A review by jakekilroy
Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame by Charles Bukowski

4.0

I think Bukowski just sees the world in poems. That's why he writes on everything from specific arguments with women to really trivial shit, like getting the mail. It's sometimes hard to be sure of where Bukowski's brilliance ends and his rambling starts. He says enough to cover the entire spectrum of genius and idiot, though this collection leans much more towards the former. You see an almost depressing decline in the man's hope, as this particular book is broken up by Black Sparrow years. In the beginning, he's a wordy, crafty drunk who is simply observing the world. By the end, you can feel the gigantic shrug and sigh the man has become as his weaknesses have given way to fleeting moments of mild excitement and happiness.

In this collection, Bukowski finds the racetracks to be a vacation spot and not yet a home, and his drinking seems to be a vice that's not yet an addiction. However, he wants you to know that he loves the ladies. He wants you to know that they can't resist him and they aren't always attractive. He's a broken spirit with a full-functioning dick, and you can't always tell if he loves being Bukowski more than ever or if he's totally over everything he's been his whole life. The dude's able to notice the smallest things of the world and gives voice to the little things of life that he doesn't necessarily appreciate but certainly notices. You just want him to keep explaining the world to you, as you evaluate his wealth of information tidbit by tidbit.