Snuff

( 225 )

Overview

“Six hundred dudes. One porn queen. A world record for the ages. A must-have movie for every discerning collector of things erotic.”

Cassie Wright, porn priestess, intends to cap her legendary career by breaking the world record for serial fornication. On camera. With six hundred men. Snuff unfolds from the perspectives of Mr. 72, Mr. 137, and Mr. 600, who await their turn on camera in a very crowded green room. This wild, lethally funny, and thoroughly researched novel brings the huge yet underacknowledged ...

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Snuff

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Overview

“Six hundred dudes. One porn queen. A world record for the ages. A must-have movie for every discerning collector of things erotic.”

Cassie Wright, porn priestess, intends to cap her legendary career by breaking the world record for serial fornication. On camera. With six hundred men. Snuff unfolds from the perspectives of Mr. 72, Mr. 137, and Mr. 600, who await their turn on camera in a very crowded green room. This wild, lethally funny, and thoroughly researched novel brings the huge yet underacknowledged presence of pornography in contemporary life into the realm of literary fiction at last. Who else but Chuck Palahniuk would dare do such a thing? Who else could do it so well, so unflinchingly, and with such an incendiary (you might say) climax?

From the Hardcover edition.

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Editorial Reviews

Lily Burana
If his sentences are occasionally rough-hewn and his endings a bit too fantastical, so be it. No other contemporary writer makes raging against the machine so compulsively readable…To the last page, Snuff is a moralistic work, but not in the way of tedious, partisan bickering about the dangers of porn. Snuff is, instead, a meditation on immortality, ambition, the lure of risk, the need for stability and, ultimately, on leaving a legacy. The question isn't why Palahniuk would take on such an off-putting subject, but rather, what took him so long. Chuck and porn. Porn and Chuck—the two go together like fists and brass knuckles, moth and flame: a fatalistic coupling that happens to be, also, a perfect match.
—The Washington Post
Publishers Weekly

Palahniuk's audacious ninth novel tells the story of Cassie Wright, an aging porn queen who intends to put an exclamation point on her career by having sex with 600 men in one day on film. The story begins with Mr. 600-the pornosaur who introduced Cassie to the business-as he describes the other 599 "actors" awaiting their moment on screen. The perspective then shifts to Mr. 72, an adopted Midwestern 20-something who is one of the many young men claiming to be Cassie's long-lost son. Mr. 137, a has-been television star hoping to revive his career, wants to ask Cassie's hand in marriage so that the two can star in a reality TV show. But for a novel centered around a gargantuan gangbang, there's surprisingly little action; the small amount of narrative movement takes place backstage, where the characters attempt to get a sense of one another while waiting for their number to be called. There are sharp moments when Palahniuk compassionately and candidly examines the flesh-on-film industry, but mostly this reads like a cross between the Spice Channel and Days of Our Lives. (May)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Library Journal

Six hundred men in undershorts, gooey with bronzer and barbecue-chip residue, wait for a tumble with an aging porn actress attempting to set the record for the greatest number of sex acts in a single film-a film she may not survive. Only Palahniuk (Rant) would devise this off-putting premise; only he, too, could manage to build it into an entertaining and suspenseful dark comedy. The story is told from the perspectives of Mr. 72, Mr. 137, Mr. 600, and the female event coordinator, all of whom have hidden agendas and secret ties to the performer upstairs. Don't expect titillation here: every detail underlines the degradations of sexual obsession and the pornography industry. But this quick read brims with fascinating trivia about the film industry's dirty secrets-e.g., the dangers some entertainers are willing to risk for fame. Snuffisn't for everyone, perhaps also not for every library, but readers who can stomach its subject matter will find striking characters, sharp parody, and a tight plot. The ending, with its raunchy Shakespearean twist, stretches believability but makes its symbolic point. Highly recommended for mature readers; expect high demand from Palahniuk fans. [See Prepub Alert, LJ1/08.]
—Neil Hollands

