Eric
Bukowski's the type of author you know a lot of people read the wrong way, and glamorize the "confident IDGAF manhood" of the main character instead of seeing him as a (literally) filthy, chauvinistic relic of a thankfully-bygone era, writing obvious male fantasies about his many, effortless affairs with women, getting in fights and duping employers.
But the writing is easy and some of the vignettes are unique and memorable, so you have to kind of appreciate that. No one else is gonna casually mention leaving a "wet brown stain" when he sits on his bedsheets because lately he's been wiping with old newspapers and "often didn't get all of it cleaned off."
Treat these as cautionary tales of the effects of egocentric, toxic masculinity (and of course severe alcoholism) and you might enjoy them.
Bukowski's the type of author you know a lot of people read the wrong way, and glamorize the "confident IDGAF manhood" of the main character instead of seeing him as a (literally) filthy, chauvinistic relic of a thankfully-bygone era, writing obvious male fantasies about his many, effortless affairs with women, getting in fights and duping employers.
But the writing is easy and some of the vignettes are unique and memorable, so you have to kind of appreciate that. No one else is gonna casually mention leaving a "wet brown stain" when he sits on his bedsheets because lately he's been wiping with old newspapers and "often didn't get all of it cleaned off."
Treat these as cautionary tales of the effects of egocentric, toxic masculinity (and of course severe alcoholism) and you might enjoy them.
Bukowski's the type of author you know a lot of people read the wrong way, and glamorize the "confident IDGAF manhood" of the main character instead of seeing him as a (literally) filthy, chauvinist relic of a thankfully-bygone era, writing obvious male fantasies about his many, effortless affairs with women and duping employers.
But the writing is easy and some of the episodes are unique and memorable, so you have to kind of appreciate that. No one else is gonna write about leaving a "wet brown stain" on his bedsheets because he's been wiping with old newspapers and "often didn't get all of it cleaned off."
Treat these as cautionary tales of the effects of egocentric, toxic masculinity and you might enjoy them.
Bukowski's the type of author you know a lot of people read the wrong way, and glamorize the "confident IDGAF manhood" of the main character instead of seeing him as a (literally) filthy, chauvinist relic of a thankfully-bygone era, writing obvious male fantasies about his many, effortless affairs with women and duping employers.
But the writing is easy and some of the episodes are unique and memorable, so you have to kind of appreciate that. No one else is gonna write about leaving a "wet brown stain" on his bedsheets because he's been wiping with old newspapers and "often didn't get all of it cleaned off."
Treat these as cautionary tales of the effects of egocentric, toxic masculinity and you might enjoy them.
To be overly brief, this book was pretty good, the setting was immersive, but the story was overlong. 400-450 pages would've been plenty. We don't need nearly so many examples of the obscene alcoholism of these young intellectuals.
The promotional summary gives an impression that the professor is somehow manipulating/masterminding his students' actions, but that is misleading -- I'd say you could literally remove him as a character and the story would be the same. Other details in the novel itself are presented as if they're clues, but are never mentioned again (e.g. the padlocked closet in Henry's bedroom, when Richard is recuperating there after his frozen winter). Which is to say, the novel is pitched as a suspense or mystery, but the story, its motives and perpetrators are all rather straightforward. There is no "twist" -- so if you're not into the story halfway through, you won't be rewarded by some big, final climax for sticking with it.
Worth reading as an archetype of the "dark academia" genre: campus as fishbowl, "town and gown" dynamics, superiority/entitlement of students from wealthy families, students who think their intellect is infallible, etc.
To be overly brief, this book was pretty good, the setting was immersive, but the story was overlong. 400-450 pages would've been plenty. We don't need nearly so many examples of the obscene alcoholism of these young intellectuals.
The promotional summary gives an impression that the professor is somehow manipulating/masterminding his students' actions, but that is misleading -- I'd say you could literally remove him as a character and the story would be the same. Other details in the novel itself are presented as if they're clues, but are never mentioned again (e.g. the padlocked closet in Henry's bedroom, when Richard is recuperating there after his frozen winter). Which is to say, the novel is pitched as a suspense or mystery, but the story, its motives and perpetrators are all rather straightforward. There is no "twist" -- so if you're not into the story halfway through, you won't be rewarded by some big, final climax for sticking with it.
Worth reading as an archetype of the "dark academia" genre: campus as fishbowl, "town and gown" dynamics, superiority/entitlement of students from wealthy families, students who think their intellect is infallible, etc.
To be overly brief, this book was pretty good, the setting was immersive, but the story was overlong. 400-450 pages would've been plenty. We don't need nearly so many examples of the obscene alcoholism of these young intellectuals.
