Indulging in a rare quiet morning, I drank a cup of coffee while reading your report on "American Psycho" and watching my 7-month-old daughter discover her world. With the news of Ellis' third novel going into print, my nervous system began to feel as if nuclear fission were about to take place. Once again he will be spreading his gangrenous ooze under the disguise of literature.
About five years ago, I was having a cafe au lait in Montparnasse with an "intellectual" architect. He handed me a book and in his French accent touted it as "fabulous . . . really American . . . culture, pop, great visuals. . . ." (Ellis') "Less Than Zero" was making its underground debut in Paris.
As I read the book, I felt humiliated, abused, sick to my stomach and frightened by an insensitive, uncaring and dangerously greedy brat who was 6,000 miles away. The ugly American had grown more ugly.
Care must be taken not to make Ellis a cult hero.
San Luis Obispo