Kirkus Reviews
The notorious novelist's excursion into the world of porn might well be his most moralistic work to date. After reading the latest from Palahniuk (Rant, 2007, etc.), it might be difficult for anyone to become aroused from watching pornography or find any redeeming social value in it. The plot concerns an attempt by an aged porn queen, 20 years past her popular prime, to set a world record for most sexual partners in a single film. Like Rant, this novel is written from multiple narrative perspectives. At the beginning, the men who have enlisted to service Cassie Wright have numbers rather than names, though each of the narrators reveals some surprises about themselves and their relationship with (and attraction to) the actress. Mr. 600 is a veteran contemporary of Ms. Wright, perhaps reuniting for old time's sake. Mr. 137 is a recognized actor who lost his TV series under scandalous circumstances. Mr. 72, a hopeless romantic who brings flowers to the shoot, is young enough to be Cassie's son. Mediating among the trans-generational cast is the fourth narrator, Shelia, who has forged a bond with the actress and serves as the "wrangler" on the shoot. Beyond the usual associations of sex and death, the novel takes its title from the suspicion that no woman could survive such an exhaustive sexual grind. In fact, committing sexual suicide might well be Cassie's goal, though her perspective is generally missing from the novel. Real-time sex is mostly missing as well, with the men spending plenty of time watching her greatest hits from decades past on monitors, awaiting their turn. Bodies and their functions throughout the novel are grotesque rather than titillating, though the author has greatsport inventing porn-film titles (To Drill a Mockingbird, Chitty Chitty Gang Bang). The sordidness might appeal to the Palahniuk's cult following, but it won't extend it.
From the Publisher
"Palahniuk compassionately and candidly examines the flesh-on-film industry." —-Publishers Weekly
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385517881
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 5/20/2008
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 729,481
  • Product dimensions: 5.70 (w) x 8.30 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Chuck Palahniuk
Chuck Palahniuk is the bestselling author of seven novels: Haunted, Lullaby, Fight Club – which was made into a film by director David Fincher – Diary, Survivor, Invisible Monsters, and Choke. He is also the author of the nonfiction profile of Portland, Oregon, Fugitives and Refugees, published as part of the Crown Journeys series, and the nonfiction collection Stranger Than Fiction. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.

From the Hardcover edition.

Biography

Readers of Chuck Palahniuk's novels must gird themselves for the bizarre, the violent, the macabre, and the just plain disturbing. Having done that, they can then just enjoy the ride.

The story goes that Palahniuk wrote Fight Club out of frustration. Believing that his first submission to publishers (an early version of Invisible Monsters) was being rejected as too risky, he decided to take the gloves off, so to speak, and wrote something he never expected to see the light of day. Ironically, Fight Club was accepted for publication, and its subsequent filming by directory David Fincher earned the author an obsessive cult following.

The apocalyptic, blackly humorous story of a loner's entanglement with a charismatic but dangerous underground leader, Fight Club was the first in a series of controversial fiction that would keep Palahniuk in the spotlight. Since then, he has crafted strange, disturbing tales around unlikely subjects: a disfigured model bent on revenge (the revised Invisible Monsters) ... the last surviving member of a death cult (Survivor) ... a sex addict who resorts to a bizarre restaurant scam to pay the bills (Choke) ... a lethal African nursery rhyme (Lullaby) ... and so the list continues.

Although Palahniuk makes occasional forays into nonfiction, (e.g., Fugitives and Refugees and Stranger than Fiction), it is his novels that generate the most buzz. His outré plots and jump-cut storytelling are definitely not for everyone—some have likened them to the horrible accident you can't tear your eyes away from—but even critics can't help but be impressed by his flair for language, his talent for satire, and his sheer originality. Newsday wrote, "Palahniuk is one of the freshest, most intriguing voices to appear in a long time. He rearranges Vonnegut's sly humor, DeLillo's mordant social analysis, and Pynchon's antic surrealism (or is it R. Crumb's?) into a gleaming puzzle palace all his own."

Palahniuk has said that he has heard a lot from readers who were never readers before they saw his books, from boys in schools where his books are banned. This might be the best evidence that Palahniuk is a writer for a new age, introducing a (mostly male) audience to worlds on the page that usually only exist in technicolor nightmares.

Good To Know

Palahniuk (pronounced paul-a-nik) worked as a diesel mechanic for a trucking company before he became an author, jotting story notes for The Fight Club under trucks he was supposed to be working on.

Palahniuk's family has had a sad history of violence: His grandfather killed his grandmother and then committed suicide; later in life, his divorced father was murdered in 1999 by a girlfriend's ex-husband. The killer was convicted and sentenced to death in October, 2001. Palahniuk's book, Choke, was driven by an attempt to look at how sexual compulsion can destroy (see essay below for more).

