By Chuck Palahniuk
The hyperactive love baby of Page Six and Whatever occurred to child Jane? stuck in a tawdry love triangle with The Fan. Even Kitty Kelly will blush.
Soaked, nay, marinated on this planet of classic Hollywood, Tell-All is a Sunset Boulevard–inflected homage to previous Hollywood while Bette Davis and Joan Crawford governed the roost; a veritable Tourette’s syndrome of rat-tat-tat name-dropping, from the A-list to the Z-list; and a merciless send-up of Lillian Hellman’s behavior of butchering the fact that can have Mary McCarthy cheering from the past.
Our Thelma Ritter–ish narrator is Hazie Coogan, who for many years has tended to the oversized wishes of Katherine “Miss Kathie” Kenton—veteran of a number of marriages, profession comebacks, and beauty surgical procedures. yet possibility arrives with gentleman caller Webster Carlton Westward III, who worms his manner into omit Kathie’s middle (and boudoir). Hazie discovers that this bounder has already written a star tell-all memoir foretelling omit Kathie’s dying in a imminent Lillian Hellman–penned musical extravaganza; because the physique count number mounts, Hazie needs to execute a plan to save lots of Katherine Kenton for her fans—and for posterity.
Tell-All is humorous, subversive, and fascinatingly smart. It’s wild, it’s depraved, it’s bold-faced—it’s classic Chuck.
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She had wrapped herself up in an old quilt instead of a winter coat. Her head cocked to one side, her eyes fixed on Mr. Robert Smith, she sang in a powerful contralto: O Sugarman done fly away Sugarman done gone Sugarman cut across the sky Sugarman gone home…. A few of the half a hundred or so people gathered there nudged each other and sniggered. Others listened as though it were the helpful and defining piano music in a silent movie. They stood this way for some time, none of them crying out to Mr.
So they called it Macon Dead’s hearse. First Corinthians pulled her fingers through her hair.
Smith. He couldn’t carry it. It’s too heavy. Jesus, you know. You know all about it. Ain’t it heavy? Jesus? Ain’t love heavy? Don’t you see, Lord? You own son couldn’t carry it. If it killed Him, what You think it’s gonna do to me? Huh? ” He was getting angry again. ” Macon’s voice was still loud, but it was getting weary. “And you, you baby-dicked baboon”—he tried to point at Macon–“you the worst. You need killin, you really need killin. You know why? Well, I’m gonna tell you why. I know why. Everybody…” Porter slumped down in the window, muttering, “Everybody know why,” and fell fast asleep.
Tell-All by Chuck Palahniuk