Out of all the books I’ve read, the most memorable unreliable narrator I can recall goes by the name of Patrick Bateman; though, to most, he’s simply referred to as the
American Psycho. On the surface, Bateman is little more than a Wall Street investment banker obsessed with clothes, skin creams, exercise regimens, and Huey Lewis and the News. But beneath the surface (spoiler alert), he’s pure serial killer. And that’s wherein the brilliance of Bret Easton Ellis’s most iconic character lies.
If you’ve read the book, you know that the end leaves much to the imagination. Was Bateman faking his way through his “normal” life, or was he genuinely oblivious to the darkness that lurked beneath his skin? For me, it’s questions like these — if the author allows them to linger — that make fiction, specifically
dark fiction, unforgettable...