When not working on his novels, Palahniuk has written features for Gear magazine, through which he befriended shock rocker Marilyn Manson; and is reportedly working on a script of the Katie Arnoldi novel Chemical Pink for Fight Club director David Fincher.

While writing, Palahniuk has said he listens to Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, and Radiohead.

To a reader who asked in a Barnes & Noble.com chat why the novel Invisible Monsters was not released in hardcover, Palahniuk responded: "My original request was not to have any of my books released as hardcovers b/c I felt guilty asking for over $20 for anything I had done. With Invisible Monsters I finally got my way."

Invisible Monsters was inspired by fashion magazines Palahniuk was reading at his laundromat, according to an interview with The Village Voice. "I love the language of fashion magazines. Eighteen adjectives and you find the word sweater at the end. 'Ethereal. Sacred.' I thought, Wouldn't it be fun to write a novel in this fashion magazine language, so packed with hyperbole?"

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    1. Also Known As:
      Charles M. Palahniuk
    2. Hometown:
      Portland, Oregon
    1. Date of Birth:
      February 21, 1962
    2. Place of Birth:
      Pasco, Washington
    1. Education:
      B.A. in journalism, University of Oregon, 1986
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

1
Mr. 600

One dude stood all afternoon at the buffet wearing just his boxers, licking the orange dust off barbecued potato chips. Next to him, a dude was scooping into the onion dip and licking the dip off the chip. The same soggy chip, scoop after scoop. Dudes have a million ways of peeing on what they claim as just their own.

For craft services, we're talking two folding tables piled with open bags of store–brand corn chips and canned sodas. Dudes getting called back to do their bit—the wrangler announces their numbers, and these performers stroll back for their money shot still chewing a mouthful of caramel corn, their fingers burning with garlic salt and sticky with the frosting from maple bars.

Some one–shot dudes, they're just here to say they were. Us veterans, we're here for the face time and to do Cassie a favor. Help her one more dick toward that world record. To witness history.

On the buffet, they got laid out Tupperwares full of condoms next to Tupperwares of mini-pretzels. Fun-sized candy bars. Honey-roasted peanuts. On the floor, plastic wrappers from candy bars and condoms, bit and chewed open. The same hands scooping M&M's as reaching into the fly and elastic waistband of boxers to stroke their half-hard dicks. Candy-colored fingers. Tangy ranch-flavored erections.

Peanut breath. Root-beer breath. Barbecued-potato-chip breath getting panted into Cassie's face.

Tweakers scratching their arms bright red. High-school virgins wanting to lose it on camera. This one kid, Mr. 72, is looking to get deflowered and into history in the same shot.

Skinny dudes keeping their T-shirts on, shirts older than some other performers here, sent out for the launch of Sex with the City a lifetime ago. Fan-club shirts from back when Cassie was starring in Lust Horizons. T-shirts older than Mr. 72, silk-screened before he was born.

Loud dudes talk on cell phones, talking stock options and ground-floor opportunities at the same time they pinch and milk their foreskins. All the performers, the wrangler Magic Marker–ed their biceps with a number between one and six hundred. Their haircuts, a monument to gel and patience. Tans and fogs of cologne.

The room full of metal folding chairs. To set the mood, dog-eared skin magazines.

The talent wrangler is some babe, Sheila, with a clipboard, yelling for number 16, number 31, and number 211 to follow her up the stairway to the set.

Dudes wearing tennis shoes. Top-Siders. Bikini briefs. Wingtips with navy-blue calf-high socks held up with those old-time garters. Beach flip-flops still coated with sand, every step gritty with it.

That old joke: The way to get a babe to act in a blue movie is you offer her a million dollars. The way to get a dude is you just have to ask him…That's not actually a joke. Not like a ha-ha joke.

Except maybe us industry regulars, most of these nobodies saw the ad that ran in the back of Adult Video News. An open casting call. A hard-on and a doctor's release to show you're clean, that was the audition. That, and nobody's shooting kiddie porn, so you had to be eighteen.

We got shaved pecs and waxed pubes standing in line with a Downs-syndrome softball team.

Asian, black, and spic dudes. A wheelchair dude. Something for every market segment.

