Van Gogh’s Ear VII: An American Hangover
Any consideration of the life and work of Charles Bukowski inevitably runs up against the rocks of his personality and his misdeeds, the litany of actions that suggest that he could be, and was, a monumental asshole. These are not small incidental factors so much as a great lumbering herd of elephants in the living room. And yet what condemns him is also his chief redeeming quality. For we all are. Jerks that is. Deep down. It’s the common constituent of humanity, uniting countries, races and classes. A United Nations of pricks, jerks and fuck-ups. With Charles Bukowski the closest we’ll get to a patron saint.
Darran Anderson considers the legacy of Charles Bukowski through Canongate’s recent reissues.