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Book Review: Palahniuk's Stranger than Fiction It's not stranger than his. Stranger than Fiction
Stranger Than Fiction, a collection of magazine articles and interviews Palahniuk scrawled between novels, isn’t stranger than his fiction. But the first third of the book is indeed devoted to people with more unusual professions and hobbies than the rest of us. Long on direct quotes and short on editorializing, the profiles range from men who build residential castles to the contestants at a farm equipment demolition derby. He talks with amateur wrestlers about their sickening ear injuries and sets sail with the USS Louisiana, a sardine can submarine full of frottaging Naval homos. In the section entitled “Portraits”, Palahniuk sits down with kindred freaks Juliette Lewis and Marilyn Manson to chew the fat about some shit. Palahniuk doesn’t seem cut out for the short form; his pieces lack both rhythm and circularity, two traits that can help transform a jumble of notes and quotes into something more substantial than a jumble of notes and quotes. Once an essay is underway, readers are quickly as lost as a drunkard staggering through the Gobi. Look, over there, Xaio-Ping, behind the reddish dune – is that a conclusion on the horizon? No, sir, it’s just a cruel mirage, there are actually 12 more pages left about insulating domestic drawbridges from mildew. After endless paragraphs of archival description and bland dialogue, the articles usually just end without flourish. There is some good material, but a harsh editing would have served to trim the flab – for all his professed adoration for the school of minimalist writing, Palahniuk doesn’t seem to own a pair of shears. It is in the third segment, “Personal” where Stranger than Fiction finally comes to life. Palahniuk's discussion of his father’s murder and the account of his experimentation with steroids (he quit when his testicles shrunk to pea-size) are far more entertaining than any of the profiles or interviews of supposedly interesting people. It's probably because Chuck starts writing with some style and thankfully ditches the oddly clinical approach of the previous two sections. “Personal” provides an opportunity to examine the thought process of a motherfucker who has successful carved out a niche for himself as modern fiction’s preeminent quasi-nihilist hipster shock author. Or something. But what really stands out in Palahniuk’s love and respect for the craft of writing. For all the criticism he’s recently taken for churning out formulaic material, his appreciation for his writing group and the thoughtfulness with which he approaches his work is impressive and, dare we say it, almost inspirational. All Palahniuk has to do is reintroduce himself to his own “Personal” section to understand why most readers will find the majority of Stranger than Fiction surprisingly half-hearted and bland. Step your game up, Chuck. Don't make us waste our precious time reading a glorified notepad disguised as a book ever again. Read more articles in Arts » |
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