I know nobody reads anymore, but I do so occasionally I’m going to talk about it.
Charles Bukowski. What a guy. Before this year I knew nothing about him. Thanks to DOOM’s Born Like This, which samples a reading of Bukowski’s staggering poem “Dinosauria, We,” I was introduced to the brilliant curmudgeon.
Just recently I finished Pulp, his final novel. It’s a wickedly clever work, using the dusty detective genre to send up his career as a writer and the nature of writing in a postmodern world (whatever the fuck that means). It’s a really fast read with lightning quick dialogue that juxtaposes the dark armchair philosophy of protagonist Nick Belane with the insane demands of the cast of characters that enters his life. If you’ve ever seen a Film Noir or a Christopher Guest film you’re likely to enjoy this. It might be a little crazed and vulgar for some, but in a world as wild and unpredictable as ours its nice to see someone making light of the chaos while taking shots at tried and true American tropes.