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Glamorama (2000)

Glamorama (2000)

Book Info

Rating
3.45 of 5 Votes: 2
Your rating
ISBN
0375703845 (ISBN13: 9780375703843)
Language
English
Publisher
vintage books usa

About book Glamorama (2000)

Cover Story: Fashion Models and B-class celebrities turned International Terrorists! Or………… Wait! Do these plastic explosives match my Armani? Call the camera crew. We have to go back to wardrobe! Reset the timer. And….where’s my Zanex?---OMG. ummmm……..*yawn?This isn’t World Weekly News, but a novel that didn’t know where or how exactly to end. And I’m shocked really, because I adore Bret Easton Ellis. I also secretly enjoy World Weekly News, which could arguably, at times, be a better read than this novel. Maybe he could have used Batboy or those giant army ants that eat giant housewives in rural Texas. Something I could connect to, something I could try to care about. Still, I think if Bret Easton Ellis were in need of a kidney and we matched – I’d be down. I kept hoping the main character, Victor Ward/Victor Johnson (potentially two separate people) would just die already. But this hope occurred for the first time for me on, like, page…… 50? or so. I trudged on in hopes that he/they’d become less vacuous or maybe get impaled or strangled or blown up or attacked with a chain-saw á la Patrick Bateman (“American Psycho”) style. It would have been nice to read about Victor’s entrails being spun onto a wheel, the way they did in the middle ages when they’d burn trapped rats to dig into people’s stomachs. Rats and wheels, it’s torture genius. It proves that human ingenuity is linear, I think. Later on, we made light bulbs and 100 calorie packs. Rats and wheels, this is how much I disliked Victor Whatever. Then, I’m wondering, am I supposed to hate Victor Ward/Johnson? He’s a man so obviously disconnected from reality – like in the way that Michael Jackson is disconnected from reality. Except Victor Ward/Johnson isn’t so far gone that he sleeps in Tupperware just yet. And his nose doesn’t fall off – just yet. He just thinks a camera crew is following him everywhere sprinkling confetti all about. This is maybe his way to cope with being involved in gory terrorist activities. (I think.) I can’t, however, figure out the confetti metaphor. Can someone fill me in? Lost! But I don’t care enough to be found, really. It’s all [insert random celebrity names here], Cerruiti, Huey Lewis and the News, Brooks Brothers, Cristal, blah, blah, blah. Did I floss today? I’m tired and bored. I’m down for the count. And so – the book gets put on the nightstand for another night or another week until primetime TV is bad and I’ve had a glass of wine.The plot begins half-way through the novel, just at about the time you’re finally ready to put it down and give up. Thank God, a point to this empty madness. But is it? Really? I’m thinking……….not so much, no. The over-materialist banality was eating at my soul for the first 250 pages. I didn’t recover when things became more interesting. Victor’s father wanted him sent away because he was running for Senate (or was it a Presidential nomination?). His quasi-gay unsuccessful college drop-out son was not good for campaigning or something like that. Victor Ward/Johnson is lured by a person potentially hired by his father, a man named Palakon. Palakon is somehow associated with the French embassy, and then not. It’s not so clear as the lines between reality and “World Victor” become blurred. Palakon, et al. decide to take advantage of the situation they have with Victor in order to transport some uber-modern super-secret plastic explosives en route to Europe. After this: lots of drugs and death disguised as movies sets- disguised as real death- disguised as film-making. Interrogations. Love triangles. A graphic ménage á trios that spans a full chapter. Confusion about the motive behind the violence because the narrator is unreliable. More death. *yawn Not your best work Mr. Ellis, but still call me if you need a kidney.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FG7K4O...Here's why I hate this book. Starting with Glamorama to the present it feels like Ellis is doing an impression of himself. You could argue that the last three are slightly more bent to genre fiction. Spy/thriller/Ludlum type stuff, Horror, and noir. Which means that the story is now the more prominent plot device. With LtZ, RoA and AP you didn't really have a destination. You had sketches of characters. And that works well with satire. And that's what Ellis is: a satirist. When the character drives the story and not the plot I think Ellis is on the right track. Now in this book particularly I really couldn't give two shits about Victor Ward. And I know that in books not all characters are supposed to be likeable--hell The Great Gatsby is full of unlikeable people. So I don't want to give off the impression that I just gave up because Victor was unlikeable. And I get it. People are stupid and vapid in the fashion industry. That's the schtick. But it just ceases to have real value to me. I'm trying to find something insightful but it all comes off as overly meta, faux-anhedonic, social commentary bullshit. Like Ellis was all "look-at-me-I'm-oh-so-clever-because-I'm-presenting-beauty-and-fame-as-tyranny." What happens is sort of a accidental screwball comedy that's trying desperately to be taken seriously. Ellis kind of plays God with his characters and ends up making them seem more one dimensional and fat caricatures of themselves. He doesn't ever offer characters that are fully developed and complex like real humans and that's ultimately my problem. I just didn't buy Victor as a real person. He was just a plot device Ellis wanted to use like so many of the other characters.

