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#باشگاه_مشت_زنی رمانی به قلم نویسنده آمریکایی #چاک_پالانیک و ترجمه #پیمان_خاکسار است.‌
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داستان از زبان راوی بی نام بازگو میشود.‌
راوی کتاب که از که از #بی_خوابی و #اختلال_تجزیه_هویت  رنج می‌برد در یک کارخانه اتومبیل سازی مشغول به کار است.‌
او به مدت شش ماه است که به بیماری بی‌خوابی مبتلا شده است و زندگیش تبدیل به لحظاتی تکراری و پوچ شده است.
وی روزی با فردی عجیب و غریب به نام #تایلر_داردن آشنا می‌شود که شغلش بازاریابی صابون است و عقاید نو و جالبی در مورد آزادی، جامعه و راه‌ های کسب قدرت دارد
وی شیفته تایلر میشود.‌
این دو برای آن که از عقده‌ های درونی خالی شوند و به اصطلاح تولدی دوباره داشته باشند، آگاهانه شروع به کتک کاری یکدیگر میکنند.‌
در نهایت به منظور گسترش تفکر و عقاید خود به فکر تاسیس باشگاهی زیرزمینی می افتند، باشگاه مشت زنی
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کتاب آینه ی تمام نمای جامعه ی های پسامدرن و زندگی ماشینی افراد در آن است.‌
انتقادی طنز به مصرف گرایی در یک جامعه سرمایه داری است‌.جایی که انسان ها با بحران هویت و نهیلیسم ناشی از تلقین های رسانه دست و پنجه نرم میکنند.‌‌
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«باشگاه مشت‌زنی» روایت عصیان است و #طغیان، طغیانی #آنارشیستی علیه وضعیت دنیای مصرف‌گرای مدرن‌‌
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نویسنده ما را با گونه ای از دنیای مدرن آشنا می‌کند که در آن روزمرگی ماشینی زندگی انسان ها را تشکیل داده است و این امر به وضعیتی عادی و طبیعی بدل شده است.‌‌
هیچ نقطه امیدی وجود ندارد و تنها راه حل موجود شورش، سرپیچی و نابودی این دنیا است.‌
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مبلمان میخری به خودت می گویی این آخرین کاناپه ای است که تا آخر عمر ممکن است لازم داشته باشی ... بعد یک دست ظرف عالی بعد هم یک تختخواب ایده آل، پرده، فرش. حالا در خانه ی خوشگلت گیر افتاده ای. چیزهایی که قبلا صاحبشان بوده ای صاحبت شده اند...!
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فرهنگ ما همه را شبیه به هم بار آورده. دیگر هیچ کس هویتی منحصر بفرد ندارد.‌
همه ی ما خواسته های واحدی داریم. فردیت ما تبدیل به هیچ شده است...!
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چند نسل است که آدمها شغل هایی دارند که از آن متنفرند و تنها دلیلی که ولشان نمی کنند این است که بتوانند چیزهایی بخرند که بدردشان نمی خورد....!

"ما بچه‌وسطی‌های تاریخیم.
از بچگی، تلویزیون به خورد ما داده که بالاخره یه روزی میلیونر و هنرپیشه و ستاره‌ی راک می‌شیم. 
ولی هیچ‌وقت نمی‌شیم، و ما تازه داریم این واقعیت رو می‌فهمیم،
و خیلی خیلی کُفری هستیم."

i'm a sigma male now, no one is allowed to talk to me

Mary Ann Evans, in the 1850s, spoke out against the notion that "lady novelists" were capable of producing only "silly novels" - precious, sentimental, illogical and improbable claptrap - while men produced high literature. She changed her name to George Eliot and wrote as a "gender neutral" narrator, highly educated and worldly, and mostly transparent (i.e., not silly).

The 1990s finds us again at a crossroads where literature is concerned, with the rise of Oprah's book club and the whole genre of "chick lit" on the one hand (in many cases just "silly novels by lady novelists" revivified), and a sort of phallic-anxiety heavy-on-the-masculine literature on the other. This second group, I like to call "guy crap." It's not a bad label ; there's some good stuff in guy crap, just like there is on Oprah's book list. Guy crap includes genre fiction (Dennis Lehane, Jonathan Lethem), as well as insistent intellectualism (David Foster Wallace, Martin Amis, Paul Auster) ... and, of course, the violent, psych-you-out, latter-day-Robbe-Grillet disturbances of Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk. Some of these are done well, and some of them are just as silly as the lady novelists' claptrap.

