"Six hundred dudes. One porn queen. A world record for the ages. A
must-have movie for every discerning collector of things erotic.
Didn't one of us on purpose set out to make a snuff movie." Cribbed
from the back-jacket.
My official review is in the Winnipeg Free Press (see the Reading
Chuck Palahniuk group archives) but there are a few other things to
say about SNUFF.
It is told from the perspective of five people.
Mr. 600, a veteran of the adult entertainment industry with his own
line of software and hardware.
Mr. 72, a young man who brings roses.
Mr. 137, who brings Mr. Toto, a stuffed autograph hound.
Sheila, the dude wrangler, who is familiar with the writings of
Andrew Dworkin, Naomi Wolf, Ariel Levy and tells about the real
life biography of Annabel Chong. I read Levy's book, Female
Chauvinist Pig after I finished the novel - worth the read. My
review is posted.
Although the premise touts the phrase "a must-have movie for every
discerning collector of things erotic" you'll find nothing erotic
about Palahniuk's book. It's up there with Rant and Haunted in some
parts. There's nothing particularly sexy-erotic about dudes in
boxer shorts with oodles of bronze toner and oil dripping onto the
floor eating BBQ potato chips and drinking beer. This is the
backdrop for most of the novel, dudes eating junk food waiting for
their number to be called. Cassie Wright, the star, is waiting
through the white light of the door from which no one seems to
return from. The wrangler Sheila jokes that it is an elaborate scam
to score men's clothes. While it isn't sexy-erotic the novel is
erotic, in the sense of "writing the body." Palahniuk is good a
writing the body, a phrase adopted from Tom Spanbauer. As I
understand it, it means bringing the body into the narrative to
evoke a feeling in the reader. A gut punch, a belly laugh, a
cerebral hemorrhage.
Aside from the from the greasy men primping and preening for their
world historic appearance, we are regaled throughout the novel with
Cassie Wright's filmography: To Drill a Mockingbird, The Twilight
Bone, Gropes of Wrath, Much Ado about Humping, The Handmaid's Tail,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nuts . . . it gets worse.
The tension: Mr. 600 is planning something. We don't know what. Mr.
137 is a washed up actor. Mr. 72 claims to be Cassie Wright's son
and has come to rescue her, wilted roses and all.
The novel is retains some of the elements of the oral history of
Rant, a powerful stylistic device that really jettisons the reader
along. Each of the chapters is told from the perspective of one of
the five characters. That works fairly well and is often hilarious
because it allows the author to show how people see one another
quite differently than expected.
Where it comes short: the voices in Snuff are too similar. This is
an ongoing problem in Palahniuk's writing, especially since he's
been moving toward multiple first person perspectives. Mr. 600
talks like Mr. 72 who talks like Mr. 137 . . . Palahniuk's writing
style doesn't change. However, this is one for the fans. I don't
think this novel will suffer an increase in readership. It will
probably be reviewed fairly negatively. Given the plot there will
likely be a strong gut reaction against it. It is handled . . . yes
. . . in the way that one would expect Palahniuk to handle it. Up
front. Everything gross is put on display for the reader.
Transgressions will be made. Stories will go on as long as they
have to.
I read this novel with interest . . . but I'm kind of hoping he
gets the desire to shock and transgress out of his system. I like
that he's moving into the realm of multiple-perspectives, it's a
lot of fun to read, but he needs to be careful with voice. The
smart gal shouldn't be written with the same intonation and style
as the stoned dude.
Politics and theme: all of the trademarks are here. Losing hope,
telling stories, transgression, living with your fear, breaking
things to make things . . . the persistence of these themes in
Palahniuk's writing is remarkable and if you like their
inter-textuality you'll enjoy Snuff.