Henry Charles Bukowski was a drunk. Like seriously, an alcoholic. And it seeps into this body of work, adding flavor and intensity. Akin to a decent aged whiskey.
I wrote a brief review on Goodreads, mostly in an attempt to hold myself accountable to my yearly goal of books read, so I figured I’d share it with you all.
Tales of Ordinary Madness reads like rubbish. And I mean that in a strangely, near literal way; each story is the bizarre finding one would expect to unexpectedly find in a communal garbage bin. Some are visceral and off putting, something you don’t want to look at too closely or touch, while others are delicately fascinating in their mix of high and low culture. The bloody t shirt smeared with fluid next to the expensive wine bottle wrapped in a brown grease stained paper bag.
I don’t know whether I enjoyed reading this book or not.
Here’s a bit I found particularly interesting:
It’s April 8th, 2017 and our 45th US president recently ordered air strikes against Syria. I wonder if I will continue to find meaning in the books I am reading as they relate to the current political environment. Without delving too deeply into my own rather irrelevant libertarian leanings, I will note that the aggressive actions of Trump seem to only be gaining momentum.
Maybe Bukowski hit on certain unchangeable truths – our lack of soul and what we deserve.
And on that depressing note, I leave you.