Richard Price’s novel Lush Life is the story of Eric Cash, who is having a very bad week. In fact, Eric’s life hasn’t been going all that well in general lately.

Eric is the quintessential disaffected New York thirtysomething. He fancies himself a screenwriter, but the only thing he has going is a work-for-hire project that he knows is crap. In real life he manages a hipster bar for his money, which he spends on an apartment that he shares with a girlfriend who may or may not be coming back from an overseas research trip for her master’s thesis on fringe sexuality. Each day makes Eric more aware of the rut into which he’s sunk, as he watches disaffected New Yorkers a decade his junior landing the breaks he feels he deserves. And to make matters worse, one of his coworkers has just been shot, and Eric is the only witness. Or is he the only suspect? » More... » →

Believe it or not, Chuck Palahniuk’s latest fails to be as much of a gross-out as I’d imagined it would be. Coming off of Haunted, a loosely-knit collection of short pieces that includes the story of a man who disembowels himself through his own anus during an act of masturbation, then subsequently impregnates his own little sister by accident, I’d figured being the reigning King of Gross-Out was Palahniuk’s new bag.

Turns out it is and it isn’t. It’s true that Snuff, the new novel, is set in the world of hardcore gonzo pornography, and that Palahniuk has obviously done his usual meticulous job of digging for trivia and fast-facts that will leave you scratching your head and wondering if he’s putting you on. Beyond that basic high concept, however, seekers of cult vile transgressiveness could probably ask for more. » More... » →