Requiem For a Dream - Hubert Selby Jr. UPDATE "On acid stars you're getting there"-HoleBAD MOVE.Requiem For A Dream follows the downward trajectory of lives of four people in 1980's living in Bronx. It talks about addiction. About how it plunges a knife in the stomach and ruthlessly murders the American Dream.“I suspect there will never be a requiem for a dream, simply because it will destroy us before we have the opportunity to mourn it's passing.” Requiem for a Dream is the story of four addicts. There's Sara, the empty nester, TV addict, obese (feeling obsolete??) living alone in the shadow of the happy life she once shared with her son Harry and late husband Seymour. She wants to appear on TV wearing a red dress her husband really loved (Her fantasy being fueled by a phone call from the casting company). And she takes the help of dieting pills to achieve her goal.Then there's Harry, his girlfriend Marion and best friend Tyrone bumming in streets, each looking for an escape of their own. Harry and Marion want to start a business while Tyrone wants to break free from the shackles of a ghettoed life. And to make money quick, they peddle.Requiem for a Dream is a painful novel. Fraught with unsettling graphic portrayal, it's definitely not for the lily livered variety. Yes, the book was difficult and at times I had trouble following the conversation, but my attempts(s) were rewarding.----------------------------------------------------------------------- They say third time's the charm. Teh. Took me half a dozen of chances to complete this book. Slangs and absence of quotation marks and punctuation aside (yes Mr Selby, I do get the 'symbolism'), this book was really really good (not to mention disturbing if I am being honest with myself).And I might as well confess that the movie was a tad bit better. (Because of Jared Leto and his erhhmmm...I'll just leave with that.)Not to forget about Clint Mansell's Lux Aeterna. Fucking.Epic.ps Oh and thanks for ruining my Sunday. No shit. Would write a full review later when (hopefully) I am not felling too wrist-slitty.