“Post Office” by Charles Bukowski
What the hell was that? Charles Bukowski is one of my favourite authors thanks to his raw truthfulness and his no-bullshit approach in life, reflected in his book “Notes of a Dirty Old Man.”
But this book? It’s dull, it’s very boring, filled with so many vile shits that are not even amusing.
But maybe that’s the entire point of this book, to show how a low-life person live his life? Because, nothing is extraordinary about this person, just a piece of shit who is forced to work a menial job just to survive. No ambition, no sense of security, no sense of responsibility, only living paycheck to paycheck in order to afford his smoking and drinking habit, who spends his money on gambling, who doesn’t respect authority, really degrades women, but yet complains all the time about his misfortunes.
It is quite a different adventure, seeing life from this scum’s point of view. Afterall, you know that saying if you hate a character in a movie, then the guy playing the character is a good actor? This book has that kind of aura to it, where it is so detestable it becomes such an accurate book describing someone so despicable.
But then of course, I remember reading that this book is a semi-autobiography of Charles Bukowski’s own life. So, this might just be an honest retelling of his nasty early life, and nothing brilliant about his plot or style of writing.
I can’t help but thinking the entire time while I’m reading the book, that thankfully I got to see Bukowski’s more mature form in Notes of a Dirty Old Man before seeing this early version of him. I would’ve hated him. I get it now why the FBI kept a file on him.
THE CHAOS THEORY 