The kid, dude 72, he's holding a bouquet of white roses starting to curl, droop, the petals slack and starting to brown. The kid's holding out one hand, words written on the back in blue ballpoint pen. Looking at them, the kid goes, "I don't want anything, but I've always loved you…"

Other dudes carry around wrapped boxes fluffy with bows and trailing ribbons, boxes small enough to fit in one hand, almost hidden inside their fingers.

The veteran talent wear satin bathrobes, prizefighter robes tied with a sash, while they wait their call. Professional woodsmen. Half them even dated Cassie, talked marriage, becoming the Lunts, the Desi and Lucy of adult entertainment.

Wasn't a performer at that shoot who didn't love Cassie Wright and want to help her make history.

Other dudes ain't dicked anything but their hand, watching nothing but Cassie Wright videos. To them, it's a kind-of fidelity. A marriage. These dudes, clutching their little gifts, for them today is their kind-of honeymoon. Consummation.

Today, her last performance. The opposite of a maiden voyage. Up those stairs, to anybody after the fiftieth dude, Cassie Wright will look like a missile crater greased with Vaseline. Flesh and blood, but like something's exploded inside her.

To look at us, you'd never guess we were making history. The record to end all records.

The talent wrangler comes around, calling out, "Gentlemen." The Sheila babe pushes the glasses up her nose and goes, "When I call you, you'll need to be camera-ready."

By that she means fully erect. Condom-ready.

The closest thing that comes to how the day felt is when you wipe back to front. You're on the toilet. You're not thinking, and you smear shit on the back of your hanging-down wrinkled ball skin. The more you try to wipe it clean, the skin stretches and the mess keeps getting bigger. The thin layer of shit spreads into the hair and down your thighs. That's how a day like this, how it feels to keep secret.

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.

2
Mr. 72

It was a lamebrainplan, bringing roses. I don't know. The first step inside the door, they give you a brown paper shopping bag with a number written on the side, some number between one and six hundred. They say, "Put your clothes in here, kid." And they give you a wood clothespin with the same number in black pen. They say, "Clip it to your shorts. Don't lose it or you won't get your stuff back." The crew girl, she wears a stopwatch on a cord, hanging on her chest where her heart would be.

Taped to the wall behind the table where you undress, they got a sign done in the same black pen, on brown paper; it says how the production company isn't responsible for anybody's valuables.

Another sign they got says "No Masks Allowed."

Some bags, guys put their shoes in with a sock balled inside each. Their belt coiled tight and nested in one shoe. Their pants folded, the creases matched, and laid on top the shoes. Their shirts tucked under their chin while they match up the arms and fold the collar and tails so as to make the least wrinkles. Their undershirt, folded. Their necktie rolled and tucked in a pocket of their suit jacket. Guys with good clothes.

Other guys pull off their jeans or sweatpants, balled up, inside out. Their T-shirts or sweatshirts. They peel off their damp underwear, and stuff it into the bags, then on top they drop their stinking tennis shoes.

After you undress, the stopwatch girl takes your bag of clothes and puts it on the floor, against the concrete wall.

Everybody, they're standing around in their shorts, juggling their wallets and car keys, cell phones, and whatnot.

Me bringing a bouquet of roses, wilting and all, more junk to juggle, it was just plain stupid.

Getting undressed, I was unbuttoning my shirt, and the stopwatch girl giving out paper bags, she points at my chest and says, "You planning to wear that on camera?"

She's holding a bag marked with the number "72." The clothespin clipped to one paper handle. My number. The stopwatch girl points her gun finger at my chest, and she says, "That."
Tucking my chin, I look down until it hurts, but all I can see is my crucifix on the gold chain around my neck.

I ask if that's a problem. A crucifix.

And the girl reaches out with the clothespin, squeezing it open. She jabs to pinch it on my nipple, but I pull back. She says, "We've been doing this a long time." She says, "We know to look out for you Bible thumpers." From her face, she could be a high-schooler, about my age.

The stopwatch girl says how the actress Candy Apples, when she set her record with 721 sex acts, they used the same group of fifty men for the entire production. That was in 1996, and Candy only stopped because the LAPD raided the studio and shut down the production.

She says, "True fact."

When Annabel Chong set her early record, the stopwatch girl says, performing 251 sex acts, even with eighty men showing up for the cattle call, some 66 percent of them couldn't get their dicks hard enough to do their job.

