Monday, May 23, 2005

A "Dear John" Fan Letter

Dear Chuck Palahniuk,

I don't want you to take this as a personal attack. Think of it more along the lines of an intervention; we all love you very much, and this is for your own good.

I recently spent twenty-four dollars and ninety-five cents of my hard earned money on your most recent "novel," Haunted. Being that it said "a novel" right there on the cover, I was pretty much expecting a story, probably divided into chapters for ease of reference and bathroom breaks, but nonetheless a cohesive whole.

Twenty-four short stories and a bunch of craptastic poems does not a novel make, Chuck. It makes a literary magazine. And that is a path I do not wish to tread ever again in my life.

Now, Chuck, I know you have your detractors and I just want to let you know that I'm not jumping on the hate-on-the-Fight-Club-guy bandwagon. I'll go out on a limb here and say that, once, I loved you. I did. Three chapters into Choke and I fell head over heels. Reading your books made me feel like the only third-grade girl in a group of boys, proving her mettle by poking the dead bird under the monkey bars with a stick. I loved the fact that I loved you and could never recommend you to my mother.

It was more than just your dark side, though. There was something true underneath it, Chuck, there was a real humanity to your work that made all the shit and the sex and the puking and the punching and the impacted bowels worth it.

What happened? What happened to you that made you write Haunted? Did you have a stroke? Did you dictate this "novel" to someone through an elaborate system of blinks and head bobs? Did it get screwed up in the translation? Did you throw darts at frames in a John Waters movie for inspiration? Did you use only a dirty magnetic poetry kit to write this piece of shit?

This book took away that great tomboy-with-the-big-kids feel, and replaced it with a stuck-in-a-lab-group-with-the-two-weirdos sentiment. Haunted was two-hundred some odd pages of choosing between watching one kid eat his boogers, and the other make pictures out of his dandruff.

It's not a good feeling, Chuck. It's not good.

Sincerely,
Katharine M. Cacace

2 Comments:

Blogger Kunaxa said...

There you go!

Letting him have some CAC in his ACE.

Go on with your bad self K ... I ain't hatin', No I ain't.

5:06 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

that's really gross. for real. stop it.

10:27 PM  

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