Lunar Park

I have no intention of reading the newest Bret Easton Ellis novel, "Lunar Park." When I was young and alienated, I read his novels "Less than Zero," and "The Rules of Attraction," books about extremely wealthy college kids doing lots of drugs and having lots of anonymous sex. I enjoyed them at the time -- it's ironic that when you're feeling alienated, it's comforting to read books about other's people's alienation. (This is part of the enduring appeal of The Catcher in the Rye.)
Fortunately for me, The New York Times Book Review has an excellent review of "Lunar Park" by A. O. Scott, and it's well worth reading the whole thing.
The clincher:

The problem with this novel is not that it is a fast, lurching ride to nowhere. Of course it is; it's a Bret Easton Ellis novel. The problem is that it does not have the honesty to admit that it wants to be more, the faith that readers will accept more or the courage to try to be more. It is the portrait of a narcissist who is, in the end, terminally bored with himself; that it may also be a self-portrait doesn't make it any more true.