This novel by Chad Kultgen reminds me more than any other book of J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. The main difference is that The Average American Male is simply more honest about the way young guys think about sex. I’m sure just about every guy who reads The Average American Male starts cracking up almost immediately because he relates to the way the narrator’s mind works, mentally undressing every attractive female he sees and imagining raunchy sex acts. It may be a slight exaggeration of the “average” American male’s mind—granted: most men don’t masturbate ten times a day—but the mental activity itself is not that far from average. This really is how guys think, all guys—I suspect even gay guys think like this, except that their fantasies are about men instead of women.
Charles Bukowski is primarily known as a poet. He was also a lifelong alcoholic and often wrote about his drinking in both his poems and especially in his prose. Post Office was his first novel.
Although it’s labeled “a novel,” Post Office is really a memoir. (I think the only actual novel Bukowski ever wrote was Pulp, a parody of a detective novel, “Dedicated to bad writing,” that was published in 1994, the year he died. I’ll review Pulp in the future.) There’s no plot to Post Office, hardly even a story. A man hires on as a letter carrier, works a few years then quits. He hires on again as a clerk, works a lot more years, then quits again. That’s the story.
In this time frame of some 14-15 years, he goes through a number of wives and lovers, drinks, has a kid, drinks, plays the horses, and drinks. I’ve heard many people say they love Bukowski’s poetry, but hate his prose. In my opinion, they’re not reading him right. His prose is poetry. I’m not saying that every word Bukowski has ever written is poetry. But there are hundreds of poems, disguised as prose, throughout his “novels.” Post Office is a book you can flip open to any page and start reading and you’ll soon find yourself engrossed.
In Santa Steps Out, Robert Devereaux restores the lust and raging lunacy of classic Greek mythology to our most cherished, and sanitized, contemporary American fable. Robert Devereaux is now often classified as a bizarro author, though I think he was initially categorized in the sci-fi/fantasy/horror genres. I just discovered him some months ago. Here’s the basic story of his 1998 novel, Santa Steps Out:
Santa Claus, while making his rounds one Christmas Eve, bumps into the Tooth Fairy who happens to be making her rounds, depositing coins under children’s pillows in exchange for teeth. (We learn a lot of juicy facts about the Tooth Fairy in this book. For example, she actually eats the teeth she picks up, and then excretes the coins she leaves behind.) The Tooth Fairy is a hot babe and she seduces Santa multiple times in the first chapter. But, we also learn that Santa is married to Anya and he is filled with remorse for having cheated on his ever-loving, ever faithful wife. Continue reading Robert Devereaux’s Santa Steps Out – Silent Night, Horny Night
We are getting into some serious dick-lit here. There’s so much testosterone gumming up the pages of this thriller, you could tear ’em out, chew ’em up, and throw away your Cialis prescription. Here’s the story in a nutshell:
Guy can’t sleep. Chronic insomnia. He’s suffering. Shrink tells him he’s a wimp. “Why don’t you go to a cancer patient support group so you can see what real suffering is?” Guy goes to a testicular cancer support group. The ploy works. Guy sees that men with no balls are in bad shape, making his complaints about sleeplessness pale by comparison. What’s insomnia compared to having your nuts chopped off? Continue reading Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk – A First Novel with Punch