sogeking's review against another edition
3.0
A classic Fante tale.
An Italian family undergoes a period of trouble as Svevo Bandini, the title character, falls for a widow. His current wife tries to stay the Christian course and be a good mother but her sons, especially Arturo, are trying to cope with the situation.
The book mainly follows Arturo, with some hints of a coming of age story (his interest in girls mainly and the father/son relationship). As with vintage Fante, the family is quite poor, but doesn't suffer that much.
Some bits are funny, some are sad, most of them are just okay. It makes for an enjoyable but forgettable read.
An Italian family undergoes a period of trouble as Svevo Bandini, the title character, falls for a widow. His current wife tries to stay the Christian course and be a good mother but her sons, especially Arturo, are trying to cope with the situation.
The book mainly follows Arturo, with some hints of a coming of age story (his interest in girls mainly and the father/son relationship). As with vintage Fante, the family is quite poor, but doesn't suffer that much.
Some bits are funny, some are sad, most of them are just okay. It makes for an enjoyable but forgettable read.
craigwallwork's review
5.0
John Fante came to me by accident. It was 2002 and I was on holiday in Greece. I’d taken a few books to read and ingested them in the first week. I don’t remember the titles, which his to say, they weren’t very memorable. There was another week to go, and I had resorted to raiding the local café for any paperbacks left by previous guests. Unbeknownst to me my wife had reach the same point four days previous and had taken the only novel left. The book was Ask The Dust (Rebel Inc paperback version). Now resorted to reading the contents of the sun tan lotion bottle, I asked her what she was reading and she replied, "You’d like it. It’s about a writer who has shitty luck." She also said it reminded her a little of Catcher In The Rye.
Two months previous to that holiday I had read Salinger’s pièce de résistance over a cold weekend in a Manchester council flat. Upon finishing it I resigned from a long-standing job as an editor within a small television company, blaming inactivity and job instability for wanting to move on, but the truth was I had identified with Holden’s simple view of life, especially the need to escape society’s flakiness and live in a log cabin with a mute wife. I didn’t want to conform anymore, or be "fake". I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and it felt like Catcher was the permission slip I had been waiting for. That night, upon returning home, fate intervened and my wife and I were offered a house to buy at a very reasonable price. I had no job. No wage. And now, no way of acquiring a mortgage. The house was a one-time deal, a way of getting out of the slums and making a fresh start – the responsible thing to do, some might say. The next day I returned to work with spoon in hand ready to tuck into some humble pie and was reinstated later that afternoon. To add to my discomfiture, the house deal fell through. No book had affected me like Catcher, so when my wife mentioned Ask The Dust was "similar", my appetite was whetted, and I spent the next few hours pestering her until she handed it over.
Fante was Salinger, but with balls. Ask The Dust tells the story of Arturo Bandini, a young Italian-American from Boulder, Colorado (Fante’s hometown) who moves to LA to try and make it as a writer. He is poor, and in need of a muse, which he finds in both the City of Angels, and the self destructive Camilla Lopez, a young Mexican waitress. It deals with prejudices, and madness, but above all, it deals with love.
Hopefully some of you will already know of the book, and not because it was a movie staring that swaggering Irish dullard, Colin Farrell, a poor adaptation that was akin to dressing a pit-bull terrier in a tutu. But instead, you may have found the book by accident, like I, or may have heard about Fante through Bukowski, who, without his intervention, and the sadly missed, Black Sparrow Press (John Martin’s publishing label), Fante may have dipped off the radar forevermore. Yes, there is a great sadness behind Fante’s life story, which only adds to my respect for him. Though now widely regarded as an American Classic, at the time of its release Ask The Dust received mixed reviews and sold poorly. Added to this, Stackpoles and Son (the publisher) were caught in a legal battle with Adolph Hitler for publishing Mien Kampf without his permission. They lost the case, and a hefty chunk of change put aside to help promote Fante and his novel. Embittered that he was not recognised as one of the most important writers to emerge from America, Fante turned to Hollywood, writing scripts for the Silver Screen. There he stayed until diabetes cost him both legs and eyesight. He died in 1983. His funeral was attended by Bukowski and Martin Sheen. Regardless of whatever flaws he had, whatever aspirations were dashed, Fante carried on writing novels, completing the Bandini Quartet with Wait For Spring Bandini, Road To Los Angeles (published posthumously), and Dreams From Bunker Hill. He also wrote the novella, West of Rome, and 1933 Was a Bad Year. I implore you all to seek out Road To Los Angeles. Very few novels have me laugh out loud, but that is without question, as funny as it is ballsy.
