By Kendra Hibbert
September 19, 2003
It’s hard to use the term Generation X un-ironically these days and not risk an eye roll or contemptuous snort from anyone within hearing distance. Time moves on, the generation is getting older and the world is more interested in the Olsen Twins’ impending 18th birthday than a GenX-ers 40th. But for a while there, those born (roughly) between 1965-
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1978 ruled the coveted 18-34 demographic and the media couldn’t get enough of them. Two literary stars came out of this trend (okay, there were more than two but bear with me for the sake of this column) Douglas Coupland, whose aptly titled GENERATION X was the first book to come out that actually addressed the generation and defined it for the world, and Chuck Palahniuk, whose debut novel FIGHT CLUB… well, if I have to explain FIGHT CLUB to any of you, you might as well stop reading this column right now.
Douglas Coupland, though he didn’t coin the term Generation X, was the first to put a voice to the apathetic, slacker youth of the early `90s with his first novels (namely GEN X, SHAMPOO PLANET and LIFE AFTER GOD). At one point, Coupland was one of my favorite writers but unfortunately, with the notable exception of 1996’s MICROSERFS, the inspiration died in Coupland’s novels. I kidded myself into believing GIRLFRIEND IN A COMA was an interesting novel, deluded my way through MISS WYOMING but by 2001’s ALL FAMILIES ARE PSYCHOTIC, I couldn’t kid myself any longer – Coupland was losing his touch. Given this downward spiralling trend toward crap, I was looking forward to his HEY NOSTRADAMUS!: A NOVEL with as much excitement and confidence in the writer’s abilities as I am about George Lucas’ EPISODE III.
HEY NOSTRADAMUS! is centered around a fictional suburban high-school massacre taking place in 1988. The event and the next 12 or so years are narrated through the eyes of four different characters, each with a section to themselves. The first belongs to Cheryl Anway, a 17-year-old who is killed in the incident (her section is written from the afterlife) who is also pregnant by her boyfriend Jason whom she secretly married six weeks prior to the shooting. The second section is written by Jason who, ten years later, tries to explain what happened that day and the years afterward in a letter to his still infant nephews. The third is written by Heather, Jason’s new girlfriend, currently being victimized by an extortionist psychic trying to convince her Cheryl is sending messages from the grave. And the final chapter is written through the eyes of the fastidiously religious Reg, Jason’s father, who has barely said two words to his son since the events of 1988.
Though separated into these four sections, the book is held together with its themes of religion, the after-life and the nature of evil. But don’t expect an exploration into the killer’s minds and intentions a la IN COLD BLOOD – the shooting in this book is merely background. At best it is held up like a litmus test to the other characters, something to compare their relatively innocent/evil deeds to. HEY NOSTRADAMUS! is a literary experiment in human nature. It’s not a perfect novel (like most of Coupland’s novels -- even GENERATION X -- I had a big problem with the neat and tidy happy ending he always writes) but it’s certainly better than ALL FAMILIES ARE PSYCHOTIC, which suggests an encouraging future for Coupland’s career. If you are (or were) a fan of his books, I can tell you it’s now safe to return to his fiction.
The same unfortunately cannot be said for Coupland’s (semi-)contemporary Chuck Palahniuk and his new novel DIARY: A NOVEL. Five years after GENERATION X was published, Chuck Palahniuk put out his first book, FIGHT CLUB, that touched on the same
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themes of a disillusioned culture and a twenty-something generation desperately trying to find meaning in their life. Palahniuk’s characters are a little more extreme than Coupland’s -- he’s an angrier, more despondent writer – but although his first novel was shocking and distinct, his subsequent ones have unfortunately been little more than carbon copies of his angst ridden debut. And angst has a way of getting tiresome.
This latest book is written through the eyes of Misty Wilmot, tortured wife of Peter Wilmot who is laying in a coma the result of a botched suicide attempt. This book is a diary written for him, Misty’s attempt to get into the head of her manipulative husband who took her from her trailer park life and planted her in the quaint Waytansea Island community, she hoping the transition would spark her painting talent but instead just banished her to a life of serving tourists and rich patrons of the hotel restaurant she works at. With her coma-ed husband incapacitated Misty has to deal with the urgent calls of nearby tourists who come to their summer homes for a getaway and discover rooms of their houses missing – covered over with drywall by Peter after he scrawled all over their walls with disturbed writing after her was called in for renovations. As Misty travels from summer home to summer home fixing the situation she starts suffering from mysterious ailments that go away only when she paints – but the ominous messages she sees scrawled into the tables of restaurants and in the books at the local library written by past artists on the island warn her of the ominous nature of the island and its connection to her art.
Like I wrote in my review of his last novel, LULLABY, (seen here) I have problems reading any of Palahniuk’s work after FIGHT CLUB and not having the distinct feeling I’ve read it all before. Although his plots are unique and his characters are the type that are rarely seen outside of his novels, all of his writing sound the same – the same style, the same repeated phrases again and again, the same metaphors/analogies being over-used until they get annoying. It’s not that I don’t think Palahniuk isn’t a great writer, it’s just after putting out a book a year since FIGHT CLUB in 1996 I just wish he’d stop writing for a while, wait until inspiration actually hits him, until he feels like he’s got something he can actually add to the world of fiction, before he wastes another $20-$40 of his fans’ money. Even for hard-core Palahniuk devotees, DIARY has little to offer – it’s barely distinguishable from any of his last four novels and offers only a mildly bizarre plot to amuse readers – not enough to make up for the 272 pages of unimaginative writing. I’m not ready to completely write him off yet but with his generation aging he’s only got so long before his lack of inspiration will no longer be tolerated and he’ll be written off as a one hit wonder and forgotten in favor of the newest writer who speaks for the next generation.
Next Column: THE SLIPPERY SLOPE - Book 10 of THE SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS has been released and I’ll finally get around to reviewing this series. Come back in two weeks to see if it was worth the wait.
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