Palahniuk for me, one of those writers, which is impossible neither to love nor to hate. Kind of like you realize that he is a genius does not claim, but, in principle, his lyrics are much wider than shocking any morality techniques (Yes there is morality in the whole brain of any pervert) who Palahniuk the abundance of buttering the leaves, sorry for the metaphor.
Yes, and clearly, adjusting the thickness of the layer. By the end of this book, the pages just like cement. Advertising sex the Apocalypse, driven by a rich madman (powerful reptile), laid the sufferer-America. Only this time the victims enchanting, clever marketing become not easily controlled by men, already accustomed to that with the “implementation” of sexual images they impose on anything, and women, who, poor things, finally got what they want.
The first half of the book the novel is wildly reminiscent of “50 shades”, I even kill. Only the secrets of Mr was slightly a different shade. Especially fun was to read it in metro gray-haired uncle and tries to look over his shoulder – probably because I am waiting for something there’s finally a new Palahniuk write?
Well, as always. Palahniuk, by the way, have encroached on feminists. However, immediately corrected. And then again encroached. And then again corrected. But in General, it seems that hell will know he has encroached or is it corrected. Think for yourself, as they say, to have or not have. Generally, of course, the new book is Grand fun. The closer to the end, the more of a farce. Fun, and only. The appearance of a naked ancient grandmother living in the mountains of Nepal, suddenly, in the midst of the Church somewhere in the States. Further tragicomic scene of the disclosure a global conspiracy.