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3.51 AVERAGE
3.51 AVERAGE
dark
emotional
funny
tense
challenging
dark
tense
Forget everything you've heard about this book. Go in blind and take a shot everytime he mentions sex or feces.
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Some of my favorites are compressed in this book.
I don't know how I can love you and hate you at the same time Bukowski, but well, that's just our relationship
I don't know how I can love you and hate you at the same time Bukowski, but well, that's just our relationship
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I’ve checked in and out of this periodically over the last month or so, doing so initially because I had this idea Bukowski might be a better poet than a short story author. Unfortunately, he isn’t. The quality of his writing is about the same-which is to say, it’s mediocre most of the time, awful some of the time and very, very good only a little bit of the time.
His dedication to grime and dust is admirable, I suppose, but I have to ask-to what end? There’s only so much I can find interesting or new in one of thirty different poems about a pervert drinking himself to death. Additionally, there’s a poem in here-I forget which one-which, effectively, gives authors this price of advice (paraphrasing): “the best way to become a writer is to use women, constantly,” which is really the thesis statement of this poetry collection. Bukowski’s misogyny is overwhelming and old school, and it pervades the collection, making enjoying it difficult. There are a few poems in here, like “When I Think of Myself Dead” or “Bedpans” which are good, but their actual insight into how deeply Bukowski despises his life is rare, as is honesty in this collection.
Wouldn’t recommend it.
His dedication to grime and dust is admirable, I suppose, but I have to ask-to what end? There’s only so much I can find interesting or new in one of thirty different poems about a pervert drinking himself to death. Additionally, there’s a poem in here-I forget which one-which, effectively, gives authors this price of advice (paraphrasing): “the best way to become a writer is to use women, constantly,” which is really the thesis statement of this poetry collection. Bukowski’s misogyny is overwhelming and old school, and it pervades the collection, making enjoying it difficult. There are a few poems in here, like “When I Think of Myself Dead” or “Bedpans” which are good, but their actual insight into how deeply Bukowski despises his life is rare, as is honesty in this collection.
Wouldn’t recommend it.
Idk for some reason I didn’t release how lewd it would be
Style wasn't my thing + was very crude and seemed to have no meaning at all
This is my first experience with Bukowski. I wasn’t aware of his poetry until I stumbled across this book while looking for something else.
I’m not sure how to describe this book. Everything I’d heard about Bukowski was there... the beer, the whores, etc...
But what stands out is the talent and the honesty. And wow can he paint a scene! Highly recommend.
I’m not sure how to describe this book. Everything I’d heard about Bukowski was there... the beer, the whores, etc...
But what stands out is the talent and the honesty. And wow can he paint a scene! Highly recommend.