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Preview — Factotum by Charles Bukowski. Factotum by Charles Bukowski.
One of Charles Bukowski’s best, this beer-soaked, deliciously degenerate novel follows the wanderings of aspiring writer Henry Chinaski across World War II-era America.
Deferred from military service, Chinaski travels from city to city, moving listlessly from one odd job to another, always needing money but never badly enough to keep a job. His day-to-day existence spirals One of Charles Bukowski’s best, this beer-soaked, deliciously degenerate novel follows the wanderings of aspiring writer Henry Chinaski across World War II-era America.
His day-to-day existence spirals into an endless litany of pathetic whores, sordid rooms, dreary embraces, and drunken brawls, as he makes his bitter, brilliant way from one drink to the next.
Charles Bukowski’s posthumous legend continues to grow. Factotum is a masterfully vivid evocation of slow-paced, low-life urbanity and alcoholism, and an excellent introduction to the fictional world of Charles Bukowski.
Paperbackpages. Published May 31st by Ecco first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers bkkovski about Factotumplease sign up.
Please suggest any similar books to factotum? See 1 question about Factotum…. Lists with This Book. Oct 10, Joshua Nomen-Mutatio rated it it was ok Shelves: I have a sort of pre-emptive dislike-verging-on-loathing of Bukowski, which I think is rooted in my bumovski rejection of and disillusionment with the Beat writers whom I absolutely adored in high school.
One I have a sort of pre-emptive dislike-verging-on-loathing of Bukowski, which I think is rooted in my post-adolescent rejection of and disillusionment with the Beat writers whom I absolutely adored in high school.
One of my poet friends in high school once told me that faktotkm only would read Bukowski while taking a shit.
This has stuck with me over the years. Once, a girl I became involved with praised Bukowski while simultaneously giving me a caveat about what a terrible sexist he was. Then I moved to the couch where I drank alcohol and chain-smoked cigarettes while zooming through the book.
But I still felt entertained by this stuff, nonetheless. Very little imagination seemed to be at work here. Just the spilt guts of a self-aggrandizing louse. But yet, I continued to be entertained, so I pressed on, feeling each sentence flow by without much effort on my part. Following the narrative of being employed many, many times, failing and getting fired just as many, drinking, drinking, drinking to a sickening degreeand barnacle-ing to the hulls of a series of horrendously-depicted females.
Even the contemptible attitudes displayed toward women have an oddly true ring to them. This is NOT to say that I agree with treating women like shit the way Bukowski clearly does, but that his shittiness is a stark reminder of certain horrible realities that do certainly exist in the minds of many men.
And this I found interesting, in an historico-anthropological sort of way, while simultaneously depressing and upsetting. And then I thought of Raymond Carver. He also was once a real-life drunk of epic proportions who wrote in tight, blunt, staccato, matter-of-fact sentence-lumps, consistently describing soul-crushing work-weeks, oceans of booze and cluttered ashtrays.
Why do I like his writing so much and yet feel this strong, largely pre-emptive aversion to Bukowski? And while he speaks of little else beyond sad, failed, alcoholic people, he manages to make it seem far less about him –the almighty, misanthropic author–and more about said sad, failed, alcoholic people. But then I wonder, is there more buried deep within the the wine-soaked walls of Bukowski than lets on immediately?
Or, do I perhaps harbor some of the same misanthropy that he nakedly exposes one word to the next? Am I really any better? Well, my answer to the first query is still “NO” and my response to the second still “YES” but contemplating these things during my read was enriching in some way, so I reluctantly give some credit there to ol’ CB.
But what was Bukowski, really? Some part of me can resonate with this, as much as I high-falutin-ly know that this is the case.
I do not know for sure. View all 44 comments. Oct 01, P. Chang rated it it was amazing. View all 5 comments. May 17, Madeleine rated it really liked it Shelves: There were times while reading this short novel that I had to stop and wonder if my aspiration to one day be the female Bukowski is either setting my sights too high or placing the bar too low.
And then I up and went to a bar, since I was reading this on the anniversary of the Dirtiest Old Man in Literature’s passing and all, so I stopped worrying about pretty much everything. View all 8 comments. Welcome Henry Chinaski, Bukowski’s ever sarcastic, cynical, alcoholic and perpetually unemployed alter-ego. It’s the s, Chinaski had been rejected by the World War II drafts on account of his mental health, and he’s searching for a job.
A job that would serve him nicely and won’t come in between him and his true love: As it happens, all of them come back with a rejection slip. Even the most horrible human being on earth deserves to wipe his ass.
I was not so hot in the mornings with mine. I was a night man. But at night she was always screaming and throwing things at me: She was now probably saying the same thing about me to him. In the end, we just get a full-on Bukowski moment at a strip-joint, as we prepare to go out in a blaze of unemployed, poverty-stricken, alcoholic frenzy, but Jun 12, Printable Tire added it Shelves: Having read two of Bukowski’s books now, I’ve decided he’s for two types of people: Knowing some Joes like him, I wish they took their minds of the bottle and did something productive like write it all down.
Nov 12, Jon athan Nakapalau rated it it was amazing Shelves: When the undercurrent of life starts to pull you away even struggling against it can take you further away Aug 09, David Schaafsma rated it really liked it Shelves: This short novel I listened to, which makes it a bit like a guy telling you his life story while drinking you under the table. I was driving while listening to it, and not drinking as I was driving, for your information.
Factotum by Charles Bukowski
This second one features Chinaski’s bukovsik twenties of booze, terrible jobs, women, drunken brawls. Because of the title, there might be a greater focus here on all the soul-killing, mind-numbing jobs he worked to pay for flophouse rent and booze, almost all of them from which he was fired, sometimes after only a day. In one job, he got paid by a bar owner 5 bucks and all the shots of whiskey he could drink to clean a total of six window blinds, which as it turns out took him all day, and in the end required—because he was of course drunk–the help of all his fellow bar patrons, for whom he used the five bucks to buy a round this was the fifties, when five bucks could actually almost buy a bar a round; well, almost.
Bukowski also worked at Sears FIVE different times during this period, fired each time for stealing and various other infractions. Usually for not showing up for work while he faktptum on a three-day bender with some girl, or healing from some fight.
Hey, I worked at Sears, in the stockroom, for a year or so! Boring job, in which I hid out and read books during long evening shifts. Did I ever sneak in a bottle of wine for me and my fellow misery-suffering-warehouse rats?
I seem to recall I did.
9788683499519 – Faktotum by Carls Bukovski
And it feels like the well-told ubkovski romp of a million alcoholics. And a guy who is during this time often an unapologetic asshole. But can I fqktotum away and stop listening? Bukowski will be hilarious for some, and too offensive for many, but he can sure tell a story.
The poverty and squalor of Factotum is not quite as fun as it was in Ham and Rye. But as his best Bukowski is worth the offense: How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6: Bukowski almost convinces you that the pursuit of drunkenness as a way of coping with reality is a kind of spiritual pursuit: Otherwise, don’t even start.
This faaktotum mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery–isolation. Isolation is the gift.