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3.23 AVERAGE
3.23 AVERAGE
Ah, the quintessential Thanksgiving read. I didn't enjoy this as much as Palahniuk's earlier work (namely, Survivor), but at least it wasn't as deplorable as Pygmy or Lullaby, his worst.
There was a lot I loved about this -- the protagonist's "job" (at which she uses telemarketing to encourage people to kill themselves), the catharsis of reading her beating up Hitler and ripping his mustache off her face.
But other parts are just painful, like where the author feels a need to repeat ad nauseam about how she may be thirteen, but she knows all of these big-girl words. (Part of the joy of reading about young teenagers is the perspective that an adult brings; we don't read actual books by youngsters because teenagers are -- let's face it -- annoying and ameteurish writers, which is where a lot of this goes. I realize it's a conceit and it's supposed to make it more "believable," but come on -- it's a book about Hell.)
There's also a lot of description of Hell's various gross-out areas: the sea of dead babies, the dandruff desert, the mound of toenail clippings, the lake of masturbated sperm. There's a very, VERY bizarre and gratuitous oral sex scene with a giant lady-demon. And her parents are, yes, celebrity hypocrites, and I don't need to hear it over and over again with so many examples.
I feel like when I was younger, this sort of thing felt edgy, dangerous, and forbidden; but now that I'm older, it's repetitive. I feel like I've written this Palahniuk book before, several times before.
So anyway, in summary, some of it is great; most of it isn't. If you love Palahniuk, this is representative of his entire oeuvre. If, however, you don't like Palahniuk, this isn't going to be the work that turns the tide.
There was a lot I loved about this -- the protagonist's "job" (at which she uses telemarketing to encourage people to kill themselves), the catharsis of reading her beating up Hitler and ripping his mustache off her face.
But other parts are just painful, like where the author feels a need to repeat ad nauseam about how she may be thirteen, but she knows all of these big-girl words. (Part of the joy of reading about young teenagers is the perspective that an adult brings; we don't read actual books by youngsters because teenagers are -- let's face it -- annoying and ameteurish writers, which is where a lot of this goes. I realize it's a conceit and it's supposed to make it more "believable," but come on -- it's a book about Hell.)
There's also a lot of description of Hell's various gross-out areas: the sea of dead babies, the dandruff desert, the mound of toenail clippings, the lake of masturbated sperm. There's a very, VERY bizarre and gratuitous oral sex scene with a giant lady-demon. And her parents are, yes, celebrity hypocrites, and I don't need to hear it over and over again with so many examples.
I feel like when I was younger, this sort of thing felt edgy, dangerous, and forbidden; but now that I'm older, it's repetitive. I feel like I've written this Palahniuk book before, several times before.
So anyway, in summary, some of it is great; most of it isn't. If you love Palahniuk, this is representative of his entire oeuvre. If, however, you don't like Palahniuk, this isn't going to be the work that turns the tide.
I enjoy the way Mr. Palahniuk uses his imagination, just in that he surprises me and seems to have no interest in being conventional. At times it felt like he savored writing down wacky ideas over stringing them into a stronger plot, but the book is short and I was happy to go along for the ride.
The Wikipedia summary sounded entertaining, as did the premise: The Breakfast Club in hell. As a teenager, I thought The Breakfast Club was way overrated because it's more like a boring film... this book isn't boring, but it's just so over the top in everything: the characters, the language, the violence and stylistic devices like shock value or exaggeration only carry a story to a certain point. In this case, I only made it through the first few chapters and then admitted to myself that my life is too short for bad books.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Gore, Violence
funny
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
What. The hell. Did I just read.
I think this has got to be the most disappointing, poorly-thought-out, crappily-edited book I have seen make it to print in years.
This was a nugget of an idea that then ripped off (pretty unapologetically, at that!) The Breakfast Club, then threw in some weirdly outdated references (including a chapter heading joke of "Are you there Satan?" ala Judy Blume, which gets old hella' fast and was not even that clever in the first place!). I actively hated reading this book, which struck me as derivative and lazy and self-indulgent from the moment I began. If I could go over and do my life again, I would have followed those instincts and put it down -- even if it WAS written by the Fight Club guy. Just because a book is by Chuck P. doesn't mean it's particularly funny, brilliant, insightful or in this case even slightly original. This book is scraps of images and ideas that some publisher gave a green light to and called a novel -- but it crumbles upon the slightest examination. The twist at the end is too little, too late, and you heartily suspect that the author concocted this entire convoluted story soley to justify the image of a disembodied head sucking off a naked giant woman.
DO BETTER, CHUCK.
PS -- In his effort to make the narrator a smug and well-read, Palahniuk peppers the novel with literary references. Unfortunately, the repeated references to "Rebecca" (pages 100 and 201) are inaccurate, as they continue to refer to the author of that story as Rebecca de Winter. Nice try, Chuck, but the whole point of that book is that Rebecca de Winter is Max's FIRST wife; the narrator is never given a first name. Next time, hire a better fact checker or just get it right yourself.
