Doomed

doomedby Chuck Palahniuk
Doubleday (Random House) 2013

First sentence: Good and evil have always existed.
First too-snarky sentence: I’m a piggy-pig-pig, oink-oink, real porker.
Another too-snarky sentence: I would not be stuck here on the stony Galapagos that is Earth, drinking the warm tortoise urine that is human companionship, were it not for the Halloween caper cutting of a certain three Miss Slutty O’Slutnicks.
Still more snark: …on All Hallow’s Eve the entire population of Hades returns to Earth to forage for salted nut clusters and Raisinettes from dusk until midnight.
But the worst is still to come: To you predead people, like it or not, postalive people are not your bitches.
Number of pterodactyls I saw while reading the first three pages: 4 (perhaps 3, might have seen the same one twice)
Benzodiazepines I took in order to finish three pages: Ativan, Serax, plus some Benadryl for my shitty book allergies
Side effects of these medications may include: pterodactyl sightings

Other reviews: iamjanesheart, 3 guys 1 book, Life in 64 Square Feet, Bookhounds

That’s come, right? On the cover? That was intentional, right? A bukkake scene on the cover of one of Random House’s most respected imprints? Somebody spoke up, right? RIGHT? Well, if it was intentional, consider me…not that shocked really.

I loved Fight Club. I’ve read it and reread it. I have disliked everything else Chuck Palahniuk has published. He usually manages to catch my attention early on, but it never lasts and there is a wake of barely-read Palahniuks trailing behind me. Is he, therefore, a shitty author?

One thing shitty book authors do frequently is take an otherwise uninteresting scene, in this case a Lincoln Town Car (Ford must be paying authors to mention them) leaving a gated estate in the hills above Los Angeles, and transform it into epic, supreme holy business, in this case the fulfillment of a prophecy sung by ancient Egyptian oracles. It is too hard to write two or three sentences describing a car driving, and all the ugly shit that comes along behind it in simple terms, including lights being extinguished and rats being crushed. The author wants you to believe it’s important. It isn’t. It’s a prologue.

Shitty authors also like using odd devices they think clever to unfurl the narrative. In this case, each chapter is a timestamped “post” to an unnamed “web log” by the main character Madison Spencer, from her email address on the afterlife.hell server. It was in this way Chuck Palahniuk tricked me into reading that prologue, which I usually try to skip because it’s always shitty and useless and this one was no different. It’s no wonder, then, that I felt sick to my stomach after reading this flash-fiction-pulp-fiction irrelevant piece of shit that is the prologue, like eating a piece of cake dragged across some smelly dicks.

So then I read the first three pages of the real book and it it actually got worse. Madison Spencer is a ghost. A snarky ghost. A fat snarky ghost. Who escaped Hell. It feels like bad science fiction. It feels like tongue-in-cheek chick-lit. It feels like young adult fiction. It feels amateurish.

This is a blog about shitty books, not about shitty authors. Chuck Palahniuk wrote a great book that was important to me when I was 19, but he can’t write anything anymore that isn’t shitty. This book is shitty. And I think I’m ready to call Chuck Palahniuk a competent but shitty author who had two or three really good ideas once, and put them all into one book. Now he goes for shock value but he leaves us with nothing shocking or valuable.

And also, “Palahniuk” is extraordinarily difficult to type on a Dvorak keyboard. I don’t know why. Just thought it was interesting.

(Support this site by purchasing this shitty book through one of the links below.)

The Lost Symbol

lost-symbolby Dan Brown
Doubleday 2009

Method of selecton: Ripped out the beating heart of a young man dressed as Tezcatlipoca in traditional Aztec ritual sacrifice, then took a stroll to the library
First sentence
: The Otis elevator climbing the south pillar of the Eiffel Tower was overflowing with tourists.
Worst sentence: To this day, this ancient battle garb was donned by modern office warriors hoping to intimidate their enemies in daily boardroom battles.
Number of Dan Brown books in the world: 200 million
Number of stacked Dan Brown books it would take to knock the International Space Station out of orbit: 7,286,400
People who could actually afford to do this: Dan Brown, Scrooge McDuck, Carlos Slim
Number of people who would enjoy this spectacle more than actually reading a Dan Brown novel: 200 million + me

Other reviews: Pajiba, Amina Black, Bookfox, All About Romance

Before I begin my review, I’d like to share a few facts about the author: Dan Brown was raised Episcopalian by a mathematician father and choir organist mother in Exeter, New Hampshire. He went to Philips Exeter Academy, then to Amherst college. He was a member of the Psi Upsilon fraternity, played squash, sang in the Amherst glee club, and spent a year abroad in Spain. Dan Brown is the whitest man in America. Perhaps then he can be forgiven for also writing such shitty books. “Brown” is obviously a pen name.

