Saturday, March 13, 2004
Read Chuck Palahniuk's Guts in The Guardian.
Palahniuk always leaves me feeling torn between despair of his macho posturing and appreciation of his writing abilities and the voice in his texts.
The Guardian asks if it is 'the most gruesome short story ever published', and I hope not, since then the history of gruesome short stories would be rather sad. It is appaling, for me anyway, as I believe that people's intestines ideally should remain happily ensconced in people's bodies, but I never once considered fainting, vomiting or, indeed, to stop reading altogether. It is actually a very funny story. But then again, I am a woman, not in possession of a, uhm, member, and perhaps therefore not nearly as squeamish with regards to these particular parts as men.
Does Chuck Palahniuk revel in the bruhaha? - Or, as The Guardian calls it; 'the literary salon as drive-by-shooting'?
He says, that he has not primarily set out to shock, but I think, that he enjoys the controversy and the infamy. Why else would he count casualities (fainting, leaving) at his public readings?
For all of his alpha male vernacular there is also a great sensitivity in Palahniuk, that can as well be found in Kerouac and all the way back to Thoreau, which I find interesting although difficult to relate to. And Guts is disgusting, but also in possession of a sweetness that makes it impossible for it to be as repulsive as The Guardian claims it is.
Palahniuk always leaves me feeling torn between despair of his macho posturing and appreciation of his writing abilities and the voice in his texts.
The Guardian asks if it is 'the most gruesome short story ever published', and I hope not, since then the history of gruesome short stories would be rather sad. It is appaling, for me anyway, as I believe that people's intestines ideally should remain happily ensconced in people's bodies, but I never once considered fainting, vomiting or, indeed, to stop reading altogether. It is actually a very funny story. But then again, I am a woman, not in possession of a, uhm, member, and perhaps therefore not nearly as squeamish with regards to these particular parts as men.
Does Chuck Palahniuk revel in the bruhaha? - Or, as The Guardian calls it; 'the literary salon as drive-by-shooting'?
He says, that he has not primarily set out to shock, but I think, that he enjoys the controversy and the infamy. Why else would he count casualities (fainting, leaving) at his public readings?
For all of his alpha male vernacular there is also a great sensitivity in Palahniuk, that can as well be found in Kerouac and all the way back to Thoreau, which I find interesting although difficult to relate to. And Guts is disgusting, but also in possession of a sweetness that makes it impossible for it to be as repulsive as The Guardian claims it is.
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