Sunday, October 17, 2010

Charles Bukowski’s WOMEN : Re-examined by Richard Perez



 Henry Chinaski, c'est Bukowski lui-même, un écrivain alcoolique et grand amateur de femmes.


Alone With Everybody
 by Charles Bukowski


The flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.


"Maybe I should have slammed her? How did a man know what to do? Generally, I decided, it was better to wait, if you had any feeling for the individual. If you hated her right off, it was better to fuck her right off; if you didn't, it was better to wait, then fuck her and hate her later on."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 189)


Yeah, I know that's terrible. But, man, it's also funny and brutally honest, and in a way it underscores the best thing about Bukowski's 3rd (and arguably second best) novel, WOMEN, the book where Bukowski bluntly set out to prove he was a male chauvinist pig -- or possibly the most truthful author around.


I just happily finished re-reading it (for maybe the 4th or 5th time -- over I don't know how many years), and I still can't decide if it's a romantic comedy (he does end up with the "chaste" girl by the end); or a coming-of-age story (he does learn about sex, as if for the first time; with the character of Lydia teaching him all about the working parts of a vagina and how to eat pussy); or if it's a sexploitation romp. (The sexual scenes occur every 5 or 10 pages and are depicted very deliberately, highlighting the graphic elements in a way that would make Chuck Palahniuk blush.)

Here's one of my favorites:

   "The night wore on. Then I looked around and Valerie and Bobby were gone. I walked into the bedroom and there was Valerie on the bed, naked except for her spiked high heels. Her body was firm and lean.
   Bobby was still dressed and was sucking Valerie's breasts, going from one to the other. Her nipples stood tall.
   Bobby looked up at me. "Hey, old man, I've heard you brag about how you eat pussy. How's this?"
   Bobby ducked down and spread Valerie's legs. Her cunt hairs were long and twisted and tangled. Bobby went down there and licked the clit. He was pretty good but he lacked spirit.
   "Wait a minute, Bobby, you're not doing it right. Let me show you."
   I got down there. I began far back and worked toward it. Then I got there. Valerie responded. Too much so. She wrapped her legs around my head and I couldn't breathe. My ears were pressed flat. I pulled my head out of there.
   "O.K., Bobby, you see?"
   Bobby didn't answer.
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 255)


It's true that Bukowski exaggerated the details of his life. And as he says when another character asks him, "What's fiction?" He answers (pg. 197): "Fiction is an improvement on life."

And having read his biography by Howard Sounes (LOCKED IN THE ARMS OF A CRAZY LIFE), it's apparent that he not only exaggerates the amount of sex, but also the amount he was paid for poetry readings (his real-life minimum was $25.00 ... whereas in the book he's frequently offered 15 or 20 times that amount).

Stylistically, this time around, I could see a lot of John Fante (which Bukowski always admitted to, as in one of portion of the book where he spells out his name and favorite works ["F-A-N-T-E. Ask the Dust. Wait Until Spring, Bandini" --pg. 200]) -- and also A LOT of Ernest Hemingway, especially the Ernest Hemingway of THE SUN ALSO RISES (the Paris Hemingway) and A MOVEABLE FEAST.


One thing I also noticed this time around is that Bukowski has a special knack for closing a chapter or section in the simplest way possible; this is actually harder than it seems, and it's something that drives me crazy when I'm writing. I mean, when you're designing a scene, you're also trying to anticipate a way to make it as brief as possible, to conclude it. You want to get the scene done and tie it up with seeming effortlessness. Bukowski is excellent at this, concluding chapters precisely and even with a poem-like rhythm:

  "Katherine walked into the boarding tunnel and was gone.
   I walked back to the parking lot, got in the Volks, thinking, I've still got this. What the hell, I haven't lost everything.
   It started."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 107)

Here's another example:

  "I phoned Cecelia back that night, and I phoned her again the next night, and once more after that, and then I stopped phoning."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 172)

Another example.

   "Goodnight, Cecelia," I said.
   I pulled her to me. She was naked. Jesus, I thought. We kissed. She kissed very well. It was a long, hot one. We finished.
   "Cecelia?"
   "Yes?"
   "I'll fuck you some other time."
   I rolled over and went to sleep.
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 175) {... yeah, I know that's cold, but it's also cruel-funny.}


Some might argue that, structurally, WOMEN is weaker than POST OFFICE or HAM ON RYE, and I would agree to some extent with that. Structurally, the book isn't an "integrated" whole, but episodic -- with events stacking up like layers in a cake.

