On the plane home from Mexico yesterday I finished Chuck Palahniuk’s Survivor. 

I attempted this book last summer but lost interest quickly after reading the second chapter.  Essentially, within a whopping ten pages, the protagonist described a plethora of ways to get stains out of various fabrics and other porous materials.  I felt like I should be taking notes and prepping for an exam.  Obviously I grew tired of such an overload of unnecessary information … since I don’t really have an issue with stains (unless Bruce eats one of those plastic milk-jug rings).  

In Indiana a few weeks ago I decided to pick it back up and give it another whirl.  Palahniuk is the author who wrote Fight Club … one of my favs … so I figured I owed it to him to push through the second chapter and keep going.  Through the tears and horrendous brain-pain, I popped a few Excedrin and finally made it through. Miraculously … once chapter 2 was way in my past and long forgotten, I enjoyed every moment of the rest of the story … until the end.

One important factoid about this book is the page numbers are counted down to the end.  I’m not spoiling anything when I say the format of the book is basically written in the first person who is ultimately going to kill himself.  The protagonist is on his way to suicide via crashing a plane he has evacuated, and is telling his story to the black box during his slow descent (while waiting for engines to burn out).  Additionally, I must add that the grammar and writing style of Palahniuk drove me a little bananas … my OCD was kicking in and I almost grabbed a red pen to correct some of the sentences.  I refrained since I borrowed it from my brother and his wrath is terrifying when it comes to scratched DVDs or bent pages.

Anyway, the end, which I will not spoil, was kind of a humdrum.  I had a flashback to Steven King’s The Stand … which was ridiculous enough to make me throw the book across the room, stand up in a rage of fury and exclaim: “The hand of God card?  F-you, King!”  The entire book leading up to the end was really interesting (regardless of size - you could seriously kill somebody hitting them over the head with this thing) … and then the Hand of God came and ended it.  It was as if King got to a certain point, realized he had enough pages to level an entire rain forrest and thought, “Hmmm … crap.  Well, there’s always the glorious Hand of God, which could do anything at any time and doesn’t really need an explanation to work in this context.  Bada-bing.” (In my head apparently King is having lunch with Joe Pesci?)

Anyhoo, Survivor didn’t make me quite as angry, but I was still annoyed.  Upon completion, I glanced over at the lovely Mexican lady (who couldn’t speak a lick of English) sitting next to me as I closed the little soft-cover and made a “slit my throat” motion.  I don’t think she understood … and the next two hours on the plane were rather awkward … (she slept with one eye open, staring directly at me …)

Endings can be difficult, and I’m not just talking about books and movies.  The climax and resolution is always exciting … but it can definitely leave a bad taste in your mouth if not done artfully.