Survivor

Title: Survivor
Author: Chuck Palahniuk
Published: 1999, this edition is 2003 by Vintage Books
Genre: Satire
Pages: 289


It was about time I read one of Palahniuk's earliest books. Went to Rome with the SO, so what better reading material for the flight than a book that starts with a plane hijack. This is where we are at the beginning of the book, at page 289, chapter 47. Both numbers count down as the book progresses, as the plane runs out of fuel and starts its final, uncontrolled descent with its sole passenger who is telling his story into the plane's black box.

Tender Branson is a survivor of a religious cult who all committed suicides some ten years ago. Only a few of them, working in the outside world, have not yet gotten around to killing themselves. Until someone starts helping them along. It doesn't take long until Tender is the only one left, and that's just what some people have been waiting for: a survivor to make a media messiah from. Tender's ascent into fame is just as uncontrolled as his current descent towards the ground, and it's just as crazy as you'd expect from Palahniuk. The flight home passed quickly while reading about half of it. Giggling.  Even with the scary bits, when it all seems so very possible in today's world.


   Part of my strategy for courting Fertility Hollis is to look ugly on purpose, and my getting dirty is a start. Looking a little rough around the edges. Still, it's hard to get dirty gardening when you never really touch the ground, but my clothes smell from the poison, and my nose is a little sunburned. With the wire stem of a plastic calla lily, I chop up a handful of the hard dead soil, and I rub it in my hair. I wedge the dirt in under my fingernails. 
   God forbid I should try and look good for Fertility. The worst strategy I could pursue is self-improvement. It would be a big mistake to dress up, make my best effort, comb my hair, maybe even borrow some swell clothes from the man I work for, something all-cotton and pastel shirtwise, brush my teeth, put on what they call deodorant and walk into the Columbia Memorial Mausoleum for my big second date still looking ugly, but showing signs I really tried to look good.
   So here I am. This is as good as it gets. Take it or leave it.
   As if I don't care what she thinks.