Ellis’s latest effort, Lunar Park, details the efforts of a writer named Bret Easton Ellis to access a normal life (marriage, house in the suburbs, children adopted and conceived) after participating in the depredations and substance abuses endemic to fast-lane urban life at the end of the 20th century. The Ellis character, looking back on the time of the rise of his own career, is not short on cynicism:
It was the beginning of a time when it was almost as if the novel itself didn’t matter anymore—publishing a shiny book-like object was simply an excuse for parties and glamour and good-looking authors reading finely honed minimalism to students who would listen rapt with slack-mouthed admiration, thinking, I could do that, I could be them. But of course if you weren’t photogenic enough the sad truth was you couldn’t.
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