That same year, 1996, Jasmin St. Claire broke Chong's record with three hundred sex acts in a single shoot. Spantaneeus Xtasy broke the record with 551. In the year 2000, the actress Sabrina Johnson took on two thousand men, fucking until she hurt so bad the crew had to pack ice between her legs as she sucked off the remainder of the cast. After her royalty checks started to bounce, Johnson went public with the news that her record was bogus. At most, she'd done five hundred sex acts, and instead of two thousand men, only thirty-nine had answered the casting call.

The stopwatch girl points at the crucifix, saying, "Don't try to save anybody's soul here."

The next guy down the table, he pulls off a black T-shirt, his head and arms and chest the same even suntan brown. A ring shines gold, hanging from one nipple. His chest hair lies flat, every hair cropped down to the same stubble size. Looking at me, he says, "Hey, buddy…" He says, "Don't save her soul before they call me for my close-up, okay?" And he winks big enough to wrinkle half his face around one eye. His eyelashes big enough to fan a breeze.

Up close, he's smoothed a layer of pink all over his forehead and cheeks. Three colors of brown powder around his eyes, folded into the little wrinkles there. Clamped under one arm, between his elbow and tanned ribs, the guy holds a wad of white, maybe more clothes.

On the other side of the table, the stopwatch girl turns her head to look both ways. She stuffs a hand into one front pocket of her blue jeans, asking me, "Hey, preacher, you want to buy some insurance?" The girl fishes out a little bottle, big around as a test tube, but shorter. She shakes the bottle to rattle some blue pills inside. "Ten bucks each," she says, and shakes the blue pills next to her face. "Don't you be part of that sixty-six percent."

The guy wearing makeup, the stopwatch girl hands him a bag numbered "137," saying, "You want the teddy bear should go in your bag?"

She nods toward the white bundle under the guy's elbow.

Guy 137 whips the wad of white clothing from under his arm, saying, "Mr. Toto is nothing so pedestrian as a teddy bear_._._." He says, "Mr. Toto is an autograph hound." He kisses it, saying, "You wouldn't believe how old."

The stuffed animal is sewed out of white canvas, a long wiener-dog body with, sticking down, four stubby white canvas legs. Stitched on the top, a dog head with black button eyes and floppy canvas ears. Crabbed all over the white canvas is writing, blue, black, and red pen handwriting. Some loopy letters, some block letters. Some with dates. Numbers. A day, month, and year. Where the guy kissed it, the dog's smeared red with lipstick.

He holds the dog in the crook of one arm, the way they'd hold a baby. With his other hand, the guy points out writing. Signatures. Autographs. Carol Channing, he shows us. Bette Midler. Debbie Reynolds. Carole Baker. Tina Turner.

"Mr. Toto," he says, "is older than I myself would ever admit to being."

Still holding the bottle of blue pills, the stopwatch girl says, "You want Miss Wright should autograph your dog?"

Cassie Wright, the guy tells us, is his all-time favorite adult star. Her level of craft soars above her peers.

Guy 137, he says how Cassie Wright spent six months shadowing an endocrinologist, learning his duties, studying his demeanor and body language, before playing a doctor in the groundbreaking adult feature Emergency Room Back Door Dog Pile. Cassie Wright spent six months of research, writing to survivors and studying court documents, before she set foot on the set for the adult mega-epic Titanic Back Door Dog Pile. In her single line of dialogue, the moment Cassie Wright says, "This boat's not the only lady going down, tonight…" her west-country Irish accent is dead-on, depicting exactly how hot the steerage free-for-all sex must've been in the final moments of man's worst sea disaster.

"In Emergency Room," he says, "in the lesbian scene with the two hot laboratory assistants, it's obvious that Cassie Wright is the only performer who knows the correct way to work a speculum."

The critics, guy 137 says, justifiably raved about her portrayal of Mary Todd Lincoln in the Civil War epic Ford's Theatre Back Door Dog Pile. Later re-released as Private Box. Later re-released as Presidential Box. Guy 137 tells us, in the scene where Cassie Wright gets double-teamed by John Wilkes Booth and Honest Abe Lincoln, thanks to her research, she truly does make American history come alive.

Still cradling his canvas dog, its black button eyes against his gold nipple-ring, the guy says, "How much for your pills?"

"Ten bucks," says the stopwatch girl.