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{Contains Some Spoilers}Victor Ward aka Victor Johnson is a male model living in Nineteen-nineties Manhattan. Victor is a vapid, soulless character, devoid of meaningful content, obsessed by celebrity culture and living an existence that revolves around social connections and physical appearance, abdominals being a particular obsession. Prior to moving to New York, Victor attended the illustrious Camden College, which is evidently a haunt of the elite with many of Camden’s former students residing in Manhattan and appearing in the book. Victor is in a long-term relationship with model girlfriend Chloe, but has no qualms about seeing a host of other women, who include wealthy Damian’s girlfriend Alison. Victor had been planning to open a nightclub with Damian, but matters go awry when Damian discovers the affair. Shortly thereafter Victor, who is increasingly suffering from mental turmoil, is visited by a mysterious private investigator, by the name of Palakon. Palakon persuades Victor to leave New York and travel to London, his mission to locate Jamie Fields, a former female pupil of Camden, who is apparently still in love with our protagonist. We follow Victor’s escapades, first on the journey across The Atlantic on the QE2 and then in London and later Paris as he finds his life entwined with a group of fashion models turned terrorists, led by the dangerous former male model Bobby Hughes. A confused and increasingly Xanax dependent Victor struggles to comprehend the events that he finds himself unwittingly involved in. Glamorama can essentially be viewed as a satirical work, which is adept at capturing the hedonism of New York during this era. In typical Ellis fashion, the text is punctuated with numerous pop-culture references, in addition to the occasional vivid description of violence and prolonged graphic sexual encounters, which are not in every instance heterosexual in nature. The author is widely regarded as the master of dialogue and his skills are in evidence throughout the book’s four-hundred and eighty-two pages, with layer upon layer of speech and continual torrents of conscious thought. As a result the book though often comical and engaging is at times difficult and often extremely confusing. The reader is left undecided as to whether many of the events, particularly in the second half of the book, are actually real or are merely part of a constantly mentioned film set. It could be argued that the film set is not real and its presence is allegorical or maybe merely a comment on the protagonist Victor’s world view. At any rate it is not clear and there are many other bewildering elements such as the bizarrely numbered chapters of vastly varying lengths, which are for sections of the book in descending order while during other parts seemingly random. To appreciate this book it is essential that the reader does not become overly obsessed with the myriad of unanswered questions, but instead allows themselves to surrender to the endless display of surfaces and be engulfed by the convoluted world of confusion, more akin to Burrough’s Naked Lunch than a novel, so unconstrained is it by the burden of plot. Glamorama is a polarising work by a polarising author that is unique, exploratory and free-flowing, in which the author evaluates how reality is actually structured.
—Guy Portman

Glamurama je jedan od najbesmislenijih ali ujedno i najzabavnijih romana koje sam ikad pročitao. Glavni junak je priglupi maneken koji je u isto vreme i selebriti i niko, neprestano je okružen drugim slavnim ličnostima, vodi ponekad smešne a ponekad glupe dijaloge sa poznanicima i izaziva đavola time što održava tajnu vezu sa devojkom svog poslovnog partnera koji je mafijaš. A onda na polovini dolazi do zaokreta u radnji gde nam se pokazuje da je sve ono što smo do sada čitali možda realnost a možda film i do kraja se ta razlika ne uspostavlja jasno odnosno nikada ne saznamo šta je stvarno a šta ne što je možda aluzija na život u mehuru poznatih ličnosti a možda i nije, možda je puko zajebavanje od strane autora. Čak i kada se čini da je roman ozbiljan nameće se pitanje: A zašto bi mene ovo trebalo da zanima? Pozitivna stvar, međutim, jeste humor kojega ima u izobilju, pogotovo pred kraj, kada je povezan sa neshvatljivim opisima kasapljenja i masakriranja u čemu sam kao ljubitelj horora i splatera veoma uživao. Takođe, knjiga sadrži brojne pornografske opise a jedan od njih se posebno ističe i sa sigurnošću mogu reći da je najbolje napisana scena orgija koju sam ikad pročitao.
—J-Man

Glamorama is a twisted, disgusting, brilliant parody of all that was the early-1990's. This book is Valley of the Dolls meets Naked Lunch meets Invasion of the Body Snatchers meets James Bond. Don't think the combination is possible? Think again. Ellis demonstrates a superb understanding of cultural critique and is creative enough to satirize with seriousness and hilarity simultaneously. If you can get through the first two hundred or so pages of idiotic dialogue (another stroke of narrative brilliance, really, but still hard to wade through), you will be rewarded. Mid-way through the novel, the story takes an unexpected and inexplicable turn. Truly, the twist is never reconciled within the novel and the reader is left feeling literally mind-fucked. No one is who they appear to be, no one works for whom they appear to work (sometimes the characters themselves don't even realize it). Everyone gets blown up, drugged out, beaten, sodomized, and the smell of feces permeates the latter portion of the story (which takes place in France - coincidence or another cultural critique?). I don't understand the confetti, I don't understand the camera crews or the many, many scripts - but am I supposed to? "The better you look, the more you see."
—Roof Beam Reader

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