Diary by Chuck Palahniuk. This. Fucking. Book. Is. Shit. I am having a hard time finding the fitting words to say about this. To write a something like "This is Fucking Great!" or "This book is GOOD!" or even "This book is perfect!" to do so is going to be a crime. Even giving five stars wouldn't be enough. I would even say that this is even better than Fight Club. A dark gripping tale of an artist doomed because of her oozing lava of talents. Misty Kleinman Wilmot, you are cursed with that gift that you have for—eternity. As a girl, being raised by a hippie mother, Misty never experienced what world is like outside the trailer park in Tecumseh Lake. That dream of being an artist is what Misty was living for. She weny to art school. In there, she met Peter Wilmot. The biggest mistake of all the mistakes she ever made in her life. Poor Misty. Gifted. Cursed. Inspiring.Peter Wilmot was on a mission to find that woman cursed with talent that will provide salvation to Waytansea Island. Yes, he was successful. The name "Misty Kleinman" was hyphenated with Wilmot. He soon tried to get Misty to Waytansea Island—the island populated with lunatics. The island trapped with traditions. In order to get Misty to the Island, he impregnated her. Tabbi Wilmot was the result, and Misty staying in the island. I meant trapped. Better word—wrapped.Being promised that her dreams of being an artist would be made into reality, she lived in that island as a waitress at a hotel the Wilmots owned. A mother. A queen of fucking slaves. For some reason, Peter attempted to kill himself. He failed. Peter had become a living dead in the hospital. A vegetable waiting to rot—was slow rotting. Then, together with Grace Wilmot, Misty raised Tabii.Suffering. Suffering. Suffering. A daily overdose of it brings her talent back from the dead. The sleeping volcano exploded. She started to paint like a schizophrenic overdosed with talents. With her eyes closed and Tabbi as her inspiration, she painted masterpieces of art that were known to be impossible. Misty had lost everything. Now, Tabbi and that dream of being an artist were the only things left for her—what was left for her to do. And oblivious to almost everything, what awaited Misty was a conspiracy that happens every four generations that would kill hundreds of people. An event that would make the island filthy rich for generations at a price of hundreds of lives. Misty Kleinman Wilmot. A queen of fucking slaves. A hostage who was destined to save the island from running out of money for the next four generations. A tool to use. The island that trapped itself with its own cycle. Once you are born, you're already doomed to fulfill your fate. You're doomed at being you. How can not being you and being you be curse at the same time? ... Life perhaps is... A cursed gift. A fucked-up life is the main reason why we great art ever existed. How stupid would be a painting of two unicorns kissing each other compared to a painting of a sky burning like hell with angels crying and screaming from wounds inflicted by demons, winged beings falling down from the great red sky. How stupid would that be if you call Justin Beiber's songs “Art.” Ok. Ok. I'll stop making fun of her.Suffering ... is the key in creating exceptional art. What hurts us the most awakes the artist inside of us. Brings out the genius out of our brains, out of our souls. Scars and wounds are the best source inspiration. You art shows your wounds your scars your life—it shows everything about you. Art and Suffering—they're almost synonymous.Do you know that the best artists are not the finest and perfect human beings? Chuck Palahniuk's Angsty Nihilistic Existential Voice was never this loud. Cynical and in some sense, optimistic. The plot build-up flares with excitement and disgust. Not to mention that this book has the best plot twists ever. Whoever the narrator was (probably it's Misty), it still continues to be a puzzle. Which is one the things I liked best about this novel. One of the best reads I ever had. To not read this would be a crime against yourself. You don't know what you're missing. And just for the record, you've already missed enough things in your life.
Liking Chuck Palahniuk's books must be akin to a Fear Factor challenge for most readers. And sometimes I can't help but wonder, what if THAT is what exactly Palahniuk wants the readers to feel about his works? Feel challenged by it, dislike it, feel disgusted or insulted by it--all of these by hurling the naked truths of human nature to the face of people in the harshest possible way?My first Palahniuk book is Choke, and I was sort of culture shocked when I read it--a multitude of f-bombs being dropped from heavenly heights, sexually explicit situations, bitter but truthful ruminations about life. Completely different from the books I've been reading--and that's saying something because I usually go for the "dark side" of literature. I thought Choke would already build my literary panoply when it comes to his works. But I was wrong--Diary might not lie on the opposite side of the spectrum when leveled with his other works, but it's a new account of insane despair that I'm not really used to.Diary is a story about art,and, well, the crazy reality that most desperate people live. It also tackles a Marxist concept but viewed from a strangely twisted angle. It is written mostly in the second person point of view and in the format of a 'coma diary' written by the female protagonist, Misty Wilmot. There is no subtlety in Palahniuk's style of writing, and when what he writes stabs, it stabs straight to the heart and conscience. It gets under your skin most of the time.I will not detail everything, but I just want to say that this is a satisfying read. The Palahniuk "flavor" is exotic and dark, and it's the sort of taste that most readers will only refer to as "poison". If only everyone reads closely, the antidote to the venom of reality that Palahniuk presents in this work is also present--right between the lines.
