![]() ![]() ![]() I’d never heard of it but admired its cover. I was 12 when I came across a copy of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides filed, I assume erroneously, in the Young Adult section of my local library. A description of Patrick Bateman electrocuting a woman’s breasts lodged statically in my brain – still now I’ll occasionally have nightmares about the sound of fat splattering on windows.Īnd then came the most important, the book which I obsessed over for years – drawing pictures, handwriting out passages, writing unsent letters to its author and characters – as I might have a pop band or film star. The second: reading American Psycho at 11, poring, aghast, over the gleefully gratuitous sadism. The first: aged nine, locking myself in the bathroom with the adult Roald Dahl book Switch Bitch, mind quite comprehensively blown at the nice Chocolate Factory man’s stories of sexual mayhem and humiliation. I have three memories of reading books which were notably, consciousness-alteringly age inappropriate. ![]()
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