... If indeed the bungalow is the last of the rented residences left standing, then why not wonder aloud whether Bukowski might have helped knock the others down one booze-sodden punch at a time? It's no stretch to suggest that, if those walls could talk, they'd either stutter like a traumatized crime victim, or get up in your face and spit something like: "Bring it on you ugly mother!"
THAT was Bukowski, not this clever, sentimental adaptation that almost makes him sound like a prolific writer who enjoyed the company of women, got in a tussle now and then, and consumed more than two glasses of wine at fireside each evening ...
Read the rest at Native Intelligence.
— TJ Sullivan in LA
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments are appreciated, especially those that inspire spirited-but-courteous discussions. Your comment will be reviewed before it is posted on the site.
Anonymous comments are not permitted. I put my name on what I say here, so I hope you don't mind doing so as well.