Noirwino Male, 30, It's complicated. USA

Ah, The Great Gatsby. Tackling a book usually considered one of the finest English language novels of the 20th century was one I looked foward to, since I had first read the novel about 10 years ago at the tender age of 16. I don't remember the novel hitting quite as hard or as significantly as Fitzgerald's other works (This Side of Paradise, The Beautiful and the Damned & Tender is the Night, which I also read around the same time), so I was eager for a re-read. And so..........the beauty and elegance of the style of Fitzgerald found in Gatsby is striking and memorable--especially after just finishing a novel by someone as terse and unromantic as Charles Bukowski. What's more, the characters and atmosphere Fiztgerald creates, while being from a era, social ladder and culture far removed from my own, are, nevertheless, still interesting and pertinent because the author imbues them with an sense of frailty and humanity that is timeless. Looking at it now 10+ years later, I can see why this short novel eluded my teenage grasp and didn't quite register. It's style was too refined, its subject matter one I could only really understand after years of coming to terms with my own manhood and life experiences only faintly realized at 16.

Buk's fictional (yeah right!) account of the making of his actual screenplay Barfly, released in 1987 which starred Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunnaway. This thinly disguised novel reveals a more mellow and older Henry Chinaski, who looks foward to feeding his five cats and appears to have a stable relationship with his wife, Sarah (first mentioned in his other novel, Women). However, some of his old lovable vices are still present; he's still addicted to horseracing and quite a boozer--in fact, a lot of Hollywood centers around drinking--which makes sense, since the basis of his screenplay is about the relationship of two drunks. Anyways, having the lifelong resident of LA (and poet laureate of winos) write a book about his one real experience with the Hollywood crowd, along with some insane French filmakers (Goddard and Truffaut somehow included) made this novel a provacative and insightful read.

Dedicated to bad writing before you even start reading it; what more could you expect from a 73 year old and ailing Chuck Bukowski? Well, for a pulpwino such as myself, a lot of fun and tongue in check fiction, paying homage to the genre while also laughing at it. I think there's also some vintage Bukowskian literary moments here, too, which makes me give this novel a thumbs up for being lightly nostalgic, funny, and satirical with classic Bukowskian observations peppered along the way.