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sammy_boy's review against another edition
dark
funny
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Easy to read but can be hard to stomach. Henry Chinaski is one miserable bastard.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Misogyny and Violence
Minor: Racial slurs, Racism, and Xenophobia
_bxllxe_'s review against another edition
adventurous
dark
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
It’s hard to put into words how this book made me feel. I could relate to the passages that reminded me of the “numb” stage of depression. For example:
“I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself. […] I needed an isolated place to hide. Skid row was disgusting. The life of the sane, average man was dull, worse than death. There seemed to be no possible alternative. Education always seemed to be a trap. The little education I had allowed myself had made me more suspicious. What were doctors, lawyers, scientists? They were just men who allowed themselves to be deprived of their freedom to think and act as individuals.I went back to my shack and drank…”
Bukowski intrigues me even though his words sometimes offend me. I wonder at what ratio nature and nurture influenced his rebellious personality and flaccid outlook on life. He reminds me of Otessa Moshfegh. They write simply but impactfully. Their characters almost uniformly revile humanity, struggle with addiction, and prefer isolation. If I were to start writing, I’d probably write in this same vein. Maybe they reflect my darkest parts back to me. Maybe I take comfort in this recognition.
“I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself. […] I needed an isolated place to hide. Skid row was disgusting. The life of the sane, average man was dull, worse than death. There seemed to be no possible alternative. Education always seemed to be a trap. The little education I had allowed myself had made me more suspicious. What were doctors, lawyers, scientists? They were just men who allowed themselves to be deprived of their freedom to think and act as individuals.I went back to my shack and drank…”
Bukowski intrigues me even though his words sometimes offend me. I wonder at what ratio nature and nurture influenced his rebellious personality and flaccid outlook on life. He reminds me of Otessa Moshfegh. They write simply but impactfully. Their characters almost uniformly revile humanity, struggle with addiction, and prefer isolation. If I were to start writing, I’d probably write in this same vein. Maybe they reflect my darkest parts back to me. Maybe I take comfort in this recognition.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Alcoholism, Blood, and Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Sexual content and Violence
Minor: Racial slurs and War