by Charles Bukowski
A compilation of articles Bukowski wrote with free reign--no censorship!--for a local San Francisco paper.
Reviewed by: Jennifer Muzinic
About Jennifer Muzinic
Boy-Golly, did my mom hate this book! (She should have known from the title.) But for those of us with less rigid definitions of "filthy" and "perverted", this is an absolute must read. Bukowski hails from the time of great authors--the literary icons of the fifties and sixties that toilet-papered the trees of the daily grind with freedom and beauty, poetry. Not the golden ray of sunshine kind of beauty my mom wants to read about, but the type that finds nobility in the filthy grime under fingernails kind of beauty.
This book is a compilation of articles that Bukowski wrote with free reign--no editing, no censorship!--for a local paper in San Francisco. It touches--briefly, and sort of in the manner of a carnival mirror--on some pretty major threads in American history (like the assassination of Kennedy), but I wouldn't use it as a source in your history report. It's more of a journal of a very--um, unique? demented? excessive?--special man that seems to actively seek out the lowest portions of human existence and roll around in it.
Bukowski blows your mind, grosses you out, makes you laugh--the choices he makes absolutely revolt against whatever remains of your purity and innocence. But he makes a heck of a lot of sense, reminds us that he is well read, intelligent, and slices through reality with a sharp knife, dissecting the pieces, removing the bullshit, and ends by serving up freedom on a silver platter.
Jeez, it's a horrible way to live--a drunk, homeless, hungry, alone--yet he chose that route and allowed us to watch from the safety of our warm and safe suburban homes.
His talent and tales earned the occasional companionship of some mighty large characters--he eulogizes Neal Cassady (the real-life model for On The Road's Dean Moriarty), boozes with Kerouac, rips into Burroughs. Bums, losers and criminals may very well overshadow the celebrity personas. For what is Bukowski but the sage that sleeps with a 300 pound prostitute, puts an angel on a baseball field, fights by throwing furniture & empty bottles, sets up drunks for robbery, and drinks, drinks, drinks...
If you're going to read this book, don't be lazy about it and cheat yourself--read the Foreword. It sets up the book quite nicely. And if you find that the foreword is an affront to your delicate sensibilities, give the book to someone who knows what to do with it, and go join my mom in the corner that reeks of sunshine and daisies.
Click here to buy this book, or read more about it at Amazon.com: notes of a dirty old man
Copyright © by Jennifer Muzinic, 2002
Reviewed by Jennifer Muzinic:
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-- Many Lives, Many Masters
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