I really wanted to like this book more. I couldn't.
It's not because it's gory. It's because there is no point in this book besides being gory. I tried to search for something else, but the only impression I was able to get is that this book was written for shock value. The fact that the author insists on reading one, arguably "most gory", story in public and counts the people fainting corroborates this theory. On the top of that, said story is first in the book.
If that is indeed author's intent, he succeeded masterfully. The problem is, I don't particularly care for it. If there was at least an explanation of why the organiser made events like this happen, I might have liked it more. But of course it's handwaved into being some metaphysical expression of primal urges we are all totally lying to ourselves we don't have or something pseudo-phylosophical like that. For me, it's hollow. The whole premise is. Yes, I know that it's supposed to reflect a struggle to make oneself credible. I still think that's just an excuse.
In horror, there is a fine line between extremity and pretense, and according to my personal inner meter this book is lying firmly on the latter side.