"Fight Club 2" book review

[Note:  Yes, “Greg” exists—although his name has been changed to protect the innocent.  Also, I don’t have any friends by the name of Greg and I secretly always wanted one, so there you go.]

Dear Greg,

I hope this letter finds you well.  It’s been far too long since our last correspondence; sorry about that!  While the nature of this letter—a warning that you stay far, far away from Fight Club 2—is a strange and short message, I hope our dialogue could continue on a routine basis.

You introduced me to Fight Club in 2008, when we both worked at that snack bar inside of the dormitory.  I’m not exactly sure how I made it to age 20 before (a) watching Fight Club, or—even more impressively (b) making it that far without being spoiled by the quintessential movie twist of our generation.  Hell, I didn’t even know it was a book before it was a film.  Anyway, it was a very slow night at work, and those two and a half hours watching that hyper-masculine drama helped make the night go by fast.  So for that, I thank you. 

I don’t normally thank people for showing me movies eight years ago, so I should probably stop burying the lead and explain the meat of this letter.  For some reason, I went seven years after first watching the film before seeking out the novel that started all of this…despite your fervent recommendation (I was an English major, so I had too many other things to read on my radar).  Chuck Palahniuk’s most well-known novel is indeed a high-paced thriller, and I do appreciate his philosophical ruminations—but the whole thing is too abrasively full of itself.  I know that Mr. Palahniuk has gone on record in saying that he thought the film adaptation was better than his novel, and I’m inclined to agree with him.

Regardless, I was motivated to give the sequel a shot:  it is published as a graphic novel, and my local library had a bind up of all ten comics, so I didn’t have to gather all of the installments in chronological order before reading.  I’m glad I was able to find a bind-up, because the chapters aren’t very long, and I’d have felt cheated if I had to wait around.  If you are encouraged to read the sequel (despite what this letter is warning you), I advise you go the same route.

In short, this was a real piece of shit.  While it only took two hours for me to read, I mourned the loss of those two hours, which could have been served in more productive ways.

To start, the sequel was too derivative of its predecessor.  Yes, by definition sequels are supposed to take the characters and setting of the original and form a continuation; however, it’s essential that the sequel expands on the ideas of the first (if not coming up with entirely new concepts), not retread on what we’ve been given before. 

Additionally, the artwork in the graphic novel isn’t all that impressive.  The colors are dingy, the characters look like Beavis and Butthead rejects, and the images don’t jump off the page in a dynamic way.  What does literally jump off the page, however, are pills, rose buds, and blood, which occasionally will soak the pages and make the text literally impossible to read.  This intentional method to block readers from the text (which isn’t exclusive to plot-specific portions) is telling:  perhaps the writers don’t have faith in their material being compelling enough on its own, and would rather have readers imagine what was written there instead.

The graphic novel has numerous problems, but the part that infuriated me the most was the inclusion of Chuck Palahniuk and his writing staff as characters in the story.  At one part, Marla is given a phone number by Mr. Palahniuk and is told to call if the plot ever lags.  Shortly thereafter the plot does lag, so Marla calls and asks for advice on how to proceed.  And then we get to the conclusion, where Mr. Palahniuk and his crew come up with an awful solution.  He then has a group of fans protest this ending, and for far too long this banter goes on.  This goes well past dues ex machina:  it’s horribly lazy, and none of the readers deserve an ending this lame.  I give this book an F.

In the end, Fight Club 2 is an example of a sequel that should have never happened—at least not officially.  Sometimes an author should leave behind their most famous works, and have their committed fanbase fill in the blanks left behind without feeling the need to butt in and give a lame follow-up.  

I’m sure you’ll agree.

Anyway, I hope all is well.  I look forward to talking to you again soon!

Sincerely,

Mike

P.S.  I saw that you took your wife on an anniversary trip to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  I’m insanely jealous!  Speaking of, have you read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child?  If not, I think I have a suggested topic for our next discussion.