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Fight Club
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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.
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.
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Greg
(last edited Aug 25, 2016 11:05AM)
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May 11, 2007 06:18AM

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I enjoyed Fight Club, and also agree with your review. This novel is why I won't order soup in Portland, Oregon.




In response to Siobhan - My opinion on Palahniuk's novel is just precisely that : (a) an opinion, and (b) mine. I don't question the intelligence or the relevance of the novel - where in my review did I say it wasn't a good book? - but I do fundamentally disagree with its message.
I live in the same alienated, techno-centric, me-generation world as you, the one Palahniuk's characters inhabit and dream of destroying while letting themselves be destroyed by it. I suppose the difference is that I see this world-view as a dangerous mask fiction puts on to perpetuate isolation and self-loathing in the culture outside the book, like videogames that desensitize people to the violence they are required to commit against bodies (human, animal, ideological) in order to get ahead. The very best literature, in my opinion, is that which challenges the reader's assumptions about the world while still offering something that enriches human experience - not something that impoverishes or degrades it. I reject Palahniuk's conclusion that the Fight Club mentality is all there is. That is the gist of my review here. It is a weak mind that insists on having total agreement - if nothing else, Fight Club should have taught you that. In no way does my disagreement with either the novel or its fans mark me as "lack[ing] the knowledge to grasp anything" about anything. And, for the record, I am a literature *professor* with a complete brain.

Excellent review.




Even if we still take the author's intention to be didactic, would it not still be very enjoyable to read the book? I enjoy the way the story is put together in the film, the way themes and philosophical phrases are repeated in different contexts, often in ways which expose a great irony, or show something to be multifaceted when you before thought you had it all figured out. The review strikes me as being an accurate analysis of the core beliefs, but hasn't convinced me that I shouldn't still read the book, for the reasons I have outlined.


The violence is the uniting fact that is missing in the men's lives. It's not sociopathy, it's not a bunch of idiots trying to kill each other. I think you really missed a huge part of the book there. Palahniuk is telling a story of how a group of men, dissatisfied and even disgusted with what society has labeled a healthy life, come to find meaning, fulfillment and brotherhood in tapping into the primal, biological instincts that live deep within men.
Women don't understand this at all, and it's sexist. The deepest biological instincts within women are childbearing and nurturing. This is evident and "normal" throughout nature. Men, on the other hand, are programmed to defend, compete and reproduce, yet society looks at all of this things as disgusting even though it's hardwired into our brains.
This book is that anger and resentment voiced, and even though you read the words I think you missed nearly all of the points of the book.

I agree with you. Everything that makes us angry with Palahniuk's story is exactly what he wanted us to be angry with. I think that he wanted us to recognize our own despair at our disability to truly change a society that stagnates in his own filth. And I loved it from beginning to end.

You give Palahniuk far too much credit. ;)






I've lost count of the stupid, banal testosterone-fuelled inanities I'm forced to listen to the moment someone screams "the first rule of the Fight Club is?...". Usually some ode to unrestrained "true" masculinity sitting completely inside the US American male box.
Duh.


You're right about most people not getting things, though.

And given the rest of Palahniuk's books I'm still absolutely not convinced your interpretation of what he wanted is more to the point than ruzmari's or mine.


I agree with your comment. You explained it much better than me. :)

I disagree there ;)
An author's intent may be of some value to the author, but his work gets judged by what the READERS take away from it. And in Palahniuk's and especially "The Fight Club's" case this is stereotypically the aggressive US-American masculinity ideals in the square.
And again, if I look--at all--at something like "author intent" I also look at an author's other books. And these do not give me the notion that Palahniuk wanted to do anything but what he actually achieved with "Fight Club". Pretty much the reverse of what you maintain he wanted. Nor are his books becoming less juvenile as he ages, on the contrary.
But if you see the Emperor in clothes there's nothing but state that to me he is naked, and that's just that ;)



Good review btw, even if I gave the book four stars rather than two.





Great comment.


This wasn't a book that any woman was really supposed to get. You really, really have to be a man to understand what this book is all about. The first time I read it I understood it completely, the book was talking about issues I had never even seeen mentioned in other books. It is an important work and your casual flippance of it as "guy crap" shows your disdain is more than likely for the masculinity of the book rather than its quality or content.