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Haunted : A Novel

From Fight Club to the excellent Stranger than Fiction, I’ve enjoyed Palahniuk’s off-beat take on the world. Sadly, reading Haunted is a great disappointment. I can summarize my feelings toward most of the novel with one word – ick. Palahniuk has always used the visceral to add impact and comedy to his stories. In Haunted, extreme descriptions of injury and death are heaped-on primarily for shock value.

Haunted follows 23 wanna-be writers trapped in an abandoned theatre as they increasingly revel in gore and self-mutilation. The central narrative is broken up by short-stories (actually autobiographical tales) told by each character. The characters are called by their too cute biographical nick-names (e.g. Comrade Snarky, Agent Tattletale, Chef Assassin, The Duke of Vandals, etc.). Unfortunately, the written voice of each character is indistinguishable from any of the others. Given the construction of the novel, this seems to be a defect of the writing rather than a stylistic choice.

It’s difficult to guess exactly what Haunted was intended to be. The characters act as no real people would, yet they aren’t archetypes or actors in a parable. The events in this world would never happen, yet there is no indication that the author has formed rules for the imaginary world where the story is set.

If Palahniuk’s central theme relates to stories and storytelling, the sole gore-infatuated, self-obsessed voice used by all of the characters shoots the project in the foot. Worst of all, Haunted seems to be devoid of the unique insight into human nature that distinguishes Palahniuk’s best work.

With Haunted and his last couple of novels, I get the feeling that Palahniuk has lost his way. While the author might have found joy in writing Haunted, there is little joy in reading it. Like an addiction, I have kept reading Palahniuk because it’s become... a habit.