It all started in high school journalism class. Everyone, it seemed, got into Chuck Palahniuk at once, and a flurry of book exchanges and lunchtime discussions soon became a constant interruption to our newspaper goings-on. I suppose it could have just been ‘that age’ where sixteen-year-olds all of a sudden discover that Fight Club (“the coolest movie ever!” thought all of our sixteen-year-old selves) was a book before it ever was a movie. This meant, we soon realized, that there were more stories like it out there, all spawned from the freaked-out, twisted-up mind of its sharp-tongued creator, Palahniuk.
After
Fight Club, I read Invisible Monsters, which my friend Nova has called the ‘girl version of Fight Club’. I’m not sure I agree; it is, however, my favorite book by him.
Lullaby didn’t really do it for me, and
Choke – well, Choke was Choke. I’m generally not one to shy away from a book because it’s too graphic, but… well it was a lot. There were lots of things about it that I liked – but it’s not my favorite.
Lately, I checked out
Diary from the library after finding my way to the section in Snell with Palahniuk. It ended up being a choice between that or
Rant, which Palahniuk claims as an ‘oral biography’. Whatever it was, it didn’t read very interesting in the first few pages.
Diary, however, did not disappoint when it came to interest-piquing, Palahniuk-characteristic, body-fluid filled fiction. His propensity for the simultaneously fantastically revolting combined with the intense human yearning and drama of his characters, all topped with a flagrant disregard for the conventions of either realism, science-fiction, or fantasy, make for an at once gripping and horrifying story.
The novel is about a woman named Misty – pathetic, used, unloved – whose husband just died, and whose island home of Waytansea Island (when she was brought there by her husband, it was a quaint, picturesque Cape Cod-like community of serenity) has become degraded, poor, and forced to open itself out to the ravages of tourism. When Misty begins to paint again after years of stopping, her paintings have an almost hypnotically-powerful force. When she finds a years old diary of a young woman whose life seems oddly to echo her own, it becomes clear that the island and the townspeople have plans for her that she may be powerless to overcome.
Sometimes funny, sometimes touching, sometimes macabre, pathetic, pessimistic and at times downright nauseating, Diary is a story of the most absolute of failure – betrayal, resentment, deception, murder, evil, weakness – in all its unsavory glory, and the voice of Palahniuk – unflinching and unrelenting – documents it all, with mind firmly in the gutter, and tongue firmly wedged in cheek.
Last year, on an absolutely crazy whim, I decided to get Wilderness First Aid certified. My roommate, in her last year of college, was trying to figure out what she wanted to do as a career once she was of free class-taking and homework-doing. We all started toying with the idea of her being the perfect Adventure Travel leader – she was extremely active, friendly and outdoorsy. Many of the programs we found, however, required that the candidate be certified in Wilderness First Aid.
I decided to come along for the ride.
The thing is that I had never even really been camping, if you want to know the truth. I mean, really. I’ve been to cabins and I’ve slept in tents, but the tents were never really in the wilderness and … I mean, cabins? Even I feel like that’s a bit of a cop-out.
It was very intimidating, then, for me to come to this little weekend getaway with all of these intense youth-leader outdoorsy types (this class was specifically for people who lead youth groups… they gave us an exception but were nonetheless confused by our presence) who had been hiking and camping and otherwise frolicking about in the outdoors for years on end – and were in fact even in charge of the outdoor frolickings of other!
So when things turned out perfectly fantastic, when I ended up learning a lot, getting to talk to really interesting and awesome people, and developing a new appreciation and thirst for outdoor adventure, I was pleasantly surprised. Imagine how much more delighted I was when I had this fantastic chat about books with our Wilderness First Aid certifier, who turned out to also be a high school English teacher.
His favorite book, he told me, was Mount Analogue, a allegorical story about mountain climbers. I thought it was pretty endearing that he managed to combine his two – at first glance uncombine-able – loves, and eager to experience the combination of one of my tried and true favorites with a new interest, I vowed to seek it out.
It took me a while to find it because I kept spelling it ‘Analog’ and cursing at Google when nothing would come up. But I finally discovered that it’s an unfinished novel by French surrealist Rene Daumal. Immediately, I did as any good little, well-trained Northeastern student would do – I NUCAT-ed it. Alas! It wasn’t to be found! Nor was it at the BPL in Copley – the search for this book was becoming ironically similar to the fruitless search of the men in the story.
Luckily, Emily helped me discover the 