Brutal and relentless debut fiction takes anarcho-S&M chic to a
whole new level - in a creepy, dystopic, confrontational novel
that's also cynically smart and sharply written. Palahniuk's
insomniac narrator, a drone who works as a product recall
coordinator, spends his free time crashing support groups for the
dying But his after-hours life changes for the weirder when he
hooks up with Tyler Durden, a waiter and projectionist with plans
to screw up the world - he's a "guerilla terrorist of the service
industry." "Project Mayhem" seems taken from a page in The
Anarchist Cookbook and starts small: Durden splices subliminal
scenes of porno into family films and he spits into customers'
soup. Things take off, though, when he begins the fight club - a
gruesome late-night sport in which men beat each other up as
partial initiation into Durden's bigger scheme: a supersecret
strike group to carry out his wilder ideas. Durden finances his
scheme with a soap-making business that secretly steals its main
ingredient - the fat sucked from liposuction. Durden's cultlike
groups spread like wildfire, his followers recognizable by their
open wounds and scars. Seeking oblivion and self-destruction, the
leader preaches anarchist fundamentalism: "Losing all hope was
freedom," and "Everything is falling apart" - all of which is just
his desperate attempt to get God's attention. As the narrator
begins to reject Durden's revolution, he starts to realize that the
legendary lunatic is just himself, or the part of himself that
takes over when he falls asleep. Though he lands in heaven, which
closely resembles a psycho ward, the narrator/Durden lives on in
his flourishing clubs. This brilliant bit of nihilism succeeds
where so many self-described transgressive novels do not: It's
dangerous because it's so compelling. (Kirkus Reviews)
Chuck Palahniuk's startling and outrageous debut novel, basis of the hit movie starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton. The first rule about fight club is you don't talk about fight club.
Every weekend, in the basements and parking lots of bars across the country, young men with good white-collar jobs and absent fathers take off their shoes and shirts and fight each other barehanded just as long as they have to.
The second rule about fight club is you don't talk about fight club.
Then they go back to those jobs with blackened eyes and loosened teeth and the sense that they can handle anything. Fight Club is the invention of Tyler Durden, projectionist, waiter, and dark, anarchic genius, and it's only the beginning of his plans for revenge on a world where cancer support groups have the corner on human warmth.
The third rule about fight club is two men per fight.
As the narrator of
Fight Club puts it: "If people thought you were dying, they gave you their full attention."
Where does Tyler Durden come from? Why do his violent schemes so capture the troubled, insomniac narrator? What events bring them to the roof of the world's tallest building, wired to explode in ten minutes? The answers in Fight Club reveal a world poised on the brink of mayhem-and introduce a blazingly original new talent to the literary scene.
"Fight Club is hot. It's great. Even I can't write this well."—Thom Jones
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