις να κοιτάζεις, όσο κι αν σε πληγώνει.
I lived at number twenty-three Blenheim Road for five years, blissfully happy and utterly wretched. I can’t look at it now. That was my first home. Not my parents’ place, not a flatshare with other students, my first home. I can’t bear to look at it. Well, I can, I do, I want to, I don’t want to, I try not to. Every day I tell myself not to look, and every day I look. I can’t help myself, even though there is nothing I want to see there, even though anything I do see will hurt me.
Το κορίτσι του τρένου · Paula Hawkins
The logic of a person who thinks protection and possession are the same thing.
But not everything was meant to be free. Some things had to be kept in cages.
You Shouldn't Have Come Here · Jeneva Rose
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