a rant on rant
By first believing in Santa Claus, then the Easter Bunny, then the Tooth Fairy, Rant Casey was recognizing that those myths are more than pretty stories and traditions to delight children. Or to modify behavior. Each of those three traditions asks a child to believe in the impossible in exchange for a reward. These are stepped-up tests to build a child's faith and imagination. The first test is to believe in a magical person, with toys as the reward. The second test is to trust in a magical animal, with candy as the reward. The last test is the most difficult, with the most abstract reward: To believe, trust in a flying fairy that will leave money.
From a man to an animal to a fairy.
From toys to candy to money. Thus, interestingly enough, transferring the magic of faith and trust from sparkling fairydom to clumsy, tarnished coins. From gossamer wings to nickels... dimes... and quarters.
In this way, a child is stepped up to greater feats of imagination and faith as he or she matures. Beginning with Santa in infancy, and ending with the Tooth Fairy as the child acquires adult teeth. Or, plainly put, beginning with all the possibility of childhood, and ending with an absolute trust in the national currency.
Chuck Palahniuk's Rant is all of the story, style, and punch promised from the guy who wrote Fight Club. Not (by a good stretch) that all the interceding books missed the mark, but this one really feels like Son of Fight Club. In the best way possible. It's bigger and more mature but in a way it only uses its maturity to be meaner and ickier and to punch harder. Megan's right. I'm 94 pages in and the book's pretty damn great. I'm really glad I read Snuff before this, a primer back into Palahniuk's world, rather than Rant first.
Rumor on the Wikipedia playground seems to be Chuck's planning two more novels to follow this one, about Rant Casey. Frankly, from the direction and tone of this book that's hard to conceive, but if I may say, it feels like the author put more into this one than he maybe has in a while--there's something here, a deeper heart, a core--and the idea of him revisiting (or even wanting to revisit) seems a good sign to me.
My internet's been crap lately. At work I don't blog, on principle. At home the laptop's gone all buggy and won't find the wireless (something about it being bitchy about sharing wifi with PCs, my dad thinks?), and at the studio my stolen internet comes and goes and is never very good.
But in two weeks ten or eleven days I move into 1844 and we'll (presumably) split an internet bill and Life Will Be Good Again.
Nothing against my dear, wonderful family and their dear, wonderful home, but I am counting the frigging hours.
From a man to an animal to a fairy.
From toys to candy to money. Thus, interestingly enough, transferring the magic of faith and trust from sparkling fairydom to clumsy, tarnished coins. From gossamer wings to nickels... dimes... and quarters.
In this way, a child is stepped up to greater feats of imagination and faith as he or she matures. Beginning with Santa in infancy, and ending with the Tooth Fairy as the child acquires adult teeth. Or, plainly put, beginning with all the possibility of childhood, and ending with an absolute trust in the national currency.
Chuck Palahniuk's Rant is all of the story, style, and punch promised from the guy who wrote Fight Club. Not (by a good stretch) that all the interceding books missed the mark, but this one really feels like Son of Fight Club. In the best way possible. It's bigger and more mature but in a way it only uses its maturity to be meaner and ickier and to punch harder. Megan's right. I'm 94 pages in and the book's pretty damn great. I'm really glad I read Snuff before this, a primer back into Palahniuk's world, rather than Rant first.
Rumor on the Wikipedia playground seems to be Chuck's planning two more novels to follow this one, about Rant Casey. Frankly, from the direction and tone of this book that's hard to conceive, but if I may say, it feels like the author put more into this one than he maybe has in a while--there's something here, a deeper heart, a core--and the idea of him revisiting (or even wanting to revisit) seems a good sign to me.
My internet's been crap lately. At work I don't blog, on principle. At home the laptop's gone all buggy and won't find the wireless (something about it being bitchy about sharing wifi with PCs, my dad thinks?), and at the studio my stolen internet comes and goes and is never very good.
But in two weeks ten or eleven days I move into 1844 and we'll (presumably) split an internet bill and Life Will Be Good Again.
Nothing against my dear, wonderful family and their dear, wonderful home, but I am counting the frigging hours.