In other words, the female characters in this novel enter and leave, enter and leave, enter and leave, as Bukowski "works and works and works," and rarely seems able to "make it" or come, inevitably blaming his alcohol intake. And, of course, the women in this novel are mighty demanding, which adds to the comedy, the slapstick humor of the book, as in this scene with Lydia:

   "What the hell good are you then?"
   "Well, I can fry eggs and do magic tricks."
   "Don't be funny. I'm asking you, what the hell good are you?"
   "The leg will heal. If it doesn't they'll cut it off. Be patient."
   "If you hadn't been drunk you wouldn't have fallen and cut your leg. It's always the bottle!"
   "It's not always the bottle, Lydia. We fuck about 4 times a week. For my age that's pretty good."
   "Sometimes I think you don't even enjoy it."
   "Lydia, sex isn't everything! You are obsessed. For Christ's sake, give it a rest."
   "A rest until your leg heals? How am I going to make it meanwhile?"
   "I'll play Scrabble with you."
   Lydia screamed. The car began to swerve all over the street. "YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU!"
   She crossed the double yellow line at high speed, directly into oncoming traffic. Horns sounded and cars scattered. We drove on against the flow of traffic, cars approaching us peeling off to the left and right. Then just as abruptly Lydia swerved back across the double line into the lane we had vacated."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 91)
>>> (Lydia totally reminds me of an Eric Stanton femme.) <<<


                                               

      SOME FAVORITE BOOK QUOTES:


"That night she drank half a bottle of red wine, good red wine, and she was sad and quiet. I knew she was connecting me with racetrack people and the boxing crowd, and it was true, I was with them, I was one of them. Katherine knew that there was something about me that was not wholesome in the sense of wholesome is as wholesome does. I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 104)

"It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited -- for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, the madhouse, the jail, papa death himself. First the signal was red, then the signal was green. The citizens of the world ate food and watched t.v. and worried about their job or their lack of same, while they waited."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 213) {See the poetry there? It's hidden in prose form but I'll break it down to create a whole new Bukowski poem ... to be included in a future collection of verse maybe. Haha.}


It was, finally,
for everyone,
 a matter of waiting.

You waited and you waited --

for the hospital,
the doctor,
the plumber,
the madhouse,
the jail,
papa death himself.

First the signal was red,
then the signal was green.

The citizens of the world
ate food and watched t.v.
and worried about their job
or their lack of same,

while they waited.
---------------

       Now the fictional women and their real life counterparts:


  Lydia Vance =  Linda King ... (Oh man, she's my favorite crazy mama character. She makes for the best scenes in the book because she's the best matched against Chinaski (Bukowski).



   Tammie = Pamela Miller, aka "Cupcakes" (-- a reference to her big ole' D-cup boobs) A cruel, loony character in the book, my second favorite ... She also appears in BORN INTO THIS, the documentary film on Bukowski.



Arlene = Georgia Peckham-Krellner -- gal pal of Tammie (or Cupcakes)



  Bobby and Valerie = Brad and Tina Darby (of the pussy-eating scene quoted above -- pg. 255)



Sara = Linda Lee Bukowski ... the "good" girl Bukowski ended up with.

 

  Dee Dee  = Liza Williams  (a sad character in the book ... she deserved better. She's also in BORN INTO THIS ... talking about Bukowski's "purple onion")


  Tanya = Amber O'Neal  ... the last woman in the book. (check out the "extras" on BORN INTO THIS, for her side of what happened between them.)


Cecelia = Ruth Wantling (with William Wantling, "William Keesing" in the novel)
"Cecelia sat and watched us drink. I could see that I repulsed her. I ate meat. I had no god. I liked to fuck. Nature didn't interest me. I never voted. I liked wars. Outer space bored me. Baseball bored me. History bored me. Zoos bored me."
                                      --  from WOMEN (pg. 182)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The 1970s, I think, was definitely Bukowski's best decade -- creatively. All his novels + poetry books from this time are worth reading & re-reading.

-- POST OFFICE (1971) ... novel.

-- MOCKINGBIRD WITH ME LUCK (1972) ... poems.

-- SOUTH OF NO NORTH (1973) ... short stories.

-- BURNING IN WATER, DROWNING IN FLAME (1974) ... poems.

-- FACTOTUM (1975) ... novel.

-- LOVE IS A DOG FROM HELL (1975) ... poems.

-- WOMEN (1978) ... novel.

-- PLAY THE PIANO DRUNK (1979) ... poems -- a great book at that.



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“Richard Perez has the ears of the angels—lend him yours.”
—Barry Gifford, author: WILD AT HEART, PERDITA DURANGO


“Perez's is an exciting talent and his work goes far beyond most of what is published today.”
—Henry Flesh, author: MICHAEL and the Lambda Literary Award-winner,
MASSAGE
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PERMANENT OBSCURITY: Or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls
and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography and Death by Dolores Santana
(as told to Richard Perez)

Richard Perez's PERMANENT OBSCURITY on Amazon




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PERMANENT OBSCURITY: what is it?

Permanent Obscurity:  Or A Cautionary Tale
Of Two Girls
And Their Misadventures
With Drugs, Pornography
And Death
by
Dolores Santana
(as told to Richard Perez)

***********************************

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: About the Author:

 

Initially published small literary magazines, Richard Perez has also written for The New York Times (a newspaper he doesn't read.) His first novel, The Losers' Club (aka: The Losers' Club: Complete Restored Edition) has three foreign translations to date: Korean, Turkish, Italian. PERMANENT OBSCURITY: or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography, and Death — his second novel — also reflects his infatuation with bohemia and willful nonconformists.


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