So the obsession continues. I read another novel by Charles Bukowski. The book starts by proclaiming that as a fifty year old, the narrator had not been laid in four years. What then follows is a parade of graphic descriptions of various encounters with women.
There is lots of humour contained within this. The absurdity of a fat ugly old man pulling women thirty years younger is highly entertaining. What it does do, however, is question the relationship between men and various women. It also focuses upon the priorities that these women hold when conducting their lives.
Bukowski is too much of an artist to come up with a generalized answer but something has changed since he became a named author.
Some women seem to be attracted to his reputation as a womanizer. Others like his unpredictability and are bored by the standards of the in-crowd. Others still, who do not know of his reputation, are discovered to be prostitutes plying their trade.
As the work comes to an end, boredom starts to fester. Some very telling comments are then made. He says that men like lots of women as a compensation for being unable to find the one good woman. He also tries to discuss his predicament with various women who he has slept with- but with utter failure. When he says that he did not understand what love was because of his upbringing, his intimate friends fly away, unable to connect on an emotional level.
There is a promise at the end of the novel that he might have found the one good woman; a women who held out and did not sleep with him straight away. He cannot be sure. He refuses the advances of a nineteen year old who 'wants to discuss her writing' - but he knows that he has only been successful this once.
The novel ends with a stray cat moving in. Animals, he maintains, know intuitively who the good guys are.
A place for not so random thoughts and musings using highly selective criteria that is not immediately apparent.
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Friday, 22 January 2010
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Charles Bukowski: Post Office
I have just finished the novel 'Post Office' by Charles Bukowski. It is an amazing piece of writing. While it does not try to impress it is impressive. The writing is simple and straight forward. It charts episodes in a eleven year period of a man working a deadbeat job and how such a man still tries to live and enjoy life.
There is much great material here- like how the soups (the supervisors) abuse their position and power and enforce silly rules. How drink and the racetrack counteract such abuse by giving a man a sense of freedom. It also explores racial tension in a period leading up to race riots in LA.
Bukowski's relationship with women is complex. There are moments of vulnerability and sensitivity in this novel while at other times there is a more extreme attitude. He was certainly a product of his 30's upbringing- though this can not excuse some of his more macho stances.
Overall this is still a worthwhile read. It compares well with writers such as Jack Kerouac. Both are great novelists but there is no religious undertones with Bukowski. He is out to make the best of a bad beat. He is not searching for answers but only for a way to survive.
There is much great material here- like how the soups (the supervisors) abuse their position and power and enforce silly rules. How drink and the racetrack counteract such abuse by giving a man a sense of freedom. It also explores racial tension in a period leading up to race riots in LA.
Bukowski's relationship with women is complex. There are moments of vulnerability and sensitivity in this novel while at other times there is a more extreme attitude. He was certainly a product of his 30's upbringing- though this can not excuse some of his more macho stances.
Overall this is still a worthwhile read. It compares well with writers such as Jack Kerouac. Both are great novelists but there is no religious undertones with Bukowski. He is out to make the best of a bad beat. He is not searching for answers but only for a way to survive.
Labels:
Charles Bukowski,
damage,
Jack Kerouac,
LA,
Post Office,
racial tension,
riots,
women
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