Palahniuk is a hopeless romantic. His characters are fucked up beyond belief to normal people. The people he create inject themselves with venom to get hard, slip estrogen pills to the man they can’t get to make him unattainable, resort to cannibalism, believe their mother was impregnated with Christ’s mummified penis and commit themselves to death by porn to provide for their children. And these examples are just off the top of my head. His book contain so many shocking and unbelievable moments that it’s easy to overlook the tender moments and romance between the characters; usually there’s something blocking the view, like anal beads, for instance.
But just because it’s hard to see, doesn’t mean it’s not there. In fact, it is a thread that is run throughout most of his novels. His characters are ruined, shattered, beaten down, fucked up and unlovable, yet somehow they find someone as broken and hopeless as they are. They find their perfect match and can be, if not happy, then at least less miserable because of this person. For those who are squeamish and easily offended, steer clear; you’re not tough enough for Palahniuk. But for the brave, it’s rather satisfying to see the romance between the cocks and pussies.
But just because it’s hard to see, doesn’t mean it’s not there. In fact, it is a thread that is run throughout most of his novels. His characters are ruined, shattered, beaten down, fucked up and unlovable, yet somehow they find someone as broken and hopeless as they are. They find their perfect match and can be, if not happy, then at least less miserable because of this person. For those who are squeamish and easily offended, steer clear; you’re not tough enough for Palahniuk. But for the brave, it’s rather satisfying to see the romance between the cocks and pussies.
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