"No," the guy says. He stuffs the dog back under his arm and reaches around to his back pants pocket. Taking out his wallet, he pinches out twenty, forty, a hundred dollars, saying, "I mean, how much for the entire bottle?"

The stopwatch girl says, "Lean over so I can write your number on your arm."
And guy 137 winks at me again, his big eye looking bigger inside all that brown powder, and he says,

"You brought roses." He says, "How sweet is that?"

From the Hardcover edition.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 225 )
Rating Distribution

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(55)

4 Star

(76)

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(60)

2 Star

(24)

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(10)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 225 Customer Reviews
  • Posted July 20, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    It's a roller coaster of dysfunction!

    No one can write utter dysfunction and madness like the master himself. Every time I sit down and open a Palahniuk book I get a bit giddy. I know this book will leave me wondering what just happened but give me one great ride getting there.

    Mr. Palahniuk's 8th book, Snuff, tells the tale of Cassie Wright, an aging porn star out to break the mother of all records for the pornography industry. She, in her final role, will sleep with 600 men on film in one shooting.

    As you progress through just the beginning of the book you soon realize that no one expects Cassie to live through this, not even Cassie herself.

    In the book you read from 3 characters 1st person recounting of them at the shoot. Mr. 72, Mr 137, and Mr. 600. You also get a narration from the days leading up to the shoot and the shoot from Cassie's personal assistant, Shelia.

    Mr. 72 believes he is Cassie's son she gave up for adoption after she conceived him during her first adult movie, Mr. 137 is an out of work actor who lost his show due to a gay film he had made, and Mr. 600 is the co-star and believed father of Cassie's child.

    Don't worry, it's as messed up as it sounds, but not in the ways you are thinking.

    I can't say much more about the book without this review being a spoiler, which I refuse to do in any capacity for any book. Just know that if you enjoyed Palahniuk's other works you know what to expect from this one.

    You're not going to have a clue what hit you.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 2, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Outstanding. . .

    This book is perverted, sick, and twisted. It is exactly what some people say is 'wrong with America.' But that is what makes this book so perfect. It breaks boundaries, going places that no other book has gone before. I have read every book by Chuck Palahniuk, and I would arguably say that this is my favorite novel of his. A+ for this dirty little book.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 1, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Get in line...

    This is a good book! Short and sweet, with amazing characters, great stories and the usual Palahniuk twist and turns.

    Three men are waiting for their turn to be with Cassie Wright (porn star) they are Mr. 72, Mr. 137 and Mr. 600. Cassie is trying to break the record for a gang bang. Another character in the book is Sheila, Cassie's assistant, she provides several chapters.

    The book is broken down into very short chapters, each chapter a different character is talking, much like in "Haunted", for those of you that have read it.

    Good funny, dirty book with a hilarious ending!

    Read it for a good laugh or to just peak into the world of Chuck Palahniuk's mind!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 1, 2009

    Leaves something to be desired

    I am an avid Chuck Palahniuk fan and there is just something missing from this story compared to others. Invisible Monsters is my favorite, but also in Survivor and Fight Club there is depth to the characters and a well thought out plot along with surprising twists. In comparison, this book is none of those. It was all just very predictable and bland. Definitely a disappointment compared to some of his other work.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 9, 2014

    more from this reviewer

    Sometimes I feel like I¿m a can of spray paint.  Well, it had to

    Sometimes I feel like I’m a can of spray paint. 
    Well, it had to happen sooner or later, Chuck wrote a book that I don’t like. Palahniuk is a great writer, and I’ve enjoyed his unique perspective on everything I’ve read of his, but this one fell flat. I don’t mind the setting or the theme, although this one does feel less clever and a little more grungy. It’s just that the story didn’t grab me, I didn’t really care about the characters, and the whole thing feels kind of sad. Not really the kind of clever humor I usually find in a Palahniuk story, although he clearly had a good time coming up with adult movie titles, and while I will still eagerly await his next book, I won’t keep this one in my collection.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 2, 2012

    Confusing

    It was quite confusing and should be read quickly to engage in its fast paced characters. Not what I expected but still deranged and explicit. Not a long book and I wouldn't reccommend unless you like an unexpected ending and lots of pornographic mention.

