There is scant momentum in this short novel until its last few pages, when the three males finally get their Cassie turns and the novel at last picks up a smidgen of speed to deliver its high-voltage climax.
Porn seems as though it should have been prime Palahniuk country, with its pervasiveness in sexually ambivalent US society, its “legendary” performers, its spin-off products geared for amateur use at home.
The outrageous premise suggests a perfect match of gross-out material and bad-boy lit provocateur, but his execution is not up to snuff. This novel is more tedious than outlandish, and never rises above being mildly amusing.
Palahniuk’s Snuff is mostly an X-rated tease.
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