We could use more writers like Chuck Palahniuk. He writes novels that validate the continuing dynamism and relevance of American literature with an enthusiasm and engagement matched by no other contemporary writer. The books read like some crazy hopped-up slacker amalgamation of James Ellroy plus Denis Johnson-with, of course, their own special twistedness.

And, with the help of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton, Palahniuk's first novel Fight Club found a hungry audience of hundreds of thousands of readers, stretching well beyond the typical crowd for literary fiction debuts. One suspects that all in all, the die-hard fans of Chuck Palahniuk could kick the shit out of the fans of last year's bestselling literary sensation, the Staggering Genius. Becoming an enthusiastic Palahniuk fan makes you feel like you've joined a cult of slightly-tougher-slightly-angrier-than-your-average-soul readers.

Choke has all the visceral energy and pure, outrageous provocation of Fight Club, but might even be turned up a notch. And instead of violence, this one's all about dirty sex. You'll never look at a rubber ball, an airplane bathroom, livestock, or colonial Williamsburg the same way again. If that all doesn't scare you off, you'll love this book.

If it does scare you off, you shouldn't read this essay, either, in which Palahniuk probes the inspiration for Choke. Some of the essay even begins to read like fiction, but it's not. This is real, but don't think for a second that it proves the tired adage or truth being stranger than fiction-read the excerpt and you'll see that they're at least neck and neck, in the best of ways.

And if you really do feel like joining the Palahniuk cult, check out http://www.choke-book.com, where you can literally sign up for the posse.