Romanele lui (in acel stil minimalist al lui Easton Ellis) sunt un nou si bine-venit antidot impotriva vietii aseptice a consumatorului lumii moderne, asa ca nu poti da vina pe el daca o sa te stranga de gat. Vocea lui e atat de clar diferentiata (ajunge sa te gandesti la Fight Club, la Bantuitii sau la Sufocare), incat s-ar putea spune ca autorul apartine unui gen literar cu un singur reprezentant – el insusi. Continuator al lui Ken Kesey, simbol al unei generatii, impostor: cam astea-s reactiile si catalogarile pe care le starnesc de regula textele lui Chuck Palahniuk. Short story-urile lui – precum cea de mai jos – sunt ca mici bombonele M&M imbibate cu Schweppes: neasteptate, delicioase, viscerale. Intrucat nu am gasit o poza mai sugestiva pentru short story-urile lui si intrucat mi-a fost incredibil de lene sa scanez una din cartile lui, va puteti multumi cu atasata.
The Love Theme of Sybil and William
Printed in Modern Short Stories
Joni Mitchell’s music was the theme to the TV series of Sybil’s life. When Sybil walked down the beach, she heard Joni in her head. When she made love, she played Joni’s tapes. After sex, she sang the lyrics in the shower.
She played the “up” songs, like “Free Man In Paris,” when she was happy.
She played Joni’s “Blue” album when she was down. Or more accurately, her husband suspected, when Sybil wanted to be down and stay down.
When she was angry, she played the sad songs, but she played them at ear shock levels. Tonight, “People’s Parties” was so loud it was shaking the dust down from the track lighting. It was loud enough for everyone in the building to know Sybil’s mood. Her husband, William, stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the din and wondering if he should run back to the office. He could call home to say he had to work late. “My doctor said I’m too healthy to come home today,” he would say when Sybil demanded why he’d missed dinner. Instead, he opened his mouth to relieve the pressure that was about to hit his eardrums, and he walked into the apartment.
“I’m home,” he shouted against the wall of sound. There was no answer. It was a surprise.
William walked into the living room and turned down the volume on the stereo. He found Sybil in the kitchen eating cookies.
William snorted a laugh and some cookie crumbs out his nose. This was so like Sybil, stupid and funny, serious and innocent. Sometimes William didn’t know if he had married her or adopted her.
[.........................] You can read the whole story @ http://chuckpalahniuk.net/features/shorts/
Sybil was beautiful, and sometimes William could still unknowingly catch sigh of her across a room or a street and wonder who that beautiful woman was. However, the moment he realized that woman was Sybil, the wonder was gone. In William’s mind, Sybil was no longer a fascinatingly mysterious object. To William, Sybil was just a 23-year-old girl who couldn’t talk intelligently about the lake poets.
Two years earlier, Sybil had been Pia Zadora with Madam Curie’s brain wrapped in a cut-off T-shirt and completely innocent to the fact that the undersides of her breasts showed when she threw her head back in laughter. Her breasts had shown, and she had tossed her dense red hair, and her eyes were so wide the whites were visible all around the edges of the green-brown irises.