it is a book about misogynistic violence that revels in misogynistic violence. The ironic distance is wafer thin. The surface gleam of labels and materialistic narcissism is boring. Someone like Douglas Coupland was far more interesting at the time.
But maybe the biggest crime is that the writing is clumsy and lacking in wit or grace. Jeff Koons with a typewriter
[shrugs again] you're wrong. could not be more wrong. normal art is subjective caveat.
it's one thing to dismissively shit on a work I care deeply about - that's fine - it's another to so badly misrepresent it
the ironic distance is not "wafer then". it does not revel in violence. it's not even
about misogynistic violence, or misogyny, in that sense.
(if you want take issue with the violence, sure, but get it right)
if all you see is the surface gleam of labels and narcissism, you - somehow - clearly don't understand what the book is about.
some portion of its meaning is providential, certainly, but no less real for that
as to whether the writing is clumsy and lacking in wit, that's a matter of taste. I have to think I'd find most of the 19th C. nonsense and art criticism you're grinding through dead boring, but there you go.