there was very little i enjoyed about this book. palahniuk has a flair for quirky juxtaposition in his imagery, something i appreciate -- and probably the only thing i really appreciated in diary. just for the record, the 'just for the record' repeating business was super annoying. i don't mind an occasional repeat - the cadence can be quite charming at times. but repetition of this and other phrases, plus the penchant for describing people's musculature in action, it all felt pretentious instead of charming, or amusing. definitely served as a writerly warning to me.the core idea for the story itself - the origins of which i am a little confused about (enclosed letter from a fan, claiming at least partial authorship?) - it's an interesting one, and in its sleepy, disjointed little way, was entertaining, but just barely. i put this book down for over a month, and it's the first time i haven't read a book straight through. still, i can tell palahniuk is a good writer (or at least has the potential to be), and will likely check out more of his work...someday.
—Heather
Like all of Palahniuk’s other work, Diary is vivid, disturbing, grotesque, and a bit supernatural. If his descriptions don’t leave you feeling at least somewhat squeamish, then you must have no imagination whatsoever. He is like a painter who makes the simplest object look hideously grotesque, who can look at a common scene and envision it in the twisted way only a serial killer might. Only, the serial killers in his novels don’t kill for pleasure; they kill for reasons much more creative than that.Palahniuk is nothing if not creative. Diary is written as a diary from the point of view of the protagonist, Misty, in the fashion of a long letter written to her comatose husband Peter. However, because she is writing to him directly, she refers to “you,” who also happens to be the reader, creating a number of identity overlaps. Moreover, the narrative habit of referring to oneself as “you” when writing in a diary comes up a number of times, because it would be equally applicable as referring to Peter or the reader as “you.” And none of this even begins to brush the surface of the story, which involves Misty’s allegedly supernatural artistic abilities, her inexplicable attraction to Peter’s shiny junk jewelry (which he pinned through his own scabby skin), and the creepy warnings she finds inside sealed-off rooms of buildings Peter remodeled before he tried to kill himself.Invisible Monsters will always be my favorite Palahniuk novel, and Fight Club will always be the most famous. Haunted might very well be the most disturbing. But Diary pays homage to what Palahniuk does best: turn a common story and a common story form into a extraordinary and very unsettling tale.
—Allison
My summary of opinions of this book? So young! So angry!Anytime you see so many varying opinions of a book, it's worth picking up, even if you'll just be taking part in a literary car accident: you just HAVE to look to see why everyone is slowing down. I'll bet Chuck's airbags went off after this book, but I think it's possible that it's just a fender bender.I think a lot of Palahniuk's work is like a drunk guy shooting arrows at a bunch of children lined up against a wall with apples on their heads. Will he split the apple occasionally? You bet! But he'll make a gigantic mess doing it.So, enough stalling. I did like this book. I saw it in an airport on the way to Miami, looked it up online, and saw divergent opinions, so I picked it up. I absolutely do not see this as a horror story, so whoever had that idea needs to be slapped around a bit, but I enjoyed enough of it where I could suggest it to a couple of people.I liked the continuing discovery of the hidden messages as the book went on, and I also liked the slowly-revealed courthship that you see, too: the last time I saw a family like this that has lost its prestige yet still clings to a name (or island, here) was in James Mitchener's "Chesapeake". I know people like this. It's a perfect match, and described very well, in Palahniuk's signature style. I'd almost like to see him tackle something from life like that, because I think he's be able to grab people and get them reading history.Ah, but the flaws. Some of this is just absurd. I don't like people that bury themself in foolishness just to spring themselves with a ridiculous twist or plot device. In that way, I thought we got a little "Left Behind" going on, and that is by no means a compliment. Also, the fire at the end? is that the resolution? There's cliches a plenty here, especially if I could find a way to put the accent marks over the word as I type.I don't know. I suspect that Chuck is turning into the literary equivalent of Dane Cook: a master at marketing himself to a core audience that will eagerly buy what he is selling, and he has occasional flashes of brilliance, but at the core, he's mediocre. Dane Cook has just about exhausted his 15 minutes. Is Palahniuk also a one-trick pony, albeit one greatly assisted by and indebted to David Fincher, Brad Pitt, and Edward Norton?
—David Becker
