Oh awful. I mean, seriously God-awful. Actually quite startlingly bad.

I’ve read quite a few Chuck Palahniuk and even the ones that weren’t brilliant were still really enjoyable reads. Up until this book, I’d have said I couldn’t not enjoy a Chuck Palahniuk novel because I love his narrative voice so much. WRONG.

This isn’t a book that isn’t tight, or loses focus, or doesn’t quite work. This book is awful. It would never have been published had it not been handed in by someone whose name already sells.

Also, as if the sheer absence of anything to recommend it wasn’t enough, the only memorable incident in the book is a violent rape of a teenage boy near the opening of the story, in which the victim later proceeds to fall in love with his rapist. Seriously. What. The. Fuck?! This isn’t shocking. It’s lazy, really quite astoundingly lazy. Fuck off Chuck.

MMMMIIIIISSSSSSSS!