Bibliofiles

[September 10th, 2003] diary: a novel
by Chuck Palahniuk
(Random House, 272 pages, $24.95)

Pulling together strands of disparate elements such as facial muscular anatomy, building contractors' superstitious acts and the biological composition of artists' materials, Portland's Chuck Palahniuk weaves narrative layers to create an ominously compelling tale in his latest novel.

Palahniuk's sight is trained on the domestic scene in Diary: the sacrifices women must make for the sake of pursuing a home life, and the lengths to which people are willing to go to preserve the family mythology (no matter how dysfunctional).

Diary is told in the format of a "coma diary" being kept by Misty Tracy Wilmot as her husband, Peter, lies comatose after an alleged suicide attempt. The narrative unfolds on "Waytansea Island," Peter's familial residence, where Misty was forced to move as a result of their marriage. She now labors as a hotel maid/hostess, overweight, unkempt and chronically drunk: "When the summer people ask for coffee drinks with foamed milk or chelated silver or carob sprinkles or soy-based anything, take a drink."

Misty's misery is further chronicled in the form of ghoulishly funny weather reports scattered throughout the narrative: "Just for the record, today's weather is nervous disgust with tentative apprehension." Misty gave up her dreams of living the life of an artist to provide for her now-adolescent daughter, Tabitha, and her creativity has lain as untended as Misty herself, until Angel Delaporte enters the picture.

A fellow islander (and graphologist), Delaporte is the lone character seemingly sympathetic to Misty's plight (and generous with his ever-full hip flask). He accompanies her to homes where a
pre-coma Peter, working as a contractor, has scrawled portentous messages on the walls of rooms before sealing them off. The book opens with an ominous answering-machine message left by the owner of one of Peter's houses. Misty writes in her journal: "The man calling from Long Beach, he says his bathroom is missing."

Angel encourages Misty to continue the painting she has started as the result of a poisoned sandwich given to her by her mother-in-law--all part of a sinister plot to start Misty on an "automatic painting" odyssey which is designed to save the island from certain ruin by tourists. Sound far-fetched? The suspension of disbelief is essential when reading Palahniuk--how else can one allow so much seemingly inessential material to cloud the plot? In the words of the author himself, "What you don't understand you can make mean anything."

Even if the details of the plot digressions are not as well-researched as some have supposed, the ultimate impact of the novel rings true. Misty is a woman trapped within the confines of the island and its inhabitants for one monumental reason, the same reason why (according to Palahniuk) building contractors are said to have sealed women alive in the basements of cathedrals: to imbue the buildings with a soul. Yes, this is a bit of a rehash of Palahniuk's criticism of consumerism run amok (à la Fight Club), but it is seeded in the heart of an ultimately sympathetic (almost, surprisingly, sentimental) protagonist facing down the damaged souls who would deny her freedom.