Wednesday, December 07, 2011
The EpicPwn Team:
Behind the Boils
A perspective of Bukoski's Ham on Rye By: Matthew Dobson
In a world of bright and shiny, picture perfect people, there are bound to be many individuals
who are smarter, richer, and more successful than us. One point Mr. Bukowski makes
consistently throughout "Ham on Rye," is that no matter how untouchable, classy, or perfect a
person may seem, they will at some point be squatting over, squeezing shit from their asshole.
Bukowski proves not only that we are all human, and playing the same futile game, but that in
this maniacally pointless parade we call life, nothing is sacred. Almost by accident, through the
realization that in the world of Henry Chinaski nothing is special, the reader becomes
increasingly aware that everything is.
Throughout the story, situations and metaphors help construct the extreme alienation
of our Henry as a social outcast. Though the reader may not be an outsider to society,
everyone has felt at least some degree of isolation, which makes Henry's horrendously lonely
state of being quite identifiable. While experiencing life through the eyes of such a tragic
hero, there is an overwhelming desire to root for Henry. Henry Chinaski's survival somehow
represents our struggle, however different it may be, to endure within a hostile environment.
The first blow inflicted more shock than pain. The second hurt more.
Each blow which followed increased the pain. At first I was aware of the walls,
the toilet, the tub. Finally I couldn't see anything. As he beat me, he berated me,
but I couldn't understand the words. I thought about his roses in the yard. I
thought about his automobile in the garage. I tried not to scream. I knew that if I
did scream he might stop, but knowing this, and knowing his desire for me to
scream, prevented me.
Each time Henry survives one of his father's sadistic beatings, there is a dark spiritual
cleansing in the reader. Henry's ability to endure such atrocities grows as he becomes
increasingly resilient, and we grow with him, experiencing catharsis the whole way.
Henry develops a horrible skin condition which covers much of his body with boils and
scars. This is a very physical representation of his separation from the accepted. Like
the lepers of biblical days, Henry feels like an outcast more than ever. Here author Ernest
Fontana very elegantly sums up the meaning of these boils and scars.
Bukowski extrapolates Henry's acne into a powerful metaphor for his
isolation from the mythic California of the American Dream, which Kevin Star
identifies as charged with human hope, as linked imaginatively with the most
compelling of American myths, the pursuit of happiness. Because of his incurable
acne, Chinaski is never permitted this illusory hope.
It is Henry's crushing lack of hope, which will leave readers grateful for the hopes
and dreams they do possess. Henry is so ashamed and alienated that he fantasizes about solitude.
When Henry's face is covered in bandages, it gives him a brief sense of power. No longer a
specific sad person with a horrible ailment, he is now an anonymous,
bandaged super villain.
I looked into the mirror. It was great. My whole head was bandaged. I was all
white. Nothing could be seen but my eyes, my mouth, and my ears, and some
tufts of hair sticking up at the top of my head. I was hidden. It was wonderful. I
stood and lit a cigarette and glanced about the lobby. Some in-patients were
sitting about reading magazines and newspapers. I felt very exceptional and a bit
evil.
This concept is relatable by all. There is always some degree of personal imprisonment,
which anonymity can release. It is much like a socially awkward teen who is “cool” within the
online community, or an amputee stuck in bed who finds a disability-free escape in an online
video game.
Henry's consistently hard-knock life leaves him with some bitter attitude toward people
that are happy. Henry’s thoughts on religion are clearly influenced by his circumstance. There is
no doubt the following quote is Bukowski’s own personal feeling toward religion. “I had
decided against religion a couple of years back. If it were true, it made fools out of people, or
it drew fools. And if it weren’t true, the fools were all the more foolish.”
decided against religion a couple of years back. If it were true, it made fools out of people, or
it drew fools. And if it weren’t true, the fools were all the more foolish.”
