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3.41 AVERAGE
3.41 AVERAGE
dark
reflective
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
I've heard people complain about how difficult it is to read 'Vanity Fair' with its numerous references to the culture and politics of the early 19th century, but Thackeray has nothing on Ellis. 'Glamorama' threatens to be impenetrable in five years.
The book is saturated with the names of the famous and pseudo-famous, song lyrics and artists, name brands and soft drinks; so much so that it puts 'American Psycho's Patrick Bateman to shame. Ellis appeared to be ahead of the curve here again and producing a novel that might just trap unwary readers into hours of wiki-surfing in order to refresh themselves on just who Skeet Ulrich is. But, fear not, Bijou Phillips and Antony Sabato jr. can be exchanged for Kat Dennings and Channing Tatum; Marky Mark, Matthew Fox (!) and Tyra Banks can be re-contextualized; Snapples can become Vitamin Waters. It may not be as cool to open Victor Ward's club with Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks" as Matthew Sweet's "Sick of Myself", but you must remember that it's all window dressing.
The idea that our celebrity consumer culture is vapid and soul-killing is not most original idea perhaps but I thought Ellis' use of the perfectly stupid Victor Ward as the centerpiece of this conspiracy thriller Operation Runway (or should I say House of Style?) mash-up is inspired. Bateman focused on the trappings of material success as a method of blending in. 'Glamorama's Victor Ward does so in order to stand out. He doesn't seem to be in on the joke of how interchangeable and replaceable it all is.
Ward communicates via song lyrics and a proto-bro jargon that is pretty spot-on. He seems a little too homophobic for a bisexual individual in the fashion industry, but he's probably just that thick. It's hard to tell because we are rarely allowed inside that pretty little head of his. The other characters, Jaime Fields, Bobby Hughes, Lauren Hynde and the borrowed-from-Jay-McInerney-but-essentially-Ellis' Alison Poole, while more intelligent (not a hard feat), are just as emotionally and motivation-ally ambiguous.
I've enjoyed all of Ellis' novels, and this one is no exception, but definitely be prepared to sift through all of the aforementioned pop culture name drops and numbingly pornographic sex scenes and brutal terrorist acts. It does all come together nicely by the end, though Ellis could learn a thing or two about plotting from the espionage thriller giants he's riffing off of here.
The book is saturated with the names of the famous and pseudo-famous, song lyrics and artists, name brands and soft drinks; so much so that it puts 'American Psycho's Patrick Bateman to shame. Ellis appeared to be ahead of the curve here again and producing a novel that might just trap unwary readers into hours of wiki-surfing in order to refresh themselves on just who Skeet Ulrich is. But, fear not, Bijou Phillips and Antony Sabato jr. can be exchanged for Kat Dennings and Channing Tatum; Marky Mark, Matthew Fox (!) and Tyra Banks can be re-contextualized; Snapples can become Vitamin Waters. It may not be as cool to open Victor Ward's club with Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks" as Matthew Sweet's "Sick of Myself", but you must remember that it's all window dressing.
The idea that our celebrity consumer culture is vapid and soul-killing is not most original idea perhaps but I thought Ellis' use of the perfectly stupid Victor Ward as the centerpiece of this conspiracy thriller Operation Runway (or should I say House of Style?) mash-up is inspired. Bateman focused on the trappings of material success as a method of blending in. 'Glamorama's Victor Ward does so in order to stand out. He doesn't seem to be in on the joke of how interchangeable and replaceable it all is.
Ward communicates via song lyrics and a proto-bro jargon that is pretty spot-on. He seems a little too homophobic for a bisexual individual in the fashion industry, but he's probably just that thick. It's hard to tell because we are rarely allowed inside that pretty little head of his. The other characters, Jaime Fields, Bobby Hughes, Lauren Hynde and the borrowed-from-Jay-McInerney-but-essentially-Ellis' Alison Poole, while more intelligent (not a hard feat), are just as emotionally and motivation-ally ambiguous.
I've enjoyed all of Ellis' novels, and this one is no exception, but definitely be prepared to sift through all of the aforementioned pop culture name drops and numbingly pornographic sex scenes and brutal terrorist acts. It does all come together nicely by the end, though Ellis could learn a thing or two about plotting from the espionage thriller giants he's riffing off of here.
