Chuch Palahniuk is the worst author. Fight Club was decent because it was coherent and had a cool premise, but I (regrettably) read several other books of his a few summers ago searching for what made him so popular. Book after book was just sloppily sewn together shit. I get that it’s supposed to be a sort of wry commentary on something or other, but the experience is such an awkward combination of tedious and flashy that any substance is completely lost. It’s like being shown a collection of Andy Warhol paintings and you think, “Okay, I get it,” only then to be told that you’re not allowed to leave the exhibit until you’ve stared at the collection for over 5 hours. It can’t even be considered pulp fiction - pulp may be less articulate, but at least it’s entertaining by definition.

I like to think that he knows his work is a hollow gimmick, and has made a game out of seeing how bad a book of his has to be before 16 year old pseudo-intellectuals will refuse to buy it.