Although Henry is dark and cynical about many things, there are several circumstances
where he encounters or creates something that he believes in. In these brief fleeting moments we
see the inspiration and light which contributed to the incredible body of work he would later
accomplish. That is if we are assuming Henry Chinaski is in fact Bukowski himself, which I feel
safe in doing. There is a certain air of honesty which can only be felt when something is true.
Here are some of Henry’s thoughts on his earliest writing.
The Baron went on doing magical things. Half the notebook was filled with
Baron Von Himmlen. It made me feel good to write about the Baron. A man
needed somebody. There wasn’t anybody around, so you had to make up
somebody, make him up to be like a man should be. It wasn’t make-believe
or cheating. The other way was make believe and cheating: living your life
without a man like him around.
The statement “living your life without a man like him around,” is very likely referencing
Henry’s own sense of feeling cheated, and having no real male role model, or any role model. It
is in these moments when Henry actually experiences the happiness of creation, that we see there
is a chance for him to have a soul. Despite impossible odds, Henry creates truth within a world
of shit. It is pleasing to see that Henry is able to be moved by literature, again a glimpse into the
mind of Bukowski himself.
Turgenev was a very serious fellow but he could make me laugh because a truth
first encountered can be very funny. When someone else’s truth is the same as
your truth, and he seems to be saying it just for you, that’s great. I read my books
at night, like that, under the quilt with the overheated reading lamp. Reading all
those good lines while suffocating. It was magic.
Regarding the many social limitations within which Henry and his family are living, there
are several metaphors. A key one is an encounter toward the beginning of the book during one
of the family outings in the old Model T. Ernest Fontana describes it in his criticism on Ham On
Rye:
Many of these characteristics are evident in Bukowski’s most recent novel Ham
on Rye (1983) The two extreme geographical limits of this bildungsroman are the
orange groves of the San Bernardino foothills and the beach at Venice. Both
function as illusory paradisal loci in which Henry Chinaski is presented as an
intruder. As a child, Chinaski accompanied his immigrant parents on excursions
in their Model-T through the San Bernardino foothills where they enjoyed
picnicking amid miles and miles of orange trees always either in blossom or full
of oranges. One Sunday, Chinaski’s father leads the family into the groves to
pick oranges. The owner of the grove discovers them and, brandishing a shot
gun, expels them: “I’m the law here. Now move.” He forces the Chinaskis to
leave behind the oranges they picked and warns them not to return. “Or next
time it might not go so easy for you.” This episode defines the territorial and
social limits that Chinaski and his family are confined to. The paradisal
abundance of Southern California is forbidden them, and Chinaski’s father,
who loses his job as a milkman during the depression, becomes an increasingly
embittered, frightend, and tyrannical father.
This is a particularly meaningful metaphor. There are beautiful orange blossoms all
around, yielding so much fruit, that it could never all be used. Yet despite the abundance, the
extremely close proximity, and the beauty, the fruit itself is untouchable. So right from his youth
Henry’s education in being an outsider is perpetuated by situations like these.
Consistently we see a world portrayed which Henry Chinaski cannot be a part of. Due to
his disfigurement, his economic class, and the many harsh years which have turned his view of
people sour, Henry cannot take part in the world around him. On a trip to the beach with his
friend Jimmy, his acne prevented Henry from socializing. Here are his thoughts as he watched
Jimmy hanging out with a few girls on the beach.
Jim was splashing water on the girls. He was the water God and they loved him.
He was the possibility and the promise. He was great. He knew how to do it. I
had read many books but he had read a book that I had never read. He was an
artist with his little pair of bathing trunks and his balls and his wicked little look
and his round ears. He was the best. I couldn’t challenge him anymore than I
could have challenged that big son-of-a-bitch in the green coupe with the
looker whose hair flowed in the wind. They both had got what they deserved.
I was just a 50-cent turd floating around in the green ocean of life.
had read many books but he had read a book that I had never read. He was an
artist with his little pair of bathing trunks and his balls and his wicked little look
and his round ears. He was the best. I couldn’t challenge him anymore than I
could have challenged that big son-of-a-bitch in the green coupe with the
looker whose hair flowed in the wind. They both had got what they deserved.