For this entry, I did some research on prologues. Because shitty book authors exist only to write prologues. And prologues exist to make authors shitty. They are short, shitty chapters that slow us down so we can’t get to the rest of the book to find out how shitty it is. According to Wikipedia, the first prologue of the variety Dan Brown uses was written by the Greek playwright Euripides, the first shitty book author, who employed it “almost perversely, as a medium for his ironic rationalismo.” I don’t know what that means, but whoever wrote that copy is a genius and more talented than Dan Brown and his shitty prologues. And only in shitty books do people “beam”. Nobody I know has ever beamed. Nobody I know has ever described a situation to me in which someone “beamed”. If I saw someone “beam” I would call a fucking paramedic.

I did not know when I picked up this book that Dan Brown wrote The Da Vinci Code. Not that it matters, because it turns out Dan Brown writes shitty books and shitty people pay to read shitty books and there will always be millions of shitty people who want shitty books. Books where the author uses stupid devices such as using italics so you can hear the narrator’s boring thoughts. Because the writer’s terrible writing can’t actually tell you what’s going on.

Dan Brown also wants you to know that everything in this book is really real. It says so on the first page, before the prologue, in some kind of super-duper-shitty pre-prologue I will call a “supralogue”, where he claims that

All organizations in this novel exist, including the Freemasons, the Invisible College, the Office of Security, the SMSC, and the Institute of Noetic Sciences. All rituals, science, artwork, and monuments in this novel are real.

harris-tweed-jacket-lHe makes sure to use REAL things in his book so you know just how really real it really is. Things such as Otis Elevators, the Eiffel Tower, a Falcon 2000EX corporate jet (superseded by the longer-range 2000LX in 2009), the Washington Monument, Dulles International Airport, a Harris Tweed jacket (pictured left), Phillips Exeter Academy, a Lincoln Town Car, Beltway Limousine, and Windsock Drive. With so many real places and real companies and real products, it feels really real! And also like paid product positioning. If Dan Brown ISN’T being paid by at least some of these real companies to promote their real products in the first three pages, he is not only a shitty book author, but a DUMB shitty book author, because clearly all the shitty readers are dumb enough to pay him to promote someone else’s shitty products, so he should at least cash in. With all that money, he could pay for writing lessons. Shit, with that much money, he could pay to reanimate Ernest Hemingway and force him to write his next novel, Inferno, at the point of a gun that shoots diamonds.

In a 2009 interview Dan Brown told Matt Lauer that some people “get” the way he blends fact with fiction, while others “should probably just read somebody else”.

Yes. What he said.

(Support this site by purchasing this shitty book through one of the links below.)

Robopocalypse

by Daniel H. Wilson
Doubleday 2011

First sentence: 
Twenty minutes after the war ends, I’m watching stumpers pour up out of a frozen hole in the ground like ants from hell and praying that I keep my natural legs for another day.

Made-up words: stumpers, hexapods, thrower (for flame-thrower), oddly
Best line: …the hoarse whisper of a hundred thousand explosive mechanical hexapods searching for human victims or …sticky, burning jelly coats the river of death.
Worst line: Spark. Whoomph!
You will enjoy this book if you also enjoyed: The Matrix sequels.

I wanted so much to tell you that this, the first book I am reviewing, is shitty. I specifically selected it for its ridiculous title, which cannot actually be the real title. No editor is that stupid. No editor at Doubleday. This is more like the title of a bad movie (upcoming movie is being directed by Steven Speilberg. Release date 2013).

It’s a familiar story at the beginning: robots rise up against man. Man attempts to fight back with flamethrowers (like in Alien except robots instead of aliens). The first three pages is actually entertaining and easy to follow, not overloaded with technojargon or melodrama, even though it drops the reader straight into a scene in which the main character is attempting to fight off thousands of tiny robotic creatures. Even Wilson’s slightly hackish repeated onomatopoeia, “Spark” doesn’t detract from the experience very much.

However, while I could see myself reading on to page four, I’m pretty sure from the look of the photo on the back flap that Daniel H. Wilson is the author of I Was a Balding Hipster Teenager, not the Carnegie-Mellon PhD in robotics with a wife and a daughter his bio claims.

Through freshly-installed braces: “Hey ladeeshhhhh….I’m shheeking a date for shophomore prom shhhhhkthpt.” (spittle flies everywhere).

No, seriously, I think this might actually be a good book.

You win this round, Daniel H. Wilson! Or should I say, Daniel H. KILL-son!

(Because he killed his son.)

(Not really.)

Other reviews: Grasping for the Wind, Fantasy Book Critic, BookThing, The Mad Hatters
(Support this site by purchasing this shitty book through the links below.)