A review by trin
Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk

1.0

After [b: Rant|22285|Rant|Chuck Palahniuk|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1388248283l/22285._SX50_.jpg|2902758], I was excited and hopeful at the thought that Palahniuk might be trying to move in a new direction, but with Snuff, he backslides into the realm of same-old, same-old. Only, you know, more boring—whether because it’s just such familiar territory, or because it’s inherently dull, I don’t know. Anyway, in an effort to be cruder and more shocking (but not more original) with each successive novel, Palahniuk here turns to the porn industry, but unlike that Thanksgiving dinner-interrupting description of felching in [b: Invisible Monsters|36236125|Invisible Monsters|Chuck Palahniuk|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1508534066l/36236125._SX50_.jpg|849507], nothing here manages to be so awe-inspiringly stupor-destroying—mostly it’s just kind of gross. Nor are the twists twisty or the prose compelling. Frankly, I was bored—and for a shock artist like Palahniuk, that’s almost the worst review one can get.