Author dips into real life for book

The 'Fight Club' author shows readers how weird life is.
By JAY GOLDIN
KNIGHT RIDDER
"Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories" by Chuck Palahniuk (Doubleday, $23.95).
Chuck Palahniuk is best known for his fiction, including the novel "Fight Club," but as this nonfiction collection shows, he has formidable journalistic skills as well: an instinct for good stories; an ear for telling quotes; a clear, direct, sometimes staccato style; and a willingness to let the facts, no matter how odd, speak for themselves, rather than passing judgment or showing how clever he can be.
"Where Meat Comes From," for example, is an insightful, multilayered look at amateur wrestling. The theme is no surprise. "I've been wrestling so long that I don't remember what pain was like before wrestling" is a representative sentiment. Another: "After a week off, you're ready to go back because you miss the pain." Yet the wrestlers keep competing as long as they can. There is no grand conclusion here about the human condition -- just a slice of life.
Senseless feats
"Confessions in Stone" -- "This Old Castle" might have been a better title -- is about three men and the castles they constructed by hand, which, Palahniuk implies with the merest hint of archness, is perfectly normal. He uses copious details of wiring, plumbing, insulation and the like to convey the builders' love of craftsmanship. He also delves into their motives. "I'm a pretty good sipper," one says. "I'm drinking some Black Velvet one night, and I called a friend on the city council, and I said, 'I'm going to build a castle.' And he said, 'No, you can't do that.' And I said, 'Yeah, I am.' And the next morning I wake up and thought, ' I told him I was going to build a castle, so here I go."
But even those three look like pikers next to Brian Walker, the Rocket Guy, temporarily famous for trying to build and launch his own rocket. "Human Error" is not just about the rocket, though. It's also about Natasha, a Russian woman whom Walker met on the Internet, brought over and married -- who, he discovered, enjoyed porn Web sites ("stuff that would make you sick") and who quickly left him. But he got over it with his sense of humor intact: "I want to do a line of toys ... designed so that if a child had an IQ below a certain level, they wouldn't survive the toy. So you weed out the gene pool at a young age. Stupid kids are not nearly as dangerous as stupid adults, so let's take them out when they're young."
Not so star-struck
There are also a few big-C Celebrity pieces. In "In Her Own Words," Palahniuk lets actress Juliette Lewis ramble on, demonstrating how dull and self-centered she can be. More interesting, perhaps by way of contrast, is the postscript, in which Palahniuk describes briefly being held hostage in the limousine taking him to interview Lewis.
Also far better is "Reading Yourself," in which shock rocker Marilyn Manson shows an uncanny ability to observe himself as if he were someone else. Palahniuk structures the piece around Manson's dealing and interpreting Tarot cards.
When Palahniuk turns his attention to himself -- his work, his fame -- the results are less enthralling, though even here, one piece stands out: "The Lady," in which a seance intersects with Palahniuk's grisly family history. Maybe Palahniuk is as odd as some of the people about whom he writes.