By Jeff Kubik
Give me a non-linear plot. Flash. Give me satire delivered with all the subtlety of silicone breast implants. Flash. Give me Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club. Flash.
Jump to the synopsis. Invisible Monsters is about sex, drugs, and identity (no rock and roll, though there is cha-cha music).
Shannon McFarland is a model stripped of her beauty by a gunshot wound that removes her jaw and leaves her without the life she knew. The novel begins near the end of a sequence of events and revelations that gradually tell a story of disillusionment and confused identities.
Jump to my impressions of the story: At its core, the novel is a satirical look at the nature of identity. There isn’t a character in the novel whose physical appearance is unaffected in some drastic way. Whether they’ve had their faces removed by tragedy or their bodies modified in a clinic, these Monsters have been irrevocably changed.
Jump to my attempt at stinging criticism: As readers of Palahniuk’s other novels can attest, he has an undeniable edge. His characters are brooding, ponderous and, more often than not, bizarre. However, in the case of Invisible Monsters, there is nothing invisible about the attempt to create a dark, forceful feel.
Everything about the novel seems designed to impress on the readerthe surreal world that forms the lives of a motley crew of disfigured beauty queens, transsexuals and those who are simply confused. In the end, this "darkness" causes the story to stumble through so many twists and turns that the reader isleft wondering whether there is a point to be made, or if the story is merely a collection of shocking climaxes.
Moreover, the whole novel has a slumming feel, with the author delving into a world he can only imagine which is coloured by his own perceptions and ponderous self-examinations.
In fairness, it’s certainly a tall order for a thirty-something male author to jump into the skin of a mid-twenties female model.
Verisimilitude? He’s lucky he avoids having her walk into the men’s washroom by mistake.
Jump to my conclusion: While the novel seems to aspire to a satirical jab at beauty and an examination of the nature of identity, it simply becomes another entry into a genre more concerned with movie-worthy philosophical quips and vicarious grime than a coherent plot line and realistic characters.
Give me back the time I spent reading this book. Flash. Give me the Fight Club dvd instead. Flash. Give me something else to read. Flash.