Pulp by Charles Bukowski

Sacrilegiously, the first I heard of Bukowski was when I watched Factotum starring Matt Dillon. It was a movie about being depressed and it was so good that after it finished I immediately called up my best friend at the time and said, I feel so depressed, I can’t be alone, I’m coming over. This, I’ve noticed since then, is what Bukowski does so well, telling with his straight-forward cynicism about life at the bottom. Drinking, horses, women, in that order.

This guy wrote some 45 volumes of poetry, filled with dirty, ugly bullets of truth fired from a rusty typewriter into the degenerate underbelly of modern America, but I don’t read poetry. Of his novels, I’ve read Post Office, Factotum, and Women. Pulp was his final novel, completed shortly before his death.

-Reading the Why

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