I had the pleasure of speaking with John’s son, Dan Fante, a few times before his death, who was an established poet and novelist himself. Dan spoke reverently of his father, and his work. In truth, a lot of what Dan wrote about, and his style, is very reminiscent of John’s work. Both John and Dan were huge influences on my early work, especially The Sound of Loneliness, but for now, if you’re struggling to think of a book to take away on holiday this year then try one written by a Fante. And if I can ask one more thing of you, once you’re done with it, leave it in a café. You never know who’ll it inspire next.
Two months previous to that holiday I had read Salinger’s pièce de résistance over a cold weekend in a Manchester council flat. Upon finishing it I resigned from a long-standing job as an editor within a small television company, blaming inactivity and job instability for wanting to move on, but the truth was I had identified with Holden’s simple view of life, especially the need to escape society’s flakiness and live in a log cabin with a mute wife. I didn’t want to conform anymore, or be "fake". I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and it felt like Catcher was the permission slip I had been waiting for. That night, upon returning home, fate intervened and my wife and I were offered a house to buy at a very reasonable price. I had no job. No wage. And now, no way of acquiring a mortgage. The house was a one-time deal, a way of getting out of the slums and making a fresh start – the responsible thing to do, some might say. The next day I returned to work with spoon in hand ready to tuck into some humble pie and was reinstated later that afternoon. To add to my discomfiture, the house deal fell through. No book had affected me like Catcher, so when my wife mentioned Ask The Dust was "similar", my appetite was whetted, and I spent the next few hours pestering her until she handed it over.
Fante was Salinger, but with balls. Ask The Dust tells the story of Arturo Bandini, a young Italian-American from Boulder, Colorado (Fante’s hometown) who moves to LA to try and make it as a writer. He is poor, and in need of a muse, which he finds in both the City of Angels, and the self destructive Camilla Lopez, a young Mexican waitress. It deals with prejudices, and madness, but above all, it deals with love.
Hopefully some of you will already know of the book, and not because it was a movie staring that swaggering Irish dullard, Colin Farrell, a poor adaptation that was akin to dressing a pit-bull terrier in a tutu. But instead, you may have found the book by accident, like I, or may have heard about Fante through Bukowski, who, without his intervention, and the sadly missed, Black Sparrow Press (John Martin’s publishing label), Fante may have dipped off the radar forevermore. Yes, there is a great sadness behind Fante’s life story, which only adds to my respect for him. Though now widely regarded as an American Classic, at the time of its release Ask The Dust received mixed reviews and sold poorly. Added to this, Stackpoles and Son (the publisher) were caught in a legal battle with Adolph Hitler for publishing Mien Kampf without his permission. They lost the case, and a hefty chunk of change put aside to help promote Fante and his novel. Embittered that he was not recognised as one of the most important writers to emerge from America, Fante turned to Hollywood, writing scripts for the Silver Screen. There he stayed until diabetes cost him both legs and eyesight. He died in 1983. His funeral was attended by Bukowski and Martin Sheen. Regardless of whatever flaws he had, whatever aspirations were dashed, Fante carried on writing novels, completing the Bandini Quartet with Wait For Spring Bandini, Road To Los Angeles (published posthumously), and Dreams From Bunker Hill. He also wrote the novella, West of Rome, and 1933 Was a Bad Year. I implore you all to seek out Road To Los Angeles. Very few novels have me laugh out loud, but that is without question, as funny as it is ballsy.
I had the pleasure of speaking with John’s son, Dan Fante, a few times before his death, who was an established poet and novelist himself. Dan spoke reverently of his father, and his work. In truth, a lot of what Dan wrote about, and his style, is very reminiscent of John’s work. Both John and Dan were huge influences on my early work, especially The Sound of Loneliness, but for now, if you’re struggling to think of a book to take away on holiday this year then try one written by a Fante. And if I can ask one more thing of you, once you’re done with it, leave it in a café. You never know who’ll it inspire next.
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