Banned books you must read! Book 1
This is the first part in a series dedicated to books that have been banned and yet have a huge cult following. Whatever the reason, these books have been deemed unfit for mainstream readers and yet if you start reading you cant put them down. I dare you to pick up one of these books and take a gander at some thrilling, controversial plots that will leave you dying for more.
- American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis
We all know the movie starring Christian Bale but did you know that it was based off a book published in 1991? the book basically follows serial killer and businessman Partrick Bateman, a privileged yet twisted young man. During the day he is a successful vice president of a wall street investment company and at night turns into a murdering sexual sadist. The graphic violence and sexual nature of this novel might not be suitable for many readers and has been banned in many countries to this day. You can however find online version of this book to read, so if you are into thrillers with a sadistic twist pick up a copy and be prepared to be entertained.
“Where are you going?” she asks again.
I make no comment, lost in my own private maze, thinking about other things: warrants, stock offerings, ESOPs, LBOs, IPOs, finances, refinances, debentures, converts, proxy statements, 8-Ks, 10-Qs, zero coupons, PiKs, GNPs, the IMF, hot executive gadgets, billionaires, Kenkichi Nakajima, infinity, Infinity, how fast a luxury car should go, bailouts, junk bonds, whether to cancel my subscription to The Economist, the Christmas Eve when I was fourteen and had raped one of our maids, Inclusivity, envying someone’s life, whether someone could survive a fractured skull, waiting in airports, stifling a scream, credit cards and someone’s passport and a book of matches from La Côte Basque splattered with blood, surface surface surface, a Rolls is a Rolls is a Rolls. To Evelyn our relationship is yellow and blue, but to me it’s a gray place, most of it blacked out, bombed, footage from the film in my head is endless shots of stone and any language heard is utterly foreign, the sound flickering away over new images: blood pouring from automated tellers, women giving birth through their assholes, embryos frozen or scrambled (which is it?), nuclear warheads, billions of dollars, the total destruction of the world, someone gets beaten up, someone else dies, sometimes bloodlessly, more often mostly by rifle shot, assassinations, comas, life played out as a sitcom, a blank canvas that reconfigures itself into a soap opera. It’s an isolation ward that serves only to expose my own severely impaired capacity to feel. I am at its center, out of season, and no one ever asks me for any identification. I suddenly imagine Evelyn’s skeleton, twisted and crumbling, and this fills me with glee. It takes a long time to answer her question-Where are you going?-but after a sip of the port, then the dry beer, rousing myself, I tell her, at the same time wondering: If I were an actual automaton what difference would there really be?
“Libya,” and then, after a significant pause, “Pago Pago. I meant to say Pago Pago,” and then I add, “Because of your outburst I’m not paying for this meal.