For good reason, a lot of people hate this book, and Charles Bukowski at large. The book is very hateable for a lot of reasons. It’s often misogynistic, slightly less so racist, but still plenty. The main character is a real piece of shit. He rapes someone in the first third of a novel, and it’s almost but not quite played for laughs. And at the very least he’s incredibly grotesque.
At the same time, rereading this, especially in audiobook form, I get more about why people like it and even love it. Reading this book is often an exercise in dirtbag cos-play. If you’re feeling pretty low about yourself and your choices, you might read this novel and see someone who is in a similar enough position and feel a little seen. If you’re nearly as low as the character here, and let’s hope not, you might feel little unearned superiority. At times, it’s also very funny. But it’s always there. This is a pure experiment in adult ego.
If you’re lost and wayward as a teen, you’re a deeply sympathetic person within reason. If it’s the same in your 20s, there’s a sense of urgency but also maybe motivation to figure it out. In your 30s, there’s a sense of losing out on the trappings of conventional life. But if you’re lost and wayward in your 40s, like our character here, you’re not actually either. You’re living your life. And beyond that feels like gravy. The novel is oddly satisfying in these ways.
But man, the shittiness is hard to stomach.