I'm still reading "Acid Dreams", but continuing my somewhat bad habit of reading more than one book at a time. I just finished "Ham on Rye", swearing off my promise to never read another Bukowski novel. Reading him makes me feel dirty, but strangely attracted to him as a person. This story is kind of what I wanted to see happen to Holden Caulfield. Someone enveloped by their own self-hatred, not afraid to admit that their shitty parents turned them into a shitty human being without ever actually saying the words. Bukowski's simple language and snarky descriptions of everything are humbling and it's no surprise to me that I love this kind of fiction. The kind that doesn't require you to think, to process, the story, but instead leads you into thinking and processing your own story. Or maybe just me.
Next will be "A Seperate Peace" by John Knowles. A very good friend of mine sat down together putting back a few beers while watching the Superbowl and got into it about our tastes in literature. After arguing about the Beats and the "Lost Generation" we decided to trade book collections and see where each other are really at. He majored in French Lit in college which blows my mind because I find pretty much everything outside of 20th century American Lit to be boring out of context. Lucky for me everything he lent me is 20th century American Lit and I don't have to force myself through books like I did in high school. I haven't yet cracked the spine of "A Seperate Peace", but after reading the back cover I think I'll enjoy it, whatever it may be about.
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