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  • Posted August 8, 2011

    Not his best work

    While the novel was compelling with an interesting storyline and well-developed (for the most part) characters, i really felt like there just wasn't enough to it. It wasn't thought-out with logic and motivation like most of his other novels. Granted, even his worst work trumps most other authors, hand over fist. It just reads more like a short story.

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  • Posted February 28, 2011

    He Said WHAT?!

    Sort of a non-science-fiction alternate reality involving porn and the people who create it. Funny as hell in places - a stretch in a lot of others. Did I call it an alternate reality? More like an exaggerated reality. An awareness of hard core pornography would seem to be required to fully get it. Not a read to be easily forgotten!

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  • Posted July 30, 2010

    A must read for Palahniuk fans

    I recommend this to anyone who is a fan of Chuck Palahniuk. Great writing style and point-of-view storytelling. Kinda predictable but worth the read. There are great parts in the book that has old hollywood trivia and facts. A quick good, quick read.

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  • Posted April 21, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    I love Chuck!

    Though this was not one of my fav Chuck books it still had his flare all over it. Check out some of his others like Suvivors, Choke, Invisible Monsters and Lullaby(one of my favs). His books are not for everyone so keep an open mind. Faithful Chuck fan here!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 23, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Chuck Does It Again

    Chuck Palahniuk has done it again. This is an original, offbeat, graphic, pitch black sex comedy that only Palahniuk could have written. It manages to be both sexually explicit and completely unsexy at the same time. Chuck doesn't flinch as he describes sexual acts, bodily fluids and hollywood movie trivia in the same breath. He aims to make his readers feel something, but it's certainly not sexual. He also makes us think about the ways in which we hide from ourselves and each other, use and abuse sexuality for all kinds of reasons and discover the awful consequences that inevitably arise when the secrets from our past return to bite us on the behind. This book is over-the-top, funny, disturbing, revolting, thought provoking and clearly not for everyone. Thanks, Mr. Palahniuk.

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  • Posted March 22, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Palahniuk's Dud

    Every author, no matter how great, comes out with a dud now and then. This was Palahniuk's.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 14, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    eh.. ok book

    not his best work but still entertaining. good thing its short tho or it would have lost my interest.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 23, 2010

    Snuff

    This was a requested gift for Christmas and the individual was excited to receive it.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 23, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Chuck and Porn. Porn and Chuck

    I really enjoyed this book, I am a very big fan of Chuck Palahniuk, and this is a great book to sit down and read on a rainy day. It is not for the faint of heart I can tell you that much, but the content in the story is hilarious, graphic, and addicting. It is filled with interesting trivia and mind boggling plot twists. I suggest this to any Palahniuk Fan.

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  • Posted September 28, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    UNREADABLE. HA!

    GOD. AWFUL. GOD. AWFUL. I couldn't wait to read this book, but i just couldn't get past page 5o something, it is just all over the place, sorry but i couldnt foolow it, and its just gross. At the end of the day, its just nasty.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 8, 2009

    Readable

    Not Chuck's best book but definitely not his worst.

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  • Posted July 5, 2009

    Another great book by Chuck

    Let me start by saying I like almost everything Chuck does. I'm a huge fan, and as such, just wanted to let you know that bias is there. That said, I felt like this book had all the classic Palahniuk touches. Well researched ''fun facts'' that fit into the story. Characters that are not your run off the mill, practically flawless fictional characters. Spot on social commentary undertone. And as always, and ending that will blow your mind.

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  • Posted June 15, 2009

    Chuck Palahniuk is great at the unusual.

    Never expect the ordinary with Chuck. I have read every single book he's ever written (expect haven't gotten the newest one yet) and I am a strong proponent of his work. This one faltered; it finished quickly with no satisfying resolution.

    Each chapter is seen from the perspective of four characters. It is a unique style that I think could have been used more in-depth and more enlightening.

    The story is new, which I have to give him props for, I mean where else are going to read about an aging porn star(s), her child given up for adoption seeking acceptance, and emasculated men driven to seek their one chance at their beloved star.

    It was a depressingly quick read, without the usual punches I've come to expect from Chuck. More of library check out book, rather than add to the collection book.

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  • Posted June 1, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Chuck and sex

    Chuck definitely has a way of bringing the world of sex and desire to a place you never quite imagined or predicted. Be for warned that this deals with some subjects that most people are too afraid to admit being intrigued by. :)

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