My underage reading of Bret Easton Ellis’s novel seemed exciting at the time, but only because it was forbidden
Oxford University’s decision to display the Bodleian library’s collection of “immoral” books has reminded me of my stint in the restricted section. At 17, I successfully borrowed Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho from my local library in New Zealand, where it was (and still is) classified R18 and kept behind the counter.
The librarian did not ask to see my ID – not because I looked 18, because I definitely didn’t. I can only assume the futility of her gatekeeper role in the internet age must finally have got to her. I spent the summer holidays immersed in sadistic violence, drug use, offensive language and sex scenes, despite being seven months shy of the classification office’s assessment of when I could be expected to understand that it was satire.
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