I usually love Brett Easton Ellis, so it pains me to write this review.
The characters just lacked any depth whatsoever - I know that it's supposed to be commentary and satire of modern celebrity culture but this was actually just not pleasant to read, as the characters just didn't feel developed at all in any way or form.
Dialogue felt very very stilted, and so full of references to real celebrities that it just seems overkill *sigh* Honestly, long stretches of this felt just dull, and I really hate to say this!
The characters just lacked any depth whatsoever - I know that it's supposed to be commentary and satire of modern celebrity culture but this was actually just not pleasant to read, as the characters just didn't feel developed at all in any way or form.
Dialogue felt very very stilted, and so full of references to real celebrities that it just seems overkill *sigh* Honestly, long stretches of this felt just dull, and I really hate to say this!
My least favorite of Ellis's books, but his first in almost a decade, so I was excited nonetheless. This book is similar in tone to American Psycho, but for some reason it rang a bit hollow and stale. It felt like he was trying to recreate the feeling of Psycho, but it fell a bit short. Ellis is definitely still clever and sharp, but it feels like his decade off might not just have been time off or writer's block, but perhaps a complete shut off from all human contact and news and information. This is an 80s book written in the 90s-00s. Consumerism still rules supreme but he doesn't capture the distinct indifference that our culture has developed to it all while still indulging. He's still writing about the luxury and overindulgence that seems truer to the 80s.
So Zoolander totally stole the concept from this book.
Really good book. The first half is 90s American Psycho with models and celebrities instead of Bizness peeple, and the second half is a top class mystery thriller.
I thought the end/conclusion could have been a little better, but Ellis' writing style and grasp of vapid narcissists is brilliant, and it makes the book as a whole a pleasure to read.
I thought the end/conclusion could have been a little better, but Ellis' writing style and grasp of vapid narcissists is brilliant, and it makes the book as a whole a pleasure to read.
3.5 stars rounded up to 4 stars.
Glamorama is about Victor Ward, a male model who is so vapid and narcissistic and absorbed with self-image that it's a miracle he is alive, who gets caught up in a celebrity-member terrorist organization and its plots.
What the fuck. No, seriously: WHAT THE FUCK.
I knew going into this that it would probably be all kinds of fucked up because this is Bret Easton Ellis we're talking about and I've read [b:American Psycho|28676|American Psycho|Bret Easton Ellis|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1436934349s/28676.jpg|2270060] and [b:Less Than Zero|9915|Less Than Zero|Bret Easton Ellis|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1443060100s/9915.jpg|1146200], so to say I was prepared isn't a lie. But, wow, I still can't believe somebody lets Ellis publish -- and I mean that in a good way. I have a pretty good stomach, but even some of this stuff I was roiling at. If you are a tad (or more) sensitive to gore, body horror, extreme violence, then 100% stay away from this book.
I didn't quite like Glamorama as much as his previous novels. The length of the book is a mark against it, I think, because the plot doesn't really get going until well into the second, maybe third, section of the book (I can't quite remember). The first half is very slow, if not outright unnecessary, and the constant name-dropping, product mentions, song titles are grating and make the book drag even more. I understand why Ellis kept all of it in: it frames the fame-obsession every celebrity in the novel seems to have well. There are some bits in it that work well in building up the terrorism plot as well. Overall, though, it was a slog to get through.
Victor as a character does a great 180˚ from beginning to end. He starts off incredibly unlikeable and quickly turns into a character that you don't necessarily want to root for, but you certainly don't want anything bad to happen to him. Certain minor characters don't stick out enough to be able to separate them personality-wise, so that's a problem that doesn't feel like a problem. Then again, the flat minor characters works well with what Ellis does...
What I really liked about the novel was that it did a fantastic job of making you disbelieve everything. It was so hard to understand what was actually happening and what was Victor imagining once the story gets going with the exception of the terrorist attacks -- those are clear from the book's premise . Everything gets so confusing, especially when trying to trace back through the lines who did what and why and who's in charge really. I don't know if there is a person in charge or if all the explanations are simply illogical, but I certainly was left feeling bereft of a proper answer -- but I think we're meant to. Shit happens and sometimes there's nobody to really, truly blame (except in this case, I blame everybody: Bobby, Jamie, Bentley, Bruce, Palakon, Lauren, Bertrand).