I was just a 50-cent turd floating around in the green ocean of life.
Much like Jesus, Henry Chinaski suffers so we don’t have to. It is very easy to feel sorry
for Henry, and in these moments it is also easy to feel good that we don’t have to bare his full
burden. We all are, however, caught in the Henry Chinaski cycle to some degree, and it would
do well to remember not to let circumstance cut us off from the light. There is always a million
do well to remember not to let circumstance cut us off from the light. There is always a million
reasons to feel inferior or left out, but if we remember the lessons from the literary greats we
don’t ever have to. Henry Chinaski alienated himself that day on the beach, because of his
perceived shortcomings, and in his crucifixion, our shortcomings are forgiven. We can enjoy
the day despite the reasons not to.
the day despite the reasons not to.
Another recurring metaphor is the spider, it’s web, and the flies caught in them. Henry
is undoubtedly caught in the web of circumstance, and there are many venomous spiders in his
is undoubtedly caught in the web of circumstance, and there are many venomous spiders in his
world. Henry learns quickly that the only way to survive is to crush them. Fontana addresses
this in his review:
this in his review:
One of the recurrent motifs in Ham on Rye is that of the spider and the fly.
Henry’s adversaries, from his father and the bullies of his childhood to Jimmy
Newhall and the English teacher at Los Angeles City College who makes the
class recite Gilbert and Sullivan lyrics to improve their diction, are the spiders.
The spider web becomes the metaphor for the depressed working class Los
Angeles of Henry’s childhood, a region of failed hopes and petty tyranny.
Although Henry cannot fully extricate himself from this web, he comes to realize
that the fly does not have to accept passively the role of the spider’s victim.
It is great when Henry decides not to be the victim, and stands up for himself. Having
been perpetually beaten on mentally and physically from childhood, he becomes stronger and
stronger as he grows up. This strength and resilience manifests itself in an extraordinary way
during the last beating Henry’s father gives him.
been perpetually beaten on mentally and physically from childhood, he becomes stronger and
stronger as he grows up. This strength and resilience manifests itself in an extraordinary way
during the last beating Henry’s father gives him.
“Let’s go,” said my father, and I walked into the bathroom. He got the strop
down. “Take down your pants and shorts,” he said. I didn’t do it. He reached in
front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down.
front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down.
He pulled down my shorts. The strop landed. It was the same, the same
explosive sound, the same pain. “You’re going to kill your mother!” he
screamed. He hit me again. But the tears weren’t coming. My eyes were
strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill
him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now.
He wasn’t much of anything. I must have been adopted. He hit me again.
The pain was still there but the fear of it was gone. The strop landed again.
The room no longer blurred. I could see everything clearly. My father
seemed to sense the difference in me and he began to lash me harder, again
and again, but the more he beat me the less I felt. It was almost as if he was
the one who was helpless. Something had occurred, something had changed.
My father stopped, puffing, and I heard him hanging up the strop. He walked
to the door. I turned. “Hey,” I said. My father turned and looked at me.
“Give me a couple more,” I told him, “if it makes you feel any better.”
explosive sound, the same pain. “You’re going to kill your mother!” he
screamed. He hit me again. But the tears weren’t coming. My eyes were
strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill
him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now.
He wasn’t much of anything. I must have been adopted. He hit me again.
The pain was still there but the fear of it was gone. The strop landed again.
The room no longer blurred. I could see everything clearly. My father
seemed to sense the difference in me and he began to lash me harder, again
and again, but the more he beat me the less I felt. It was almost as if he was
the one who was helpless. Something had occurred, something had changed.
My father stopped, puffing, and I heard him hanging up the strop. He walked
to the door. I turned. “Hey,” I said. My father turned and looked at me.
