Lucy Ellmann in the New York Times gives Chuck Palahniuk a scathing review for his latest novel, Snuff.
So not only has America tried to ruin the rest of the world with its wars, its financial meltdown and its stupid food, it has allowed its own literary culture to implode. Jazz and patchwork quilts are still doing O.K., but books have descended into kitsch.
“Instead of any real creative effort,” she wails:
Palahniuk chucks at us every bit of porno-talk he can muster. But not in a good way. This is no celebration of a field in which America excels — the hatching of new vocabulary — but an exercise in deadening the English language.
I’ve come across several books I could describe in exactly the same way. Haven’t we all?