I was thoroughly freaked out once we get to the terrorism plot, too. Ellis is so blasé with his prose in order to effect his satire (which I think works well) that it makes the events more terrifying and horrific than it would have been otherwise.
Throughout the book, the style in which it's written evokes a cinematic feel, which I've read is intentional. I remember thinking that it would work so well as a film as I was reading. The images and narrative style just work so well in making you feel like you're watching a movie that I think the events become even more emotional. This whole feeling-like-a-film thing also probably helped in grossing me out: it honestly feels like (what I imagine it feels like) watching a snuff film. That makes it sound like Ellis is gratuitously appreciating desecrating human bodies; he's not. He actually writes quite starkly and straight-forward, despite the run-arounds in Victor's narration. It's the diction he uses and the cinematic style of the novel that makes it feel like a snuff film at times. Again, sensitive stomachs beware. There's no proper ending where you can feel safe or at least not on edge, which is another reason this book doesn't sit right after reading it.
If you like Ellis's other work, I would say give this one a go. It's certainly not as good as his earlier works, but that's mostly due to the slow first half and the never-ending name drops. If you've never read Ellis and think you want to pick this one up to try out (sensitive or non-sensitive stomachs, be damned): dear god no, don't do it!
Glamorama is about Victor Ward, a male model who is so vapid and narcissistic and absorbed with self-image that it's a miracle he is alive, who gets caught up in a celebrity-member terrorist organization and its plots.
What the fuck. No, seriously: WHAT THE FUCK.
I knew going into this that it would probably be all kinds of fucked up because this is Bret Easton Ellis we're talking about and I've read [b:American Psycho|28676|American Psycho|Bret Easton Ellis|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1436934349s/28676.jpg|2270060] and [b:Less Than Zero|9915|Less Than Zero|Bret Easton Ellis|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1443060100s/9915.jpg|1146200], so to say I was prepared isn't a lie. But, wow, I still can't believe somebody lets Ellis publish -- and I mean that in a good way. I have a pretty good stomach, but even some of this stuff I was roiling at. If you are a tad (or more) sensitive to gore, body horror, extreme violence, then 100% stay away from this book.
I didn't quite like Glamorama as much as his previous novels. The length of the book is a mark against it, I think, because the plot doesn't really get going until well into the second, maybe third, section of the book (I can't quite remember). The first half is very slow, if not outright unnecessary, and the constant name-dropping, product mentions, song titles are grating and make the book drag even more. I understand why Ellis kept all of it in: it frames the fame-obsession every celebrity in the novel seems to have well. There are some bits in it that work well in building up the terrorism plot as well. Overall, though, it was a slog to get through.
Victor as a character does a great 180˚ from beginning to end. He starts off incredibly unlikeable and quickly turns into a character that you don't necessarily want to root for, but you certainly don't want anything bad to happen to him. Certain minor characters don't stick out enough to be able to separate them personality-wise, so that's a problem that doesn't feel like a problem. Then again, the flat minor characters works well with what Ellis does...
What I really liked about the novel was that it did a fantastic job of making you disbelieve everything. It was so hard to understand what was actually happening and what was Victor imagining once the story gets going
I was thoroughly freaked out once we get to the terrorism plot, too. Ellis is so blasé with his prose in order to effect his satire (which I think works well) that it makes the events more terrifying and horrific than it would have been otherwise.
Throughout the book, the style in which it's written evokes a cinematic feel, which I've read is intentional. I remember thinking that it would work so well as a film as I was reading. The images and narrative style just work so well in making you feel like you're watching a movie that I think the events become even more emotional. This whole feeling-like-a-film thing also probably helped in grossing me out: it honestly feels like (what I imagine it feels like) watching a snuff film. That makes it sound like Ellis is gratuitously appreciating desecrating human bodies; he's not. He actually writes quite starkly and straight-forward, despite the run-arounds in Victor's narration. It's the diction he uses and the cinematic style of the novel that makes it feel like a snuff film at times. Again, sensitive stomachs beware. There's no proper ending where you can feel safe or at least not on edge, which is another reason this book doesn't sit right after reading it.
