Guilt and Innocence: A daily primer

Chuckapalooza!

While I may be one of the few people who care, Chuck Palahniuk has been popping up all over the media recently, and I just can't pass on Chuck coverage. First, Chuck has an interesting essay in the Guardian entitled Slaves and saviours about One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest:

I just didn't recognise how this is everyone's story, in a two-party democracy. Even now, especially now, in America where an almost equal number of people must follow the will of their peers. No matter how democracy holds them responsible for their government, no matter how much they protest, the minority is still the minority. Saviours or slaves.

Harper's published Ready-Made Rebellion, an essay on transgressive fiction that uses Survivor as an example:

The first-person narrator of Chuck Palahniuk’s novel Survivor, by contrast, succumbs to the trope of numbness, to the belief that an undefined existential boredom is sufficient motivation for even the most extreme behavior.

Finally, watch the New York Times critic tear Haunted to shreds in Gore Values:

The curious weakness of Palahniuk's neo-brutalist aesthetic is how hermetically sealed it must remain from anything that might challenge it: the air of hard-core debauch must be wall to wall or else crumble to nothing. Palahniuk's work has a tone of snarling X-rated confrontation, but reading his stuff is uncannily like being buttonholed by your younger brother and led up to his bedroom so he can show off his book of Weegee photographs. Palahniuk's work feels raw but insular, angry but self-coddling, like a teenager's moods. The single most horrifying fact about ''Haunted,'' though, is that his publishers have called it ''a novel,'' which turns out to be a cunning euphemism for ''a collection of short stories.'' The stories all follow much the same course. Palahniuk digs up some disgusting factoid; he devises a narrator to deliver the disgusting factoid; and then sits back to watch him or her deliver it. End of story.

In case the Times review hasn't convinced you that my taste in fiction is horrible, Yankee Pot Roast offers the satire piece Chuck Palahniuk Mows the Lawn:

Imagine vacuuming. Now, imagine the vacuum weighs 350 pounds. Now, imagine this 350-pound vacuum has a rotating blade that can take off a man’s hand. Imagine that it does, only sometimes it’s not a hand. Sometimes it’s a leg. Sometimes it’s something worse.

I swear he's just misunderstood.

Oh, and as a side note, The Cult, the official Chuck Palahniuk website is offering free content for the month of June. You know, in case my incessant mentioning of Chuck Palahniuk has convinced you that Chuck is a god. Because he is.

Book #14: Haunted

As anyone who knows me is aware, anything I write about a Chuck Palahniuk book is going to be horribly biased, because the man is essentially my hero, he sends me crazy packages for Valentine's day (sort of) and I went and bought this book the day it was released after waiting anxiously for something like a year.

Getting those details out of the way, I still really liked Haunted. It's not one of his best books, by any means, and from a purely critical stand point, it's probably not a very good book at all, but despite it's unnecessary gruesome details and completely absurd plot-lines, I liked it.

The book is a sort of modern day Canterburry Tales, only much less excruciating to read. The characters of the novel have signed up to attend a three-moth writer's retreat: no distractions, no unnecessary interactions, just the time they need to complete the masterpiece of their lives. Then in good Palahniuk fashion, everything goes horribly wrong and descends into self-mutilation and some good old-fashioned cannibalism. Now, if that were the novel, I would have hated it, and perhaps had to reconsider Chuck's highly-valued position as my favorite author, but that's not what makes up the novel.

What makes Haunted worth reading are the seemingly unrelated stories that each character tells. I loved reading those, and they make the ridiculous envelope plot tolerable, and they make Haunted a good book. After all, how can you call a book where the first story has been responsible for multiple faintings a bad book?

Oh, but one thing: Chuck Palahniuk is not a poet. The "poems" he uses to describe each character still sound like his fiction. Whatever editor let him leave those in, wasn't doing a very good job of things.

Book #7: Lullaby

I've already read Lullaby (by Chuck Palahniuk, for those poor unaware souls out there before) but after getting that package from chuck I decided I needed to read more than just one story, so I started reading Lullaby again.

I think Lullaby is my second favorite of Chuck's books. I think I pick favorites from his books based on the themes. I like the themes of religion in Survivor and I think that's what makes it my favorite, and the themes relating to the power of words in Lullaby are what draws me to that book.

Regardless, I'd forgotten how easy it is to read Chuck's books. I pick one up and it seems almost as soon as I've started, I'm done again. Perhaps I should read more of them here, as it seems so hard to get any pleasure reading done when I have so much to read for classes.

Buying Playboy for the Articles Redeux

Sometimes I manage to be a good student and I get things done by a reasonable time of evening. Then there are the nights when it's 11:33 p.m. and I haven't started to write a humanities paper that's due in less than twelve hours. This is one of those nights.

Still, I'm not feeling the stirrings of motivation.

Last night, in honor of my receiving that wonderful package from Chuck, I decided I would make a pilgrimage to Hitt Street Market to obtain the March issue of Playboy which includes Chuck Palahniuk's short story "Punch Drunk."

Of course, Katie was the necessary Catholic accomplice and Barry served as transportation. (How many people can claim they've purchased porn in the presence of their CA?) I was hoping, since we went about midnight, that Hitt street would be relatively deserted. This was not so much the case. There were a good five or ten people milling around. I want to say that I was completely shameless about this endeavor, but the truth is I think I was blushing before we'd even gotten inside Hitt Street.

