"Generally a writer of force is anywhere from 20 years to 200 years ahead of his generation," Charles Bukowski wrote in a 1970 letter to Norman Moser. Bukowski, while not obscure by any means, is arguably the most underrated fiction writer of his time. A well respected poet, Bukowski published twenty-one collections throughout his lifetime, and since his death, a dozen more. There was a time in his life where he never thought he could write a novel, and even when he finally published Post Office in 1971, he remained ambivalent to the novel in a traditional sense. Despite his rather subdued attitude about his own long-form fiction, his six novels earn him a spot in the upper echelon of 20th century writers, hallmarked by his modern classic Ham on Rye. He was ahead of his time with his unique brand of cynicism while also deploying a writing style that more so resembled classic novels from the first half of the century. Known to be quite the character in his own right, the publication of On Writing pulls the blinds open for an intimate look at a selection of some of his most personal and fascinating pieces of writing.
Abel Debritto whittled down more than two thousand pages of unpublished letters to provide readers with Bukowski's most interesting and poignant correspondence from the start of his self-described ten years drunk in 1945 all the way up to 1993, the year preceding his death. The letters are wide ranging in theme, tone and structure. Some are accompanied by sketches, others contain poetry, and occasionally, we are introduced to Bukowski the literary critic as he critiques prominent literary journals and magazines.
"I'm weak and I get sick easy, and I'm nervous all the time and guess I've got a couple short-circuits somewhere, but with it, I feel like touching those keys again, touching them and making lines, a stage, a set up, making people walk and talk and close doors."
He was a heavy drinker, self-conscious of his appearance, a loner who preferred communicating through the written word, and an apologetic everyman who spoke his mind freely about others, and even more candidly, himself. These traits add up to equal a sizable portion of why Bukowski's correspondence with editors, publishers, and fellow writers is of interest. His breadth of literary knowledge and insights about writing craft inserts a plethora of depth inside its emotionally reverent walls.
The recipients of his letters include the likes of Whit Burnett, Henry Miller, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, John Martin, William Henderson, John Fante and many more. Burnett, the founder of the renowned Story magazine is introduced to readers as the man who published Bukowski's first short story. Burnett's eye for talent was uncanny. During his tenure as a professor at Columbia University, Burnett taught a young J.D. Salinger whom he would later publish in Story making him the first promoter of Salinger's work as well. John Cheever, Joseph Heller, Tennessee Williams, Richard Wright, and others were also introduced to a large audience by Burnett. Bukowski's humbleness and appreciation shown to Burnett is a thing of beauty considering his future literary trajectory. Ferlinghetti, the City Lights bookstore founder behind Allen Ginsberg's earth-shattering Howl, published several of Bukowski's collections in the early seventies. William Henderson is the editor of Pushcart Press that awards the prestigious Pushcart Prize for the best short-form writing each year. Bukowski writes to these individuals in a natural, stream-of-consciousness style that he often admits is influenced by alcohol.
John Fante was the author of Ask the Dust. Without Fante there would be no Bukowski. Normally harsh towards his peers and towards the writing industry in general, the letters to Fante have an almost fanboy level of idol worship. He places Fante up there with Dostoevsky, referring to Fante as such at one point while claiming that Crime and Punishment and Ask the Dust are the two greatest novels of all time. After Fante's death, Bukowski writes a touching letter to his widow describing how Fante had saved his life. He writes a similar letter in response to Henry Miller's passing as well.
On the other side of the spectrum, Bukowski spends a large portion of his time detailing his problems with modern fiction and poetry. He takes shots at the pinnacle of literary magazines: The New Yorker, The Atlantic and Harper's, referring to their content as "careful and contrived, worked out tediously, inch by inch of boredom crawling across the pages, name writers, fakers, yawning me into imbecility." Bukowski even jabs at Ginsberg for what he perceives as selling out for hanging out with Bob Dylan, declaring that his poetry has become unreadable. Even in a letter to Ginsberg's publisher, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Bukowski talks openly and negatively about the famous Beat poet. He chastises his longtime publisher John Martin in response to what he thought were misguided essays published by Martin with a brutally honest pep talk that perfectly embodies Bukowski's personality. Ernest Hemingway was a prolific and decorated correspondent of his time but Bukowski called his letters "awful stuff." Despite his chosen profession, he claims to not read contemporary fiction because it seemingly has no value to him.
Nonetheless, his candor is refreshing, intimate and brimming with the imperfections that made Bukowski such an engaging literary figure of his time. For as many times as he discusses topics in a negative light, there are many more moments in which he shows a childlike appreciation for even being noticed at all, often times thanking editors and publishers with excessive wit and charm. All of the letters stack together into a collection that peers into the publishing industry in the 20th century while offering commentary about its triumphs and failures. No important writer from the century goes unmentioned which provides Bukowski with the necessary credentials to speak his mind with authority. He was a lower-middle man possessing supreme intelligence, and his letters are quite possibly his most memorable pieces of writing, which leaves a lasting but impossible desire to read a memoir by Bukowski. On Writing is one masterful writer's depiction of all things writing that is substantially enhanced by the wealth of personal anecdotes. Charles Bukowski was an American writer that held himself under a microscope while observing the literary landscape through the expansive lens of a telescope.
"There is nothing more magic and beautiful than lines forming across paper. It's all there is. It's all there ever was."
And with regards to writers like Bukowski, he is all there ever will be.