It’s cut from the same cloth as Catcher in the Rye- which, sure, that describes quite a few books when it comes down to “angsty classics (and modern classics) about teenagers and young adults that end up emotionally devastating you,” Generation X, The Bell Jar, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, what have you- but, regardless, it’s just a fantastic book. Working as a roman a clef bildungsroman novel, we see Charles Buk- uh, Sal Paradi- uh, Henry Chinaski describing his childhood. All of which described in a sludgy, grimy manner that makes school fights seem like dogfights and helps highlight Bukowski’s nihilistic and generally misanthropic attitude (despite how he claims he isn’t one in the last chapter); you end up finding yourself Caulfielded (Caulfeld??) into sympathizing with Hank. Bukowski’s writing style also might be one of the most interesting I’ve ever seen; he writes everything like he’s a war veteran that’s describing the atrocities he’s committed. He revels in this weird sense of squeamishness his writing invokes. And of course, he’s really funny, too. In other words, funny and sad is a great combination, as always.
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