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I first learned of the author after watching Fight Club five billion times with my friends, upon seeing a friend reading the book I didn't know existed. I finally read a couple books by Palahniuk several years later, and enjoyed them. Though the Fight Club novel is wonderful, and the movie owes everything to it, I must admit I enjoyed the movie more. The author is just a bit dark for my taste, but he is also brilliant, creative, and knows how to bruise the ol' brain batter just right. So I keep coming back like some abuse addicted lover.
This, the third book I've read by Palahniuk, is less dark (than Survivor and Fight Club), but just as creative and immersive. Don't get me wrong, there were still a number of moments when I felt punched in the gut... but in a good way?
Anyways, I recommend this book to anyone, as it shares little nitch worlds that most people never think about, and provides one the opportunity to increase their empathy.
I'm pretty sure that Palahniuk's writing is a fight club. It's like visiting some secret dark basement, where the author dishes out punch after punch. Laying us out on sweaty concrete, bleeding and wondering what the fuck we've done with our lives, yet embracing the pain. Then there are moments when reading can lead us to throw mental punches at the rest of this fucked up world, and feel comfort in knowing that we're standing over it with bruised knuckles, thinking we're at least not the scum laying on the subfloor. Or maybe I'm just fucked up.
This, the third book I've read by Palahniuk, is less dark (than Survivor and Fight Club), but just as creative and immersive. Don't get me wrong, there were still a number of moments when I felt punched in the gut... but in a good way?
Anyways, I recommend this book to anyone, as it shares little nitch worlds that most people never think about, and provides one the opportunity to increase their empathy.
I'm pretty sure that Palahniuk's writing is a fight club. It's like visiting some secret dark basement, where the author dishes out punch after punch. Laying us out on sweaty concrete, bleeding and wondering what the fuck we've done with our lives, yet embracing the pain. Then there are moments when reading can lead us to throw mental punches at the rest of this fucked up world, and feel comfort in knowing that we're standing over it with bruised knuckles, thinking we're at least not the scum laying on the subfloor. Or maybe I'm just fucked up.