Fight Club is one of those novels where the unrelenting GUY-ness of narrator and storyline begins as an intriguing challenge and ends up fatiguing and gimmicky. In case there's anyone out here who hasn't either read the book or seen the movie, I won't spoil anything, I promise. It's a book about a bunch of young men, frustrated in their low-on-the-ladder white-collar day jobs and the emptiness of modern society, who meet routinely to pound each other close to death and plot destruction on a less personal scale. The novel is Palahniuk's testament to the counter-culture of yuppiedom, a world in which squalor and presentability, upward mobility and civil disobedience, live side by side and take each other's measure daily. Palahniuk asks pointed questions about the world we live in, and his prose is the strength of this novel - he keeps you interested, even when you realize how much you hate what he's saying.

And you should hate what Palahniuk is saying. Because at the heart of the novel sits a troubled foundation. It's not the acts of (juvenile, for the most part) sociopathy, or even the ultimate real pathology the characters fall into. What you should hate as (or after) you read is the book's central three-part idea, that (a) the disaffected youth of the video-game generation really do hold the truth about society ; (b) society in turn is nothing but a reflection of the video-game generation's disaffected world-view ; and (c) once a disaffected youth of the video-game generation, always a disaffected youth of the video-game generation - there is no improvement, there is no connection, there is no healing, there is no "out," because boys never grow up. Even the support-group conceit that could represent the narrator's redemptive attempt at relation turns out to be just a device, as egotistical for the character as it is ultimately for the storyline. Relation between people doesn't exist, not really : you don't talk about fight club. We're all just wandering bruised through the wasted LCD landscape, staking out our independence like rebel teenagers, promising to blow up whatever we disagree with.

Palahniuk has said he wrote this book as a kind of provocation, to get back at a publisher for turning down his earlier manuscript. I wonder if he peed in the publisher's soup, too : it wouldn't altogether surprise me.

I believe in love at first sight, and I’m talking about books.

A few pages into The Dispossessed by Ursula K. LeGuin and I knew that this was the book I had been looking for my whole life. The same for Robert A. Heinlein’s brilliant The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. These books are speaking to me, the author and I are sharing a conversation and I am hearing what I want to hear but the writer, through the osmosis of shared visions, is saying for me what I want to say. I had nebulous thoughts and that writer succinctly stated, set down in black and white, what for me was pre-language thought only.

Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club is another, and Palahniuk speaks for a generation; he boils down and dilutes what we all want to say but felt only. The primal fears and drives that we know deep down but before this book could give no voice; Palahniuk has found a pigment to paint on our collective cave wall. What Palahniuk illustrates in words is Edvard Munch’s The Scream amplified and multiplied by ten million.

“I am Joe’s fear of death”.

He is talking about repressed anger spread out over an actuarial table of life expectancy. Stripped down to fighting weight and stepping into the ring with borrowed gloves, this book is a gritty explanation of the dark side of Generation X men.

“What you see at Fight Club is a generation of men raised by women”. This quote is the hard nucleus around which the novel forms, growing fruitlike around a solid core.

The next great, definitive quote is “The first rule about Fight Club is that you don’t talk about fight Club.” This is a charismatic catch phrase, to be sure, but it is more than this. Palahniuk goes to great length, albeit subtle, to reveal that much of what is felt and experienced in Fight Club is either beyond or beneath language, inexpressible. Palahniuk is grasping at deep roots. One of the foundations of feminist thought is communication, the need for women to relate to one another and to talk about feelings. Men are encouraged to express themselves as well and Palahniuk takes time, the same as Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises, to draw a misdirected connection to the narrator’s affinity for self help groups and his need to cry. I can hear the echoes of Jake Barnes crying by himself and of Romero’s desperate but heroic fist fighting accomplishments. Palahniuk resurrects the strong, quiet type and raises him, dead from the grave, in a post-modern zombie-like caricature; Fight Club’s protagonists are still “30 year old boys” trying to be what they were never raised to be.

