On the one hand, [Bret Easton] Ellis’s sentences strain to impose a perverted version of what Frederic Jameson (following Claude Simon) has called 'the discipline of the word by word' in which the reader is forced to hang on the most minute and trivial distinctions—the difference between, say, Natacha and the Bowery Bar, dinner at Doppleganger instead of drinks at MasaMasa, between Leonardo DiCaprio and Emile Hirsh. On the other hand, these very words, as if by their own magical powers, release the reader from the exhausting task of having to read them in the first place. In this way the implications of Ellis’s language have not been properly appreciated. The point here is not that the vernaculars of capitalism slither into Ellis’s sentences like a 'new snake in the cultural garden'; rather, they are always-already there in the first place, accumulated from the residues of daily life in the society of the spectacle.
John Conley, “The Poverty of Bret Easton Ellis,” Arizona Quarterly 65.3 (2009), p. 121.