Interview |
Bret Easton Ellisby Tom Waters |
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Author Bret Easton Ellis is synonymous with postmodern fiction. During his second year of college at Bennington College, Ellis’ Less Than Zero (Simon & Schuster, 1985) was published and he was branded the voice of a generation. At the same time, writer Donna Tartt (The Secret History, The Little Friend) transferred to Bennington, where she become friends with Ellis. Until this interview, much speculation has been made of their relationship, as neither party has ever disclosed their dynamic. Rules Of Attraction (Simon & Schuster, 1987), his sophomore effort about a group of promiscuous and party-inclined college students, was regarded as too autobiographical. American Psycho (Vintage, 1991) was a dark, violent satire about a stockbroker turned serial killer whose graphic, sterile descriptions of slaughtered women and homeless people caused an uproar that is still being felt in popular fiction. After its release by Alfred Knopf, the National Organization for Women rallied to boycott the book bolstered by the protests and writings from feminists Tara Baxter, Tammy Bruce, and eventually, Gloria Steinem.
In 1995, while staving off a deadline with his publishers for a full novel, Ellis sent them The Informers (Knopf, 1994), a collection of first-person short stories by interconnected characters living in Los Angeles. Glamorama (Knopf, 1999) heightened Ellis’ flair for satire by turning supermodels into international terrorists, because “they’re used to standing around and taking orders all day.” American Psycho and Less Than Zero have been made into popular yet controversial films, and a documentary of Ellis’ life and times, “This is Not an Exit: The Fictional World of Bret Easton Ellis” (1999) attempted to float some alternatives to his one-dimensional reputation as a 1980s-era bad boy.
In Lunar Park (Alfred Knopf, 2005), the author leaves his former roots behind. Ellis himself becomes a character in a macabre novel about an author who leaves his bachelorhood behind to start a family in the suburbs. The only problem is that he can’t escape his past, and it finds him in all its grisly glory at his fictional home on Elsinore Lane. Bret is haunted by his dead father; he receives e-mails from the bank where his ashes are stored. Ashen footsteps appear in his home while the house itself transforms into his childhood home, and some of his most notorious characters return to commit unspeakable acts on his friends and family.
It’s a new approach for Ellis—partial honesty through metafiction—and the results are dazzling. Surprisingly, this honesty has spilled over into his recent interviews; the author used to be fond of playing different personas at press junkets. Recently, I had the opportunity to speak with Ellis over the phone from his home in LA.
TW: You said once that movies had replaced books as a form of popular culture.
BEE: I might have been depressed that day. I think it’s a case by case thing. I mean, certainly there are books that are far more popular than any movies.
What was nature of your relationship with Donna Tartt at Bennington College?
Donna and I were set up on a blind date in the fall of 1982. Her roommate knew my roommate and thought that Donna and I would get along. So, in order to have something to talk about when we went out to dinner that night I slipped the first 30 pages of Less Than Zero into her box and she put the first chapter of The Secret History into my box so we could read each others’ work and talk about it over dinner. Our relationship was always pretty good. I like her a lot. She’s a very good writer.
Do you harbor any resentment or anxiety over Tammy Bruce, Tara Baxter or any of the death threats and slurs made towards you as a result of American Psycho?
I totally resented them, and they got it completely wrong. I always had confidence that the book was gonna stick around. They knew better, went with the story anyway, and went along with this tactic of smearing the book and my reputation in order to push up their own careers (as activists and media celebrities). Tammy went stomping around complaining about American Psycho. The film was written and directed by feminists. It comes full circle, I guess. They did it because it was news and it was a sexy story, this whole idea of a scandal in the publishing world over a novel written by someone like me.
Have you ever dabbled with heroin?
Briefly, and not in any kind of addictive way. It was inhaled and it was pleasurable enough for me to realize that I really shouldn’t be doing this. Also you get sick. People forget to tell you that. You throw up. It’s a very unsexy drug in that respect, but you don’t mind because it feels so good. That’s the terrible thing about heroin. I dabbled in it but it’s been many years.
Did you write Lunar Park as a form of art therapy?
What’s funny is that I didn’t start having these issues until I finished Lunar Park. I had a couple bad things happen to me but overall I was in a good place emotionally. This last year’s been rough, and today hasn’t been much better on a scale of 1-10. To be in this space and go to readings where you see hundreds of people showing up, everyone’s eager see you and you’re smiling and trying to be as effusive and nice as possible but inside, I don’t know who I am.
Do you feel like Truman Capote with the amount of interviews and appearances that are thrust upon you?
He groomed himself to be this media celebrity. In a perfect world, would I want to have to talk about myself and do this in order to promote a book? No. I don’t enjoy talking about myself, and I find that increasing as I get older. I’m not as smart as I once thought I was. I don’t have the answers to everything.
Did you have any reservations about the filming of This Is Not An Exit?
Major reservations. People start following you around for three months, you see the footage and you realize you’ve made a horrible mistake. I don’t know what was going through my mind during filming except that I was insecure enough that I felt I needed to do this. That it would justify me. I’m not someone who likes to be filmed. I’m not a big fan of it.
In Lunar Park, you address a lot of society’s worries concerning terrorism and school violence. How permanent do you feel the effects of 9/11 will be?
It made me view America differently. I was brainwashed by fear, and thought that we needed to do something. That sounds ambiguous, but I was there. I got swept up in the anxiety of the moment and felt that certain measures should’ve been taken. I regret feeling that way, but it was a wake-up call. I didn’t sense before how hated America was in many pockets of the world. I didn’t have a clue and it was a terrible way to be educated.
Did you grieve for your father while you were writing Lunar Park, or was it a grieving process in and of itself?
I hadn’t grieved for my father until I was midway through writing the novel. He’d died ten years previous to that. I wasn’t close with my dad, it was a regret. I was sad because of that fact. His death was so sudden and unexpected and we weren’t speaking before he died. That wasn’t a plan as part of writing this book, but as I wrote it, I grieved not only for my dad but for both of us. For the impossibility of our relationship. At the end of this book I felt something lift off me, something was resolved.
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