Little Friends | Interlude

The little baby hairs along my hairline are responding well to the humidity brewing in consequence of the rains. Fairly responsive to climatic conditions, my hair has a reputation that will put any obedient puppet to shame. Frizzy and dry, the strands grapple to make themselves known, standing tall (albeit twisted) in the event of any one strand making a solo appearance. As I attempt to tame them down by running my fingers through, I glare at my reflection in the mirror, notice my overgrown brows with stray hairs pleading for immediate attention and I think to myself “who likes a perfectly manicured lawn anyway?”

Ham on Rye | Dissecting Henry Chinaski

"It was a joy! Words weren’t dull, words were things that could make your mind hum. If you read them and let yourself feel the magic, you could live without pain, with hope, no matter what happened to you."

You either love Charles Bukowski's work, or you hate it. There is no in-between. Many people harbour the preconception that his writings are 'not very sophisticated' and that it is vile owing to its adherence to themes of drugs, alcohol, women and sex. The simplicity of his writing is undeniable, but that is essentially where his talent lies: his writing is raw, crude, straightforward and yet alarmingly engaging. And if I may add a poetic dimension to it, it is so ugly that it becomes overwhelmingly beautiful.

I was always familiar with a few of his poems, fragments from around which stuck with me. Ham on Rye is the first novel I read a couple of years ago, and it was sufficient to seal him as one of my all time favorite authors. Not many writers can pull off the sort of sparse, bleak and incredibly simple writing style that American literature's Dirty Old Man has mastered.

Ham on Rye is one of Bukowski's first works (fourth to be precise), a semi-autobiographical novel under the guise of fiction, based closely on his own childhood days growing up in a poor American household during the Great Depression. Henry Chinaski, the author's alter-ego (who appears in five of Bukowski's novels), is the son of an abusive ex-WWI soldier and a German woman, who invariably is a victim of her husband's abuses herself. 

"The first thing I remember is being under something." 

The opening line of the book, which at first can be overlooked for its direct description, captures perfectly the spirit of the protagonist- how he feels most of the time under the control of his father, society, or even his own fears. Faintly reminiscent of Holden Caulfield, Chinaski draws a parallel in terms of his outlook on people, sickened by the idea of being someone fitted carefully in society.

“The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole goddamned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.” 

“Everything else just kept picking and picking, hacking away. And nothing was interesting, nothing. The people were restrictive and careful, all alike. And I've got to live with these fuckers for the rest of my life, I thought.”

“It didn't pay to trust another human being. Humans didn't have it, whatever it took.” 

The novel does lack a well-structured plot but it grips the reader in its dialogue rich, compelling account of boyhood filled with tender and sad moments, sometimes excruciatingly painful. Henry Chinaski is the most unloved child, with a brutal father who beats him repeatedly in the bathroom when the lawn isn't mowed to perfection and subjects him to a range of cruel punishments, a mother who is rather too complacent and cruel classmates, all making him live a wretched life of rejection. The novel delves deeply into the troubled relationship with his father who is unfortunately no Atticus Finch.

"I felt that even the sun belonged to my father, that I had no right to it because it was shining on my father's house. I was like his roses, something that belonged to him and not me..."

“I didn't like anybody in that school. I think they knew that. I think that's why they disliked me. I didn't like the way they walked or looked or talked, but I didn't like my mother or father either. I still had the feeling of being surrounded by white empty space. There was always a slight nausea in my stomach.” 

Some words stab you in the gut as you continue to read and more often than not, it makes you feel lucky to have been loved as a child. It is no wonder he seeks joy in isolation. 

“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.” 

“I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired. I wanted to live alone, I felt best being alone, cleaner.”

Towards the end of his childhood, we see how Henry gradually feels less of the pain inflicted on him by his father and on one such occasion he asks his father to continue hitting him until it made him feel good. This marks the last beating and the end of his childhood.

Bukowksi however indulges in a good amount of disarming humour, allowing the reader to take refuge and relax in the amusement after being consumed in disturbing sadness. And that is precisely Bukowksi for you, creating magic by making you laugh till the point you find yourself crying.

As Henry steps into adolescence, he turns to alcohol and violence in rebellion. He seeks no love from anyone and blatantly rejects any sort of concern offered to him. His acne-ridden days are so bad he even gets medical treatment for it, detailing the experience with an unconstrained frankness, which is surprisingly refreshing. At this point we are introduced to the nurse who bursts his boils, someone Henry finds unlikely solace in and looks forward to their meetings, for she is kind and doesn't treat him like a disfigured alien like the rest. 

“I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.”

As a teenager he also begins writing, mostly under the influence of whiskey and lives his adventures despite the abusive surrounding. He says, “You’ll never be a writer if you hide from reality.” 

The gradual development in his character is evident through his observations, which become increasingly matured. One such thought provoking inspection is reflected in the line-

"There were also some obvious mental cases down there who were allowed to walk the streets undisturbed. I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely."

By the end of the novel, we understand why Chinaski becomes so violent, abusive, uses foul language and turns to alcohol. The language is filthy, yes, and the sexual terms equally explicit, but that was his world. Although Henry is an abrasive character, we are given a glimpse into the psychology behind his behaviour. Throughout the novel I found myself alternating between hating him for being so arrogant yet pitying him (to the extent of almost wanting to give him a hug at times!) when faced with the reality of his life and whom he might have been- like when he rescues the cat from a group of kids. 

It is therefore not surprising that the Henry we are introduced to would grow up to be a somewhat misanthropic alcoholic; who is in reality as vulnerable and human as any one of us. Perhaps we identify with the author's pessimistic outlook on life - which is a result not solely of his own selfish nature - but because it comes from the disparaging cruelty of the world he grows up with. 

I loved the book and most part of it is still etched clear in my memory, owing to the vividly detailed writing. The book abounds in quotable gems and being an untidy reader (lines and scribbles!) helped me write this review after over 3 years of reading it, facing the only struggle of limiting the insertion of quotes. 

Warning: you will not find pretty metaphors and similes but you are up for an unforgettable journey.

For those of you looking to start reading Bukowski's novels, this is a good book to start with.

Ham on Rye is a quick and easy read that thrives on contradictions- simple yet complex, and again, ugly yet beautiful!