This book from cult author Chuck Palahniuk is the story of Victor Mancini, who makes his living by pretending to choke on his food in expensive restaurants, relying on the old Chinese tradition that whoever saves your life is responsible for your welfare forever. He receives numerous checks in the mail and "birthday" cards observing the anniversaries of his "rebirths." He also attends sex addict support group meetings looking to get some. He visits his mother, stricken with Alzheimer's, in the hospital and pretends to be someone different with each visit in order to find out how she really feels about her son. Mancini's one redeeming quality seems to be that he allows the other patients in his mother's ward to believe that he is the person who did them wrong so many years ago. He apologizes profusely, finally allowing them closure in their last days.

In short, he's a right bastard. But despite the despicable qualities of its narrator (or perhaps because of them?), Choke is a riveting read. Palahniuk has a very sardonic style that is at first difficult to get into, especially as he begins the novel with his character insulting a child through his narration. He's not simply a child, but "the stupidest little rat fink crybaby twerp that ever lived." An early annoyance that turns into a running joke is Mancini's disinclination to choose the most appropriate adjective for a given situation, instead settling for one that "isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind."

But, through all this, if you're still not up to the challenge, it's your own fault in his opinion. After all, he places a warning right at the beginning of the novel:

If you're going to read this, don't bother...

There has to be something better on television. Or since you have so much time on your hands, maybe you could take a night course. Become a doctor. You could make something out of yourself. Treat yourself to a dinner out. Color your hair.

You're not getting any younger.

Then there's the time when he decides that women have bossed him around enough. He's "going on strike. From now on, women can open their own doors" and "pick up the check for their own dinners." And he'll not be "moving anybody's big heavy sofas" or "opening stuck jar lids," nor is he "ever going to put down another toilet seat."

"And for real, if I'm on a sinking ship, I'm getting in the lifeboat first."

But my favorite section of Choke has to be his description of the attendees of the sexaholics meeting. "Believe it or not, you know everybody here," he says and then goes on to describe every sex-related urban legend you've ever heard. The woman who was given a surprise party and her hosts found her naked letting her dog lick peanut butter from between her legs. The men who got their members caught in the vacuum cleaner tube, or the champagne bottle, or the jacuzzi water intake. The people who "slipped and fell" onto the shampoo bottle, or the zucchini, or the lightbulb, or the screwdriver, or the flashlight, or the gerbil, and that have to go to the hospital to have it removed. "These men and women, they're all here."

But if you're not already a follower of urban legends -- or sexual addiction -- I suppose this all simply seems disturbing. I don't know if any of that is true or not, but it makes good fiction, and it certainly enhanced my enjoyment of this particular fiction. If nothing else, Choke is entertaining. I'm not sure if it's a "good" book, but I know that I was carried quickly from start to finish. Palahniuk's style flows, making his clumsy transitions easy to follow.

"Conversational" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

This review originally appeared in somewhat different form on The Green Man Review. Copyright 2003. Reprinted with permission.

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