If you like Ellis's other work, I would say give this one a go. It's certainly not as good as his earlier works, but that's mostly due to the slow first half and the never-ending name drops. If you've never read Ellis and think you want to pick this one up to try out (sensitive or non-sensitive stomachs, be damned): dear god no, don't do it!
A slightly overlong, excessive satire on the excessive glamour of fashion and celebrity.
A novel about a group of supermodels running an international terrorist cell.
Unlike most, I enjoyed this novel much more than I did American Psycho. It covers the same basic ground, but I felt Glamorama to be a much tighter novel. Excess is explored not in terms of clothing labels and product names, but in terms of celebrity names and exclusive parties. There isn't as much wasted space in this one, I felt.
A novel about a group of supermodels running an international terrorist cell.
Unlike most, I enjoyed this novel much more than I did American Psycho. It covers the same basic ground, but I felt Glamorama to be a much tighter novel. Excess is explored not in terms of clothing labels and product names, but in terms of celebrity names and exclusive parties. There isn't as much wasted space in this one, I felt.
This is a bizarre book. It's a weird amalgamation of Ellis's earlier works (specifically"American Psycho", more on that later) and a Jack Ryan movie.
The first third of the book is almost unbearably boring, being Ellis's typical descriptions of the minutia of the vapid, hollow lives of socialites. All the people care about is clothing, who is seeing who, and fame. In fact, entire paragraphs of this book are nothing but names of famous people. None of the people seem even close to real.
Victor Ward, the main character and narrator , is a very minor celebrity, having had some success as a model. He is also a totally unreliable narrator, which is part of the reason I didn't enjoy this book so much. Whereas in "American Psycho" I enjoyed that Patrick Bateman was an unreliable narrator because he is, well, a psycho, this book wrestles with whether Victor is stable or not. For most of the book, Victor inexplicably thinks everywhere he is is freezing cold, even inside, to the point where he describes ice in hotel rooms and in stairwells. He also thinks everything happening to him is part of a movie that is being shot. Yet at the same time, it's all narrated as though all the events are happening for real. I think this hurts the book because I do believe the events are happening to Victor and he is having trouble coping, but because there is still some uncertainty, I found the book less enjoyable.
Still, the terrorist plot is intriguing (if not run out too long. This book could have been shorter) and is full of Ellis' typical graphic depictions of sex and violence (a scene involving a woman poisoned with RU486 made my stomach churn and I don't typically have trouble with fantasy depictions of violence and gore).
Oh, and the plot never really resolves, which is frustrating. Lots of plot points are just left sort of opened ended and the book just randomly finishes on a nothing sort of scene.
The first third of the book is almost unbearably boring, being Ellis's typical descriptions of the minutia of the vapid, hollow lives of socialites. All the people care about is clothing, who is seeing who, and fame. In fact, entire paragraphs of this book are nothing but names of famous people. None of the people seem even close to real.
Victor Ward, the main character and narrator , is a very minor celebrity, having had some success as a model. He is also a totally unreliable narrator, which is part of the reason I didn't enjoy this book so much. Whereas in "American Psycho" I enjoyed that Patrick Bateman was an unreliable narrator because he is, well, a psycho, this book wrestles with whether Victor is stable or not. For most of the book, Victor inexplicably thinks everywhere he is is freezing cold, even inside, to the point where he describes ice in hotel rooms and in stairwells. He also thinks everything happening to him is part of a movie that is being shot. Yet at the same time, it's all narrated as though all the events are happening for real. I think this hurts the book because I do believe the events are happening to Victor and he is having trouble coping, but because there is still some uncertainty, I found the book less enjoyable.
Still, the terrorist plot is intriguing (if not run out too long. This book could have been shorter) and is full of Ellis' typical graphic depictions of sex and violence (a scene involving a woman poisoned with RU486 made my stomach churn and I don't typically have trouble with fantasy depictions of violence and gore).
Oh, and the plot never really resolves, which is frustrating. Lots of plot points are just left sort of opened ended and the book just randomly finishes on a nothing sort of scene.
Well-written with good characterizations, but a bit too strange...
Glamorama started pretty slowly and I found the first section to be tedious and obnoxious; but, after the second section started the story got more exciting and I realized the tedium of the beginning was intentional and very symbolic of the drama that happens later in the story. Overall, a very intricate and disturbing book but worth the effort in the end.