Since returning to mein ill fated home, I’ve started reading quite a bit, so much so that this was supposed to be a lonely old review for lonely old Ham on Rye however in the time that I’ve taken to write this I’ve also read Cats Cradle and The Wasp Factory. Perhaps my rate of reading was never in question, rather my lack of writing dearest reader. It has of course, been several weeks since I made a mark, and not in my underpants. So to business…

Cats Cradle – Very Good
Ham on Rye – Good
The Wasp Factory – Good

That about does it, I’ll add a few reflective comments however I’m sure that if I read the sparknotes I’ll be plain wrong.
Ham on Rye was brilliant, it is the third or fourth book I’ve read by Buwkowski (sp – that’ll do). I enjoyed the Chinaski from other books, (Factotum and Post Office I think?) in which the wildness spills out at the seems and the comparison between work and play is stark. What is most fascinating about Ham on Rye is the journey which takes Henry to those wild and dry poles. Of course it is completely relate able, though I hate to say it aloud -I am a young white male, so the journey is traceable for me. I too hate the same things that Henry hates, I have felt as out of place as he has. He ends up on the fringes, disenfranchised and angry. I can dig it. Of course, the argument here is that another young white male getting a chance to be published and all he can do is become ‘Henry’. That is part of the point however, that someone who has all the privilege should still become a Henry really says something about society. I can’t begin to imagine the plight of everyone else, but I can at least do my best to empathize. (At this juncture I’m interspersing talking about the book and myself. Long ago, in a notebook, is an essay to myself about my discomfort at being part of this terrible zietgiest.)
The last thing to be said about this book is something which I have grown up believing, something which has become almost a mantra to me and it is exhibited in spades in Chinaski as a young man – “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.”  (That isn’t from the book, I don’t think.) This doesn’t sound profound perhaps its so commonplace that you’ve never given it second thought however it is a critical element to my being. It has saved me in dark days and is part of the reason I’m such a well humoured, well endowed, handsome guy. It is a basic outlook on life, boiled down. The very essence of black comedy. Life is so shit, but isn’t that totes hilair clintz.

Which brings me neatly to Cats Cradle. (There is a joke there for those who know.) KV ((Kurt Vonnegut) Charles Buwkowski was a struggle) writes with such style and effortlessness that I can’t even really comment on anything, this is the second book of his which I’ve had the pleasure of reading and it was brilliant. The writing is so humorous and constantly laidback that it is enthusiastic. He seems like a man who smoked entirely too much weed. (I do not know, nor do I claim that KV smoked weed). The observance of everything being shit is there, like in Buwkowski yet the cheeriness factor is way up, the scales are upped, reading it is like seeing life on helium, everything takes on a elevated, stilted reality which permeates real life.  Perhaps he was big on his mindfulness or something… (Google: Kurt Vonnegut). Well, I knew he was a professor but I didn’t know he’d been to war. Jeezo, that makes the whole thing take a less glorious tint.

And now to someone I know slightly more about – Iain Banks. He was a Scottish writer of sci-fi and horror who I once served coffee and seemed a really lovely guy. Unfortunately he died in 2013 and from what I can tell about the Wasp Factory, Scotland has lost a brilliant writer. This book contained the most horrifying scene I’ve ever read. I had to put down the book and stare at a wall for quarter of an hour. The twist wasn’t what I expected but was still marvelous. I’m glad that I’ve finally gotten round to reading some of his books but it is a terrible shame that it was prompted by his really unfortunate death.
At this juncture, I am falling asleep at the keyboard but have realized that I may not make it back here soon. Judging by my last period of abstinence. I was also trying to sound as empathetic as possible there, something my reader will not recognize from me. Clearly I’ve been having strange thoughts again. That’s not to say I don’t feel empathy… I think the tiredness is going to my head. Fear not, I will be back soon in a meaner, hopefully more coherent capacity.
I think that was ok.

Yours, in death as well as life,

Mr Hummels