I cannot help but compare this book with Bernard Malamud’s The Natural. I saw both film before reading the book, and both film adaptations have significant variances from the original literature.

Fight Club was brilliant and disturbing all at the same time.

Fight Club is an extraordinary story full of twists and riots.
At the first sight, I felt quiet baffled on the meaning behind the book and the message it stood for. Still, it was very interesting that men tend to love the book as if it has been written exclusively for them.
After watching a video (https://youtu.be/uYPoLqx9N6c), I changed my rating from 2 to 4.
This is a warning for our civilazation; a warning for a society in which masculinity is opressed and humiliated. Falling Testostrone levels, rising in suicide and depression rates among men, and low capability in life and work are all rotten fruits of a world in which masculinity--which is necessary for survival--is called toxic.

You do not talk about Fight Club, but...

Upon winning the Oregon Book Award for best novel and the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association Award, Chuck Palahniuk’s visionary debut novel, Fight Club, was shot to the veins of mainstream fiction. Following the success of its 1999 film adaptation directed by David Fincher, Fight Club gained cult classic status and has become a disturbingly accurate interpretation of our modern world.

The unnamed male narrator, suffering from a long streak of insomnia, finds cure by attending cancer support groups. But when Marla Singer—a sallow, heavy-smoking nihilist—enters the evening meetings and mirrors his own fraud, his insomnia returns, so he confronts Singer to split schedules with him.

On the night when his condominium mysteriously blows up, he calls Tyler Durden, whom he had previously met—under strange circumstances—on a beach. They agree to meet at a bar, where, after drinking, Durden asks him a favor, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

The narrator swings the punch that cradled Fight Club into the world. Shortly, a multitude of men with white-collar jobs join them. Every weekend, in the parking lots and basements of bars, they hold these late-hour no-holds-barred-and-barefisted fights that “go on as long as they have to.”

These one-on-one melees curiously evoke psychotherapeutic effects—resembling that of enlightenment—within the men: they are reborn from their entombed lives.

Fight Club soon evolves into Project Mayhem, an anarchic army led by Durden, who seeks to fulfill his visions of global enlightenment through organized chaos, public unrest, and demolition.

Fight Club is a social satire on the dehumanizing effects of consumerism: alienation brought by chronic materialism, illusory comforts, overindulgence, and career and lifestyle obsessions fueled by advertising. “The modern world is for business—not for the people,” as what the great psychoanalyst Carl Jung said.

“It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything.” Skillfully fusing Zen elements with Durden’s extremist ideologies, Palahniuk has written a provocative expression of metaphysical rebellion. The collective revolt against the existential vacuum is Durden’s nucleus and what draws men toward him.

Fight Club’s noir ambience and the solid economy of its prose are reminiscent of Albert Camus’s The Stranger, but with the sharp nonlinear narration executing its plot; inheriting Kurt Vonnegut’s dark humor, Chuck Palahniuk is among today’s distinct and intriguing voices.

Here we are, already breaking the first rule...

Not sure if Chuck Palahniuk is an absolute genius or an absolute headcase. Either way, I couldn't put this one down! Despite never having read the book or seen the cult classic movie adaptation, I fell into the trap of assuming I knew what this entailed. To an extent, it did. But this was also one bizarre and bewildering, anarchistic and amazing, dense and despicable, satirical and spiralling insight to one man's psyche and the psychotherapeutic attempts he takes to control his insomnia. With a less than desirable outcome.

Ho davvero bisogno di uscire da questa monotonia, per questo motivo devo chiederti una cosa.
Sì, a te che stai leggendo.

Voglio che tu mi colpisca più forte che puoi. Io sono pronto a incassare, e tu?

Non fare quella faccia, non prendermi per pazzo. Ho bisogno di una scossa. Ho bisogno di spaccare tutto quello che ho costruito. Il mio lavoro 9 -18, il mutuo da pagare, il mio maxi televisore del cazzo. Lo stipendio che mi permette di pagarmi la casa che mi permette di guardare il mio maxi televisore del cazzo con un abbonamento a un servizio di streaming del cazzo.

