Charles Bukowski: The Great American Misogynist

 There is something incredibly vulnerable about the habit so many of us have to seek out media on subjects close to our hearts. Even in our escapism, we search for people just like us. I am certainly someone who does this a lot. I have been sober for just under a year (Thank you very much) and I can’t tell you how many of my idols have struggled with similar things. Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, David Bowie. So when I heard about Charles Bukowski’s life, I was intrigued. He was an alcoholic I can only describe as committed. He never gave up drinking until the day he died and he never grew tired of it. So, I bought a book and I started reading. 

‘Ham on Rye’,Bukowski’s 1982 novel, tells the childhood of the protagonist, Henry Chinaski, who is essentially Bukowski’s alter ego. All the Chinaski books are largely autobiographical. ‘Ham on Rye’ opens with a young Henry navigating the world in front of him with much trepidation. It tells of a very unhappy life in poverty, jumping from money troubles to abuse to lay-offs and dead end jobs. The writing style is interesting. It’s very reminiscent of the way Bukowski writes poetry using a lot of repetition and simple language. All of Bukowski’s work feels very conversational and I did enjoy that about this book. I have read my fair share of classic literature but I got through ‘Ham on Rye’ quicker than almost any other examples I can think of, reading it all in one afternoon. Overall, I give it a 1/5.

I can already hear the screaming protest of Bukowski’s fans but I really did not enjoy it. The whole time I was reading, I was searching it for something I could appreciate or wisdom I could glean from it but there was nothing. All of the themes I enjoyed were overshadowed by the fact that Henry Chinaski - and thus, Charles Bukowski - was a bad person. I can deal with consuming media from bad people and reading about morally reprehensible characters. I love Hole’s music but severely dislike the front woman, Courtney Love. I read ‘My Year of Rest and Relaxation’ by Ottessa Moshfegh and suffered the nasty, spoiled narrator and still enjoyed the book. The difference is that ‘Ham on Rye’ offers very little else.  From intermittent racism to almost constant Misogyny, Chinaski never stops insulting and berating the people he encounters. 

All the women in this book are either Henry’s mother or described simply by how attractive he thinks they are. Henry expresses nazi ideology during World War II just because he was born in Germany and he realises it will annoy people around him. He hates America and wants to get laid and believes if the nazi’s win, all the problems in his life would be better. The whole book reads as a hate letter to the world with brief tangents to objectify women. I found it almost impossible not to just put it down halfway through and read something better. But I was still holding out to find the reason Bukowski is so beloved. The next thing I knew, I was on the last page and I hadn’t found it. 

That, to me, is the worst part about this book. It is severely disappointing. It has the bones of a good book with it’s interesting prose that makes everything seem uncomfortable and foreign and it’s themes of poverty and the lie of the American dream. The potential is wasted because none of this ever goes anywhere or says anything groundbreaking. Chinaski’s deep hatred for America and his disenchantment with the dream is never deeply explored. With a little self-awareness, it could have been a very good exploration of the cycle of trauma and how his fathers abuse had turned him into an abusive man himself. But Bukowski has no self-awareness and it seems that every thing he does in this book he feels is righteous. He never questions himself. He decides a person’s worth immediately upon meeting them. This is specifically visible with the women in the books. Are you ‘ugly’? Bukowski will you throw out and say you don’t deserve the air you breathe. Are you ‘hot’? Bukowski will state if your best feature is your chest or legs, lament about how he wishes you didn’t have your own thoughts or feelings and move on. If Bukowski spent less time on that, maybe he’d have a good novel. 

After I finished, my two questions were why do people like Bukowski and why don’t I? The answer, I believe, lies in the fans. The person I met who recommended me Bukowski was a middle aged man who came to where I worked to have coffee and read. He does represent the majority of Bukowski fans who believe Bukowski and whiskey on a Sunday afternoon pair like wine and cheese. They say things like “Bukowski is brutally honest” and “He say’s what we’re all thinking”. The sad truth of the matter is that Bukowski isn’t great despite his sexism, he is great because of it. His fans are likeminded people and through that he has grown to be considered a Great American Author. 

I have heard that ‘Ham on Rye’ is the least egregious example of Bukowski’s sexism. I won’t be reading any more to find out.