I think this has got to be the most disappointing, poorly-thought-out, crappily-edited book I have seen make it to print in years.
This was a nugget of an idea that then ripped off (pretty unapologetically, at that!) The Breakfast Club, then threw in some weirdly outdated references (including a chapter heading joke of "Are you there Satan?" ala Judy Blume, which gets old hella' fast and was not even that clever in the first place!). I actively hated reading this book, which struck me as derivative and lazy and self-indulgent from the moment I began. If I could go over and do my life again, I would have followed those instincts and put it down -- even if it WAS written by the Fight Club guy. Just because a book is by Chuck P. doesn't mean it's particularly funny, brilliant, insightful or in this case even slightly original. This book is scraps of images and ideas that some publisher gave a green light to and called a novel -- but it crumbles upon the slightest examination. The twist at the end is too little, too late, and you heartily suspect that the author concocted this entire convoluted story soley to justify the image of a disembodied head sucking off a naked giant woman.
DO BETTER, CHUCK.
PS -- In his effort to make the narrator a smug and well-read, Palahniuk peppers the novel with literary references. Unfortunately, the repeated references to "Rebecca" (pages 100 and 201) are inaccurate, as they continue to refer to the author of that story as Rebecca de Winter. Nice try, Chuck, but the whole point of that book is that Rebecca de Winter is Max's FIRST wife; the narrator is never given a first name. Next time, hire a better fact checker or just get it right yourself.
What can I say, I always love a Palahniuk read. This one is especially good because it reminds me of a dark and comic "are you there God, its me Margret" which I read as teenager. I thoroughly enjoyed this one.
If you are new to Chuck Palahniuk, don't read this book first.
This is not my first Palahniuk novel. But it's the first one I've had to put down and walk away from, for a time, until I had settled my stomach enough to return. Congratulations, dude. Many happy returns.
Stomach-roiling and nose-wrinkling aside, I have to say the guy knows how brainy, insecure, pudgy young girls talk. The empty compliments and underlying harsh judgment, the unvarying repetition of syntax (In Maddy's case, "YES, I may be THIS, but I DO know a thing or two about THAT,") the obsession with strange boys (while vocally denying it,) and the confidence that turns on a dime to panic. I love that the irony of her landing in Hell was not lost on our heroine.
Palahniuk's Hell is unabashedly horrible: vast deserts of dandruff and toenail clippings, roiling boiling oceans of different fluids; and populated with centuries' worth of the damned. It's also peppered with more "earthly" horrors: the call centers, the Appeals Department, and the desk jockeys who unvaryingly have written a script (or who are inexplicably represented by William Morris.) Also, there's an abundance of terrible candy.
In this first of what's apparently at least two books on Maddy's adventures in the afterlife, we ghost back and forth between her infernal existence and her past, and what led her there. Precocious as she was in life, the self-discovery you typically see in a Judy Blume- or Beverly Cleary- aged- girl, has alluded her until after death. Puberty has been postponed indefinitely, as has adulthood, motherhood, and the rest; any big revelation she has is purely for her own growth and not to contribute to any earthly "life" or "career." It's a whole new level of self-discovery. She's an interesting character, and I look forward to reading more about her.
I'll just need to pop a Tums or two before starting Book 2.
This is not my first Palahniuk novel. But it's the first one I've had to put down and walk away from, for a time, until I had settled my stomach enough to return. Congratulations, dude. Many happy returns.
Stomach-roiling and nose-wrinkling aside, I have to say the guy knows how brainy, insecure, pudgy young girls talk. The empty compliments and underlying harsh judgment, the unvarying repetition of syntax (In Maddy's case, "YES, I may be THIS, but I DO know a thing or two about THAT,") the obsession with strange boys (while vocally denying it,) and the confidence that turns on a dime to panic. I love that the irony of her landing in Hell was not lost on our heroine.
Palahniuk's Hell is unabashedly horrible: vast deserts of dandruff and toenail clippings, roiling boiling oceans of different fluids; and populated with centuries' worth of the damned. It's also peppered with more "earthly" horrors: the call centers, the Appeals Department, and the desk jockeys who unvaryingly have written a script (or who are inexplicably represented by William Morris.) Also, there's an abundance of terrible candy.
In this first of what's apparently at least two books on Maddy's adventures in the afterlife, we ghost back and forth between her infernal existence and her past, and what led her there. Precocious as she was in life, the self-discovery you typically see in a Judy Blume- or Beverly Cleary- aged- girl, has alluded her until after death. Puberty has been postponed indefinitely, as has adulthood, motherhood, and the rest; any big revelation she has is purely for her own growth and not to contribute to any earthly "life" or "career." It's a whole new level of self-discovery. She's an interesting character, and I look forward to reading more about her.
I'll just need to pop a Tums or two before starting Book 2.
If you like Chuck Palahniuk, if you remember your teenage years, if you've ever worked in customer service, or if you like dark satire: read this book.
That said, I would follow Chuck whereever he would lead.
That said, I would follow Chuck whereever he would lead.
adventurous
dark
funny
medium-paced
Strong character development:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes