The first thing about fight club is that it's not really about a fight club.
The second thing about fight club is that fight club is a recurring motif, a plot device.
The third thing about fight club is that is really about something a whole lot deeper and darker than simply getting together with your buddies and kicking the crap out of each other.
So what is it all about if it's not about a fight club???
Well we begin on familiar territory. Familiar that is for the late 20th century. Identity crisis. Male identity crisis.
A million isolated events have occurred throughout recent history to result in us men suddenly having difficulty coming to terms with being men. Female emancipation, political correctness, the new caring sharing weeping man, sexual revolution and role reversals, single parent families. All things that aren't intrinsically bad in and of themselves, but in the context of Fight Club, may contribute to the afore mentioned crisis.
Where are our male role models? Who is there to show us that real men donÕt carry umbrellas, because real men donÕt care about getting wet? That if it ruins the line of their suit, or displaces their twenty quid cut & blow dry then fuck it. Because the chances are a real man wouldnÕt be wearing a suit (weddings, funerals and court appearances not included). And to even consider a cut and blow dry. Now thatÕs just gagging for a smack in the mouth.
Deep in the centre of us lies the reptile brain. It is one of the last things we have in common with our distant ancestors, and damn lucky we do, because when your ass is on the line, it might just drag it off. However much else has been lost as we veer further and further away from nature and our place within it?
Our lives become increasingly sanitised as we remove each and every situation that may cause danger or conflict to our comfortable existences. Adrenalin, the most sacred of drugs that used to keep us alive, is now merely an artificial by product of computer gaming. Consumerism has padded us from whatever it is that may scare you shitless, yet at the same time it shields you from that which can leave you enriched because you experienced it and survived it.
What 'it' is, is not important. The experience is. Survival is merely a bonus.
Assembling your latest Ikea flat pack may give you a fleeting sense of achievement. But a scar is forever.So that is how Fight Club begins. It begins to identify the modern malaise.
And then you start to reclaim yourself. In the simplest of fashions. Rutting like the animals. WeÕre not fighting for any other purpose than the feeling of being alive. And after you have remoulded yourself, back into the image you once were given, the logical progression is then to deconstruct and kick back against that which removed you in the first place.
So what do you kick back against. Well to quote Marlon Brando: 'What have you got?'
And then fight club slips into where it was intending to head all along. Anarcho terrorism.
If modern society can reduce us to effete scum, then destroy society. And as an old sort of anti-establishment hippy, I love this stuff. Deranged men with bruised knuckles and home made explosives zoning in on the world trade centre. Beautiful. And then fight club takes it to the final level, a denouement that left me disappointed and dissatisfied. Feeling as though I had been shortchanged. It was akin to the 'and it was all a dream' cop out.
So there you have it, a distilled description of Fight Club. IÕve not gone into too much detail about the ending because, unlike me, you may find it satisfactory, or even perfect. I like PalahniukÕs style of writing. For me he combines the sort of 'manly' terse prose of Hemingway with the raw poetic and apocalyptic vision of Nick Cave. He also captures the zeitgeist extremely well Š the gradual dumbing down of masculinity which most seem to accept (if they even notice it at all) as a natural part of evolution. He mirrors my sentiments that the human soul will ultimately suffer as we let others protect us from ourselves and our own desires and drives, and sell us our experiences in a corporate packaging.
He produces some visual juxtapositions that border on the bodacious (dude). One springs to mind - how the central character cradles his opponent in the crook of his arm as you would do a babyÉthen smashes him over and over till he is picking broken teeth out of his knuckles.
This is often raw stuff, and it flies along at a pace. One can imagine it as being the perfect source material for a film, shot with the frenetic handi-cam style and flashy judder editing reminiscent of pop promos - but yeah, theyÕve already done that.
Just a quick word about the film. For me it cleared up some of the discontinuities that featured sporadically throughout the book. And while on the whole it remained faithful to the book, a few minor alterations were made that went a hell of a long way to resolving the problems I had with the ending of the book. Plus the casting was inspired Š Mr Pitt (love or loath him, it donÕt matter) was perfect as the belligerent protagonist (and fantastic abs); Edward Norton, as always, put in a masterful turn as the 'grey' character who, while being intrinsic to the story, just shouldnÕt get in the way of the real star (however the man just sucks your attention by merely being in the background ); the gorgeous Helena Bonham Carter playing against type in a big way; and, best of all, Meatloaf as the castrated Bob resplendent with his massive 'bitch tits'. So there you have it. As IÕve said there were a few things about this book that just pissed me off. Discontinuity, and most of all that ending. But the long and short of it is that even this flawed, Mr Palahniuk kicks the shit out of most other writers out there. It was a great read, and IÕm definitely going to be getting his subsequent releases.
Read the book, watch the film (in that order), and set up a chapter.