“Give me a couple more,” I told him, “if it makes you feel any better.”
At the point in the story where this final parental beating occurs, Henry is only in Jr. High.
This is a fairly young age to be standing up to, and capable of overpowering the biggest
directing force in life. Although Henry is still blind to the nature of the world, his ability to
confront fear is exceptional. This natural inclination to survive in spite of un-survivable
conditions, is what keeps Henry from suicide, and eventually must have helped him write
his first great works.
directing force in life. Although Henry is still blind to the nature of the world, his ability to
confront fear is exceptional. This natural inclination to survive in spite of un-survivable
conditions, is what keeps Henry from suicide, and eventually must have helped him write
his first great works.
Finally, toward the end of the book we come upon a passage written not by the innocent
little Henry Chinaski, who is the victim of fate and circumstance, but by the Henry who has
undergone a dynamic change. Still not quite the epitome of virtue, there is no doubt that Mr.
Chinaski has undergone one of the most hellish journeys from Innocence to Experience ever
endured. The major issues in literature: love, blood, sex, death, and money, Chinaski was beaten
and bruised by all of them. Here we see his summed up version of the world.
I quickly became disenchanted with military proceedings. The others shined their
shoes brightly and seemed to go through maneuvers with relish. I couldn’t see
myself crouched down in a football helmet, shoulder pads laced on, decked out in
blue and white, #69, trying to block some mean son-of-a-bitch from across town,
trying to move out some brute with tacos on his breath so that the son of the
district attorney could slant off left tackle for six yards. 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 god-damned nation of assholes driving
they sliced a little more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25
most people were finished. A whole god-damned 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.
While Ham on Rye leaves Henry’s future uncertain, history does not. During the worst
and most torturous moments of Henry’s life, the reader should remember the character is based
more than loosely on Charles Bukowski. So despite the violent and belligerently psychotic
behavior, and alcoholism and a complete unacceptability, Mr. Bukowki found a way to not only
and most torturous moments of Henry’s life, the reader should remember the character is based
more than loosely on Charles Bukowski. So despite the violent and belligerently psychotic
behavior, and alcoholism and a complete unacceptability, Mr. Bukowki found a way to not only
fit in, but to become a fond and cherished memory among millions of literature fans. This
coming of age story, as horrendous as it is, rests infinitely more identifiable than other more cute
and shiny such stories. The tormented soul of Henry Chinaski lives on to write another page, and
so must we live through adversity toward our own destinies.
Ham on Rye portrays a view of a world not glimmering with opportunity, or ripe with
possibility, but drowning in the untouchable dreams of broken men. It is in his ability to relish
such desolate corners of forsaken America, that Henry Chinaski ultimately finds his voice.
In each encounter with Henry’s dismal world, a magical thing happens in the reader’s world
outside the book. Juxtaposed against this condemned man in a dark and hopeless 1920’s L.A.,
the reader’s own world will shine with promise. This appreciation for the simplest things in life
can only be gained by reading literary greats like Bukowski, or by taking the circumstantial
journey to Desolation Row for one’s self.
They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row
(Bob Dylan)
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."
(Leonard Cohen)
References:
Ham on Rye (1983) by Charles Bukowski
Bukowski’s Ham on Rye and the Los Angeles Novel - A literary criticism by Ernest Fontana
Bob Dylan – Lyrics from Desolation Row
Leonard Cohen – Poetry from Chelsea Hotel
Although not quoted these books, web archives, and authors proved indispensable to my research:
Ham on Rye By: Meanor, Patrick, Magill’s Survey of American Literature, Revised Edition
Charles Bukowski By: Boyle, William, Critical Survey of Long Fiction, Fourth Edition
Literature – A Portable Anthology, Second Edition, By: Gardner, Lawn, Ridl, Schakel
*Finally a special thanks to the Professor Great, David Johansson, whom without I would be exponentially more oblivious to such important literary catalysts as love, blood, sex, death, and money.*
