Book: Women by Charles Bukowski

This is my first Bukowski and it was a harsh introduction. I had no idea what I was getting into but I'm glad I found another writer with such lawlessness, such complete disregard for etiquette and good taste. Bukowski shows no concern for anyone except himself. I can picture him being very similar to his protagonist Henry Chinaski. Henry's only concern was how to make life move quickly and painlessly. He had given up on love, health, culture, spirituality. Anything that most people find profound meaning in was an annoyance for old Hank. He simply wanted to find pleasure in the easy, while doing what came naturally to him, which was writing.

The story finds Chinaski at the peak of his career with women flocking to him, fans of his romantic belligerence. Most of the women didn't mean anything to him and as soon as they spoke out of turn or challenged him he simply walked away without a raised word, without the slightest remorse. The women he did enjoy had grace, beauty and intelligence but were ultimately victims of insecurity. He kept the few in constant torment, informing them of other girls he would fuck and leave. I could say that he had honesty, but in this context that wasn't a quality of his character, it was a complete disregard for human feelings. But, this behavior kept him writing, it kept him alive when his body was abused beyond repair.

I have seething hatred for Chinaski yet I'm constantly drawn to subject matter like this. It's just another example of the senselessness of life, the insanity of it. It's comforting to read about characters like this because it makes me feel like I'm not the only one who's wandering around trying to experience as much of the fringe as possible. I would like to walk to the edge and look over, but in all honesty I don't have the balls to do so. Chinaski did and will die with memories of his exploits without regret because he was sufficiently desensitized by a harsh past and liberal amounts of booz. I hate Chinaski, but I envy his fearlessness. As for Bukowski, I'll keep reading his stuff for short glimpses of clarity, brief moments of the profound, with backdrops of absurdity.

5/5