Quando ho visto Fight Club la prima volta avevo 16 anni e mi ha aperto un mondo. A tutti ha aperto un mondo. Se cercate qualcuno che vi dica che non gli è piaciuto, buona fortuna. Se lo trovate, mente. Fight Club è il manifesto degli anti eroi, un inno contro l’automiglioramento, è la danzante merda del mondo. Fight Club non è uscire dalla comfort zone, è distruggerla in brandelli minuscoli. Distruggi tutto quello che ti è più caro. Distruggi il tuo attaccamento alle cose, distruggi la tua casa usando il gas. Quando sei un adolescente e odi il mondo, vedere fight club è qualcosa che ti fa scattare una scintilla dentro. Tipo quella che innesca l’esplosione che ti fa saltare in aria la casa. Quando sei alle superiori e l’unico tuo problema è capire la trigonometria e farti notare da quella ragazza bionda tanto carina, Fight Club ti fa sembrare tutto cosi stupido e banale. Le tue preoccupazioni per comprare quella felpa firmata per farti notare dai tuoi compagni di classe a cui non frega un cazzo di te, svaniscono. Io non voglio essere così, ti ripeti. Io non voglio comprare cose che non mi servono per impressionare persone che non mi vanno a genio. Io non sarò il mio lavoro. Lo pensi, lo dici a voce alta e alla fine ci credi davvero. Se poi è Brad Pitt a dire queste cose, non so voi ma io mi fido.

La prima volta che ho letto Fight Club, ero gia più grandicello. Avevo credo gia una laurea e avevo gia visto il film diverse volte. Sapevo come andava a finire. Non lavoravo ancora, ma avevo iniziato a capire come girava il mondo. Sul serio, sapevo come andava a finire. Non mi ha impressionato granchè, questo però ve lo devo dire. Sì bello – ho pensato – ma niente di che. Ai tempi pensai che fosse dovuto al fatto di aver visto prima il film che era fottutamente fatto bene (ricordiamo che è un film del ’99). Ma comunque la mia forma mentis non è cambiata. Adoravo il film e il messaggio che voleva trasmettere.
Poi un giorno sono finito su un sito pseudo geek/self-help che mi ha spiazzato. Uno dei post era tipo “Alcune toste verità che ti renderanno una persona migliore” e a un certo punto l’articolo tirava in ballo Fight Club.
Parlava delle frasi che Tyler sputa in faccia al narratore.
Tu non sei il tuo lavoro.
Tu non sei i soldi che hai in banca.
Diceva che Tyler in quei discorsi era ironico.
Eh?
Cerchiamo per cortesia di non giungere a conclusione affrettate, perché la mia età adulta si basa su alcune certezze che vorrei rimanessero tali.
Tu non sei il tuo lavoro.
Però è a capo di un’organizzazione criminale che ha come obiettivo quello di mandare a puttane il mondo.
Tu non sei i soldi che hai in banca.
Però gestisce con successo una fabbrica di sapone che rivende tutto a cifre astronomiche per guadagnarci.
Non sei i vestiti che indossi.
Però fa vestire gli affiliati del progetto caos tutti di nero. Alla fine anche l’occhio vuole la sua parte.

E mentre pago le bollette usando l’home banking durante il fine settimana, ho capito. Realizzo che forse Palahniuk non voleva davvero rendere Tyler Durden ironico in quello che diceva. Eppure eccomi qui, a far quadrare i conti a fine mese, e curare il mio posto da impiegato giorno dopo giorno.
Tu non sei il tuo lavoro.
Perché sapete, alla fine uno stronzo deve pur mangiare. E va bene così.
E mentre mi guardo allo specchio prima di uscire di casa, controllo che il completo stia bene con le scarpe perché devo andare da un cliente oggi.
Tu non sei i vestiti che indossi.
Tu sei la danzante e canticchiante merda del mondo.

E capisco che Tyler forse scherzava per davvero.

I would tell you what I thought of this, but I guess the rules state otherwise

Well, now I reckon y'all have seen the movie, so there's probably not a whole lot that you need to know about this book.

You know Tyler Durden.

