City Light Books 1983 Paperback 238 pages

Reviewed by Mojo Rysen

I will admit that it was only a few years ago that I discovered Bukowski. When I did I was really pissed off that I hadn't heard of him before. Reading Tales of Ordinary Madness is a romp into a life that no one in his/her right mind would want to experience first hand, but is shocking and a helluva lot of fun to read.

This collection of stories was originally published in 1967 as part two of Erections, ejaculations, exhibitions and general tales of ordinary madness. I believe it speaks for itself.

Nothing is taboo for Bukowski. In this book, as with all his others, topics include lots and lots of booze, hangovers, horse racing, classical music, and shit stains. There is continuous debate as to whether or not these stories are autobiographical or pure fiction. Bukowski (who died in 1994), however, never denied or confirmed either. One thing for sure is that he definitely played with it all. These stories give us wonderful little snapshots of how Bukowski may or may not have lived in vulgar detail. His use of the language and grammar are genius, even if the topics are not. To give you an even better idea, here are some titles within the book:

  • "A .45 to Pay the Rent"
  • "Cunt and Kant and a Happy Home"
  • "Great Poets Die in Steaming Pots of Shit"
  • "Rape! Rape!"
  • "Notes of a Potential Suicide"

Get the idea? Everyone should read at least one Bukowski story, if not a whole book. Here's an excerpt from "Night Streets of Madness":

I lived in one of the last slum courts on DeLongpre. someday the landlord would sell it for a tremendous sum and I would be bulldozed out. too bad. I threw parties that lasted until the sun came up, ran the typer day and night. a madman lived in the next court. everything was sweet. one block North and ten blocks West I could walk along a sidewalk that had footprints of STARS upon it. I don't know what the names mean. I don't hit the movies. don't have a t.v. when my radio stopped playing I threw it out the window. drunk. me, not the radio. there is a big hole in one of my windows. I forgot the screen was there. I had to open the screen and drop the radio out. later, whilst I was drunken barefoot (left) picked up all the glass, and the doctor while slitting my foot open without benefit of a shot, probing for ballsy glass, asked me, "listen, do you ever walk around not quite knowing what you are doing?"

"most of the time, baby."
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