This is a short book that reads like a story you might hear over a few beers with a stranger in a dingy bar, the kind of place patronised by lonely men who’ve long since given up on a better life.

Imagine, as the evening progresses and the beers go down, so does the narrative. The English, at first coarse, descends further into the vernacular to plunge into expletive-ridden dialogue that touches ever more frequently on man's most primitive instincts. Hank Chinaski, the narrator, is a low-life bum, alcoholic and serial philanderer. He must have had a rough past, but this isn't explored, just the everyday frustration of his present-day existence. He's clearly intelligent, there's glimpses of the man he could have been, but he's also a cynic. I suspect he loathes himself for pursuing a life of bad choices and lost opportunity.

That's my take on Chinaski, but the story has a deeper narrative. In this semi-autobiographical novel, Bukowski uses Chinaski to expose the drudgery and demeaning nature of low paid work, and that message is powerful, though I didn't enjoy the way it was delivered. For me, his style sat uncomfortably between two other authors respected for the way they deal with the gritty reality of tough times: Hemingway's detached but objective style and Orwell's more penetrating moralistic approach. Bukowski’s writing is more low-down and dirty. Sure, it’s convincing, but he perhaps takes grubby realism a step too far and occupies ground that, for my taste, weakened the impact of what could have been a more powerful message. I couldn’t empathise with Chinaski because I felt that he knew he’d brought his own troubles onto his own shoulders, and, unlike many in his position, was quite capable of digging himself out of the hole he was in.

Of course, timing affects how any book strikes us. Had I not been reading it while shut in a house without power for 24 hours during a category three cyclone, I might have found Bukowski’s character more compelling. But that’s reading for you, the book and the moment meet, and sometimes they simply don’t match. Would I read more of his books? Probably, but I won’t actively look for one.

Colin Hall (Darwin Chapter)