Having watched the David Fincher
movie some years ago I decided to read Chuck Palahniuk’s debut novel. Although
I was already familiar with the basic plot twists as represented within the
movie I still found that the novel follows a fairly baffling narrative
trajectory. It is dark, bitter and impossibly twisted.
Palahniuk’s style is minimalist
in his approach. By his own admission he prefers verbs to adjectives. He reads
like Charles Bukowski on speed. At times it felt as though he had possibly written
a conventional first draft and then edited it with a chainsaw, paring it back
to the barest minimum of words that would still convey the essence of the
piece. For me this works in parts, but it does not make for a comfortable read.
I felt that I needed all my concentration just to stay with it.
The novel is written as a succession
of random scenes from a violent nightmare world which spirals inexorably
towards an almost apocalyptic conclusion. I found Palahniuk’s fascination with
the macabre and repulsive to be in turn both relentless and deeply unsettling.
Is it absorbing? Yes.
Is it disturbing? Yes.
Is it enjoyable? For me, no; not
in any sense. It simply grips you by the throat and demands that you keep
reading until you reach the end.
Can I sleep now?
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