He's the Id, the unchained spirit that wants what he wants and he wants it now. He's the voice in your head that tells you that everything is worthless, that chaos, death and the end of civilization would be better than anything our so-called "society" could ever create. He's the one standing over your left shoulder, whispering "Burn it all down. It'll be fun." He acts in secret, he has an army of minions, and he has a plan.

Oh yes, you know Tyler Durden.

The narrator of this dark and strange cautionary tale knows Tyler all too well, and tells us of how he and Tyler tried to change the world. It all started very simply - with basement fight clubs where men could let out their rage and frustration on each other. There were very few rules to fight club, but that was okay. Rules were, in fact, the problem. The regimented society in which we live imposes constant rules on us - social rules, cultural rules, corporate rules - that tell us who to be and what to think. The rules of our society have sapped us of our strength and purpose, making us soft. Pliable. Weak.

But Tyler's plan doesn't end there - the fight clubs morph into Project Mayhem, a well-oiled anarchist movement, determined to bring down the very fundamentals of our society. With an army at his beck and call, Tyler is sure that his plan will succeed.

It's a book with a couple of very powerful messages, one overt and incorrect, the other subtle and accurate. The overt message is Tyler's message - we are a generation with no cause, no purpose. Our lives are governed by what we buy and what we wear, and none of us will die having done anything with our lives. In order to be Real Men, we need to strip away the veneer of civilization - our Ikea furniture, our make-work jobs and our cornflower blue neckties - and rediscover the inner core of ourselves. The brutal, unafraid, unapologetic beast that is Man.

This, to no one's surprise, appealed to a lot of people when the film came out because it's a very believable world view. Those of Gen X and beyond are reminded over and over again that the generations before us were the ones who actually did things. The Baby Boomers got herded into the slaughterhouse that was Vietnam, toppled a President, faced down the chaos of the Sixties and fought to change the world. Their parents, of course, were the Greatest Generation - a label that I have come to despise - who fought Hitler and freed Europe. Their parents struggled through the Depression, and their parents fought in the trenches of World War One.

What have we done? Until the beginning of the 21st Century, how had we suffered? What had we sacrificed? Not a whole lot, and I think a lot of us secretly believe that we're not only not pulling our weight in the world, but that since we have not suffered, we're not really adult. Our miseries have not been those born of chaos, war and destruction. Ours have been tiny, personal tragedies that are, in their way, insignificant.

I can see where Tyler Durden is coming from on this point - I do sometimes look around me and ask, "Where are our great challenges, our Normandy or our moon landing?" And I fear that without these milestones, my generation will never really be taken seriously.

Unfortunately, this is about where most folks stopped thinking and decided, "Shit, man, he's right! I wanna start a fight club!" And short-lived fight clubs sprang up all over the country, lasting about as long as it took for people to realize that while Brad Pitt on the movie screen can get beaten within an inch of his life and still look cool, a normal human cannot. They missed the subtle message because it wasn't one that they really wanted to hear.

The book is not about the triumph of nihilism over a consumer-driven culture. It's not about being a Real Man. It's not about being a unique snowflake or a space monkey.

It's about overcoming both the desire to destroy society and the desire to be completely subsumed by it. It's about the need for purpose, and the need for connection with other people, and what can happen when one is deprived of those things. Tyler doesn't show up because the narrator is rootless or bored - Tyler shows up because the narrator has forsaken people for things. He has replaced personal achievement with material gain, and that's not a very fulfilling way to live.

It is a cautionary tale for our generation - you are not your tragedies. You are not the club you belong to. You are not your scars. You are neither worthless nor undeserving.

You are what you make yourself to be, no matter what Tyler Durden wants.

Lettura devastante ed estraniante.
Rinchiudersi in se stesso abbandonando ogni regola sociale, perseguendo una singolare e personale forma di critica sfrenata al mondo intero. L'autodistruzione come soluzione.
Un romanzo a volte delirante e scioccante, difficile per il lettore entrare in sintonia con il protagonista senza storcere il naso per le scelte da lui compiute.
Palahniuk sembra voler forzare la mano apposta per suscitare quelle emozioni.
Promotore di un pensiero antisociale e distruttivo.
Una lettura che non lascia indifferenti.