The promotional summary gives an impression that the professor is somehow manipulating/masterminding his students' actions, but that is misleading -- I'd say you could literally remove him as a character and the story would be the same. Other details in the novel itself are presented as if they're clues, but are never mentioned again (e.g. the padlocked closet in Henry's bedroom, when Richard is recuperating there after his frozen winter). Which is to say, the novel is pitched as a suspense or mystery, but the story, its motives and perpetrators are all rather straightforward. There is no "twist" -- so if you're not into the story halfway through, you won't be rewarded by some big, final climax for sticking with it.
Worth reading as an archetype of the "dark academia" genre: campus as fishbowl, "town vs. gown" relations, superiority/entitlement of students from wealthy families, students who think their intellect is infallible, etc.
To be overly brief, this book was pretty good, the setting was immersive, but the story was overlong. 400-450 pages would've been plenty. We don't need nearly so many examples of the obscene alcoholism of these young intellectuals.
The promotional summary gives an impression that the professor is somehow manipulating/masterminding his students' actions, but that is misleading -- I'd say you could literally remove him as a character and the story would be the same. Other details in the novel itself are presented as if they're clues, but are never mentioned again (e.g. the padlocked closet in Henry's bedroom, when Richard is recuperating there after his frozen winter). Which is to say, the novel is pitched as a suspense or mystery, but the story, its motives and perpetrators are all rather straightforward. There is no "twist" -- so if you're not into the story halfway through, you won't be rewarded by some big, final climax for sticking with it.
Worth reading as an archetype of the "dark academia" genre: campus as fishbowl, "town vs. gown" relations, superiority/entitlement of students from wealthy families, students who think their intellect is infallible, etc.
FYI this is a short-story collection, not a novel; the character cameos that bleed through a couple stories are so marginal they don't mean anything.
The first story ("The Feminist") was good, the second ("Pics") was okay but ended a little flat. I will say the texting dialogue in "Pics" is hilarious and pitch-perfect; it's actually the first page I flipped to in the bookstore and made me want to read the full book.
Each successive story in this collection is less impressive and more cringe than the last. The book is obviously supposed to be cringe, but I was cringing at the author's writing choices more than the characters' thoughts and actions.
"Our Dope Future" is a terrible cartoon version of a hustle-culture alpha male. This archetype should be so easy to critique, yet this story is just dumb.
The insane video-request description at the end of "Ahegao" was so long and over the top that it killed any honest reflection about how ruined Kant's sexuality had gotten from porn, instead making him sound like a fake 13 year old edgelord instead of anyone actually in his mid-30s.
And ending with a fake rejection letter from a fake publisher about the book itself is such a silly attempt to be cleverly meta and proactively self-criticizing: "You can't accuse me of sucking, because I'm admitting to it! In fact, maybe I was even trying to suck!" It's a scaredy-cat, have-it-both-ways defense tactic that insecure people deploy.
Starts to feel like a college-level creative writing assignment overall. Weird that this was longlisted for the National Book Award. If this even barely resembles how young people feel about relationships and sexuality in the 2020s, I feel sorry for them, they're doomed.
FYI this is a short-story collection, not a novel; the character cameos that bleed through a couple stories are so marginal they don't mean anything.
The first story ("The Feminist") was good, the second ("Pics") was okay but ended a little flat. I will say the texting dialogue in "Pics" is hilarious and pitch-perfect; it's actually the first page I flipped to in the bookstore and made me want to read the full book.
Each successive story in this collection is less impressive and more cringe than the last. The book is obviously supposed to be cringe, but I was cringing at the author's writing choices more than the characters' thoughts and actions.
"Our Dope Future" is a terrible cartoon version of a hustle-culture alpha male. This archetype should be so easy to critique, yet this story is just dumb.
The insane video-request description at the end of "Ahegao" was so long and over the top that it killed any honest reflection about how ruined Kant's sexuality had gotten from porn, instead making him sound like a fake 13 year old edgelord instead of anyone actually in his mid-30s.
And ending with a fake rejection letter from a fake publisher about the book itself is such a silly attempt to be cleverly meta and proactively self-criticizing: "You can't accuse me of sucking, because I'm admitting to it! In fact, maybe I was even trying to suck!" It's a scaredy-cat, have-it-both-ways defense tactic that insecure people deploy.
Starts to feel like a college-level creative writing assignment overall. Weird that this was longlisted for the National Book Award. If this even barely resembles how young people feel about relationships and sexuality in the 2020s, I feel sorry for them, they're doomed.
