Ham on Rye is the semi-autobiographical tale of Bukowski's alter-ego Hank Chinaski, charting his first memories until his early twenties. While not as shocking as some of Bukowski's earlier work (although increasingly graphic as Hank grows up), Ham on Rye instantly grips you with short, blunt sentences and a refusal to censure real life. It is a novel full of pain and weariness, yet studded with Bukowski's trademark dry wit. Growing up in the height of the Depression, Chinaski is repeatedly urged by his parents to make a better life for himself, but he cannot get passed the futility of it all. He is plagued by terrible acne and lacking the money, sporting ability or social skills to make friends with anyone but other outsiders, who he would prefer to avoid. As he grows up, Hank finds solace in only two things: alcohol and literature.
I wanted to share a couple of Chinaski's thoughts which stood out for me. The first perfectly encapsulates the power of reading:
"Words weren't dull, words were anything that can 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" (165).
The second is a fascinating insight into Bukowski's own conception of literature. With his usual cynicism, he notes that literature has no real power to change anything, but has its own value.
D.H. Lawrence, G.B. Shaw, Huxley... "It was good to read them all though. It made you realize that thoughts and words could be fascinating, if finally useless" (184).
If Hank Chinaski were to read Bukowski, I'm sure he would add him to this list. In the end, Ham on Rye is just the account of a melancholy, uninspired existence, but Bukowski's stark, forceful style makes it a fascinating read.
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