اگر فیلم باشگاه مشت زنی را دیده‌اید، کتاب آن را هم مطالعه کنید چرا که جذابیت‌های خاص خود را دارد. اگر نه فیلم را دیده‌اید و نه کتاب را خوانده‌اید به‌ نظر من ابتدا فیلم را ببینید و بعد کتاب را بخوانید. هر دو تجربه‌ای جالب و دوست‌داشتنی برای من بودند.
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باشگاه مشت‌زنی را با تصادف بالارد مقایسه کرده‌اند. پالانیک و بالارد هر دو منتقد مصرف‌گرایی هستند. برعکس بالارد که نگاهش خشک و سبعانه است، پالانیک همه‌ چیز را به استهزا می‌گیرد. مقدمه مترجم- صفحه ۱۰ کتاب
پالانیک کتاب‌های خود را کمدی-رمانتیک توصیف می‌کند و در مصاحبه‌ای با خبرنگار گاردین می‌گوید: «همیشه سعی می‌کنم به یک هدف متعالی برسم، به عشق، ولی با روشی کاملاً غیر قراردادی. با نمایش یک دنیا زشتی و پلشتی برای رسیدن به قله‌ی عشق ماندگار باید از تمام این پلشتی‌ها گذشت.» مقدمه مترجم-صفحه ۱۰ کتاب
وقتی‌ که می‌فهمی تمام کسانی که دوستشان داری سر آخر یا طردت می‌کنند یا یک روز می‌میرند، گریه کردن برایت خیلی ساده می‌شود. صفحه ۱۹ کتاب
مبلمان می‌خری. به خودت می‌گویی این آخرین کاناپه‌ای است که تا آخر عمرم ممکن است لازم داشته باشم. مبل را می‌خری، چند سال کاملاً راضی هستی چون هر اتفاق بدی هم که بیفتد دیگر مطمئنی که مشکل مبلت حل شده. بعد یک دست ظرف عالی. بعد هم یک تخت‌خواب ایده‌آل، پرده. فرش. حالا در لانه‌ی خوشگلت گیر افتاده‌ای. چیزهایی که قبلاً صاحبشان بودی حالا صاحبت شده‌اند. صفحه‌ی ۴۹ کتاب
خیلی از جوون‌ها می‌خوان با یک عالم خرت‌ و پرت خریدن دنیا رو تحت تأثیر قرار بدن. صفحه‌ی ۵۱ کتاب
هزاران سال است که بشر این زمینی را که در آن زندگی می‌کند به گه کشیده و نابود کرده، حالا تاریخ از من انتظار دارد که گندکاری گذشتگان را پاک کنم. صفحه‌ی ۱۳۷ کتاب
حالا. معجزه‌ی شگفت‌آور مرگ. در یک لحظه راه می‌روی و حرف می‌زنی و ثانیه‌ای بعد تبدیل به یک شی می‌شوی. من هیچم. نه. حتی هیچ هم نیستم. صفحه‌ی ۱۶۴ کتاب
نسلی از زنان و مردان جوان و قوی دارید که دوست دارند جانشان را فدای چیزی کنند. تبلیغات رسانه‌ها باعث شده این آدم‌ها دائم دنبال اتومبیل و لباس‌هایی باشند که اصلا نیازی به آن‌ها ندارند. چند نسل است که آدم‌ها شغل‌هایی دارند که از آن متنفرند و تنها دلیلی که ول‌شان نمی‌کنند این است که بتوانند چیزهایی بخرند که به هیچ دردشان نمی‌خورد. در دوره‌ی نسل ما هیچ جنگ بزرگی اتفاق نیفتاده. هیچ رکود اقتصادی طولانی پیش نیامده. ولی ما یک جنگ بزرگ بر سر روح داشتیم. ما یک انقلاب بزرگ علیه فرهنگ داشتیم. رکود بزرگ، زندگی ماست. روحمان است که راکد شده. صفحه‌ی ۱۶۷ کتاب
ما بچه وسطی‌های تاریخیم. از بچگی تلویزیون به خورد ما داده که بالاخره یه روزی میلیونر و هنرپیشه و ستاره‌ی راک می‌شیم. ولی هیچ‌ وقت نمی‌شیم؛ و ما تازه داریم اینو می‌فهمیم. صفحه‌ی ۱۸۶ کتاب
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