I procrastinated by milling around and looking at pastry items before I finally got up the nerve to approach the magazine rack and pick up the magazine, tastefully wrapped in shrink wrap. Of course, Barry and Katie at this point continued to wander around Hitt Street at this point, adding to my embarrassment.

Purchasing was relatively painless until the cashier asked if I would like a bag, to which I sheepishly replied, "Yes, please," which caused Barry and Katie to burst out laughing which made me that much more embarrassed.

For some reason, I can talk about the dirtiest things you can think of and not bat an eyelash but actually having to purchase pornography, even if it's only Playboy, just makes me blush.

Since the roommate was sleeping by this time, I went to Barry's room with Katie to devour the story, while ignoring the rest of the magazine. However, Katie, being the curious Catholic that she is, insisted on looking at the rest of the magazine. Then Barry wanted to see it, which made for an awkward moment or two, but this is the price I pay for appreciating Chuck's work.

The story was good, but not one of my favorites. It was worth the five dollars and the embarrassment, regardless.

Why I Love Chuck Palahniuk

What was a hard, somewhat lonely Valentine's day has turned into one of the best in my memory, though admittedly this all occurred somewhat after the fact.

At some point today, Jessica told me there was a package slip in our mailbox with my name on it. However, since I wasn't expecting a package, I was in no hurry to run down and pick it up, so I figured I would just get it on the way back from dinner.

So, I go to pick up Mystery Package X and Alison, who was working at the desk at time jokingly remarks, "It's from Chuck Palahniuk." Only, I look down to the return address label to see that it is from Chuck Palahniuk. Of course, Alison thought is was a joke, since I had kept the fact that I had written him a letter in November rather quiet, as I felt like somewhat of a nerd.

Anyway, I brought the package upstairs and opened it to find a box filled with tinsel and the following things:
2 Unusually Shaped Erasers
1 Bouncy Ball
2 Miniature Snickers
1 Mini Whitman's Sampler
1 Package of Relighting Birthday Candles
1 Rubber Duck
1 Set of Mini Valentine's Stamps
1 Fake Vomit Novelty
1 Yellow Lamb Puppet (My Power Lamb, as it were)

And the two most important items:
A copy of Fight Club inscribed: "Relax and let the Lamb and Stones work for you," with a signed packet of sunflower seeds and a temporary tattoo stuck inside.
A handmade necklace with various semi-precious stones, as well as beads spelling out "To Kim Adams From Chucky P."

All of this was accompanied by a personalized letter, which explained the various healing properties of the stone in the necklace and included some encouragement. At the bottom of the letter was written, "Happy Valentine's Day."

In all truthfulness, I nearly cried. I know this is what Chuck does for everyone who writes him (or in this case everyone who wrote him during the month of November), but it still means a lot to know that even though there are thousands upon thousands of people who read his books and probably hundreds who write him letters, he will still devote the time to show them that they are appreciated.

I mean, I remember the first time I really fell in love with a book was when I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac, because I felt so sad at the time and that book seemed to illustrate for me that the world could be just as sad for someone else, that I wasn't alone.

However, reading Chuck's books, I got the same feeling, that there was someone else out there who understood the way I felt about things, but the difference between Kerouac's books and Chuck's, the difference that made Chuck my favorite author, is the way his books feel like a conversation. His books feel like sitting down to your closest friends telling you a story. They have that sort of intimacy. It's Chuck's books I want to share with the world, because even though they have their nihilistic, apocalyptic, atheistic moments, they're actually quite cozy reads. The stories are insane, the character more so, but the sentiment, the sentiment feels like home.

An Almost Cleansing

I was thinking to day that this week without my laptop could be considered a sort of fasting, a ridding of myself from technological influences. Well, I was thinking this until I remembered that I've been coming down to the computer lab in the basement once or twice a day. And I used Barry's computer last night to work on my bulletin board shrine to Chuck Palahniuk. So, I guess I will just have to accept that I will not be having any religious experiences and soon swear off computers. C'est la vie.

Yesterday was our celebration of Katie's birthday . We went to Fellini's, a small Albanian-Italian restaurant, and the to the screening of The Godfather, Katie's favorite movie, at the Missouri theater. I enjoyed the movie even more the second time through. Since I wasn't struggling just to understand who was who and what the plot was, I could just sit back and enjoy it. Afterwards we came back to Twain and played a nice long game of Texas Hold 'Em. I'm trying to get someone else as hooked on gambling (even if it's not for money) as I am. It was a good night, even if I spent about five times as much money as I can afford to be spending. But since I got to wear my sexy 5th Avenue New York shoes, I think it was worth it.

Still, in some ways this semester feels light years away from last semester. I still hang out with the same people. I have different classes, but I still have mostly the same little group in all of those classes. Regardless, I feel as if there has been a shift. Something's changed, just ever so slightly. It's not necessarily a negative shift, but I can't place it and that's disconcerting to me. However, I don't suppose I can change it if I don't know what it is.

Buying Playboy for the Articles, Part Deux

Well, for those of you who know my secret about buying Playboy for the articles, it looks like I'll be doing it again.

From The Cult:
Punch Drunk - Webber and Flint - Face pushed out of shape, lips split so deep that have four instead of two - travel the country in drag, charging people to slug them. More inspirational fiction by Chuck Palahniuk.

Don't worry. I don't have a clue what any of that means either, except that it seems I will be picking up the February issue of playboy which hits the stands January 7th.