What a napalm-drop of a novel. Furious, intense, and perfectly formed, yet darkly satirical for all of that. Reading Fight Club in 2017 leaves you with a strange feeling; Tyler Durden, Icon to Toxic Masculinity, strutting about in all his raging anarchist glory, feels worryingly relevant. (As do so many things do in the age of Trump.) "You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake," he rages. 
 "We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." 
 You can't help but wonder what Tyler makes of Hillbilly Elegy. And whether he's been offered a show yet on Fox News. 
 Growing up in the 90's I have of course seen the lauded film adapation with Edward Norton and Brad Pitt, and I'm enough of a fanboy to have watched it many times over (with and without the commentary track, for bonus nerd points). Having finally come to the novel itself, it was great to find everything that I had loved best--the dialogue, the iconic scenes, and the weird non-sequiturs--right here in the original. 
 Knowing the eventual Big Twist (which must by now be up there with The Sixth Sense in the pantheon of great spoilers), it was really satisfying to watch just how cleverly Palahniuk handles his setup. The unnamed narrator's voice, the narrative tics, the carefully laid clues--it fits pefectly with the tone, it fits perfectly with the theme, and that twist, when it comes, feels completely baked in. That kind of unity is what I look for in a really great novel, and Fight Club definitely fits the bill. 
 With apologies for the pun, this one really punches above its weight. Read it in a day or two, think about it for months.