Jordan Belfort’s memoir of his questionable financial activities from the early 1990s reads like a novel, the highest of high fiction, but is as chilling as only brutal fact can be. Having earned vast sums from less-than-ethical stock deals, laundered money through Swiss bank accounts and made his way through sizeable quantities of narcotics, Belfort finally pleaded guilty to money laundering and securities fraud in 2003, and served 22 months in prison. He prefaces his memoir as “a cautionary tale to the rich and poor alike”, but his clearly persistent drive for “culpable deniability” places Belfort’s tongue firmly in his cheek. The amoral world of high finance that he fostered at Stratton Oakmont is depicted as a creche for energetic twentysomethings who pursued huge bonuses by whatever means necessary, then partied like the apocalypse was nigh. Every single day. So is it a work of confession or boast? You might need to check your own moral compass before answering.
