Factotum

By: Charles Bukowski

Narrated by: Christian Baskous

One of Charles Bukowski's best, this beer-soaked, deliciously degenerate novel follows the wanderings of aspiring writer Henry Chinaski across World War II-era America. Deferred from military service, Chinaski travels from city to city, moving listlessly from one odd job to another, always needing money but never badly enough to keep a job. His day-to-day existence spirals into an endless litany of pathetic whores, sordid rooms, dreary embraces, and drunken brawls, as he makes his bitter, brilliant way from one drink to the next.

Charles Bukowski's posthumous legend continues to grow. Factotum is a masterfully vivid evocation of slow-paced, low-life urbanity and alcoholism, and an excellent introduction to the fictional world of Charles Bukowski.

©1975 Charles Bukowski (P)2013 HarperCollinsPublishers

Bukowski being Bukowski

This book seems to rehash a lot of what we have already seen from Buk in Post Office and Ham On Rye. It's still highly entertaining, and contains some very wry witticisms that still strike true to this day. Reading about how Buk lived, makes one wonder how he ever made it, how he survived as long as he did. A true legend.

Bukowski is "The Dirty Old Drunk Man"

Don't have any presentment, this is a dirty old man. but, he gives everything... the stories are simple and not for those easily offended... but, I've read it all, Dostoevsky to Hemingway on to Stinebeck and Whitman and on it goes..I'm not gonna say Bukowski is at the intellectual lvl of these other writers... or is he... the reader gets a straight story of drunkenness and seduction, not Deep or Profound ... or, isn't it. its Direct and true-ish. these stories and charater. also, I think I'll lump the writer into this they are a left behind ne'r do well with nothing to lose, if your looking for a easy going Drifters life in the 40's - late 60s go no further...

I wanna switch and I wanna Add Great Works of Great Men (Dostoevsky and the like) and the Lessons they taught us about life and struggles, ups and downs, Goods and Bads.. Rights and Wrongs.... pls, take the time and follow me here. are we to look at Bukowski, seeing the piece of Shit he is(or is he?) giving us a life in print of the perspective of the road less traveled... maybe we get a Grab/view of someone who doesn't buy into the workaholics dream, the perspective of a man not consumed with buying and induging (or maybe he just can't afford it,lol) the fella that doesn't need to work his life away, as he is content, lavishing in booze and Sex for his release from the standard ever directed press of life and time( what is the proper way?)....

ok.. maybe he is content with Females and freedom of time, maybe he isn't concerned with Defining himself with this position (yeah, in America maybe society see's this as Credulous and Undefined) do we Crucify this Man for his lack? ....


I think, I wanna say. as the great writers gave us all the, ins and outs of Right and Wrong, why then because its Offensive do we disallow a Prominent Word-Smith to speak his own mind (OK, so we don't let the kids read it... I know kids who watched "50 shades of Grey" how is that less direct then Bukowski) like it or not... Doesnt this guy really belong with the Greats... for the Good of having all the Basis Covered... and GDit if his Damn Writing isn't Spectaculer, it's for each man to fill in, so

for my take, Bukowski, as sour and unliked by Hard Working Americans as he is... holds the unlike Genius Spot IMO.....

look every Great MFer can't just be tackling Virtue style morals.... the unliked Sons Of Bitches hold the sour Spots, but, as unlike as they are they are still needed ( and in my opinion)they Remain just as profound....

I think at this point I'll Bring in the disliked but revered Deogenes the Master Greek Stoic he held a Very Unlike Position in Greek Society. but, had the like of the great Alexander seeking out his Wisdom... dirty and uncouth doesn't mean Stupid and unintelligent...if any positionI held I'd Say known by Bukowski or not he help a Epicurian position, that of loving pleasure and shunning labor... do you a solid if your on the reading Classic works tip... let Bukowski give you your understanding of Discust...

people can and should get these life lessons, less they fumble and fuck up, when they arrive at life's end having been bogged by the other side they never understood (the Less Virtuous) and just studied Chekov and read Austin....

Virtue isn't always being Prim as a Rose, it's knowing the proper way to be .. how can one know the proper way nvr having actually understood the other side

hope this helps...

I'll always be pushing for a understanding of Bukowski

He writes like Cormac McCarthy .. if he were kicked in the head by a horse .

It sounds like an insult but it’s not , he’s bare bones and straight to it and I love it , no flowery prose here .

Working, Drinking, & Loving in Seedy WWII-era USA

Factotum (1975) is a short novel told in a series of short chapters that provide a sardonic, amusing, and morbidly fascinating look at down and out life in World War Two era American cities like New Orleans, New York City, Philadelphia, Saint Louis, and especially Los Angeles, as Charles Bukowski's young alter-ego Henry (Hank) Chinaski travels around by train or bus (without being able to sleep or defecate) and half-heartedly interviews for, miraculously gets, and promptly quits or is fired from a series of demeaning, “dull stupid jobs” with grotesque overseers and coworkers.

A factotum is someone who does all kinds of work, and Henry is a newspaper gopher, subway poster remover and applier, auto parts store clerk, dog biscuit factory oven worker, women’s dresses shipping clerk, potential libretto writer, bakery coconut man, hotel loading dock worker, fluorescent light fixture shipping clerk, art supply store shipping clerk, LA Times janitor, potential Yellow Cab driver, and more. Typically, after several days he rubs his bosses or coworkers the wrong way for his perceived superior attitude, when it's really only that he doesn't like people (“I was a man who thrived on solitude”) or tires of whatever soul-destroying work he happens to be doing (“I was horrified by life and by what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed”) or succumbs to wanderlust (“Packing was always a good time”). All the while he is living in a series of seedy apartments, while drinking constantly and turning out scores of hand-written short stories that he sends off to literary magazines, almost going through the motions but never quite giving up the idea that he is a hitherto undiscovered “writer”--which might be part of his self-directed irony: “Baby, I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me.”

Because of his views on work, Henry would rather stay in bed and drink. He also does plenty of drinking away from home, of course, as once with an old friend when he wakes up in jail arrested for having caused a traffic jam without remembering any of the details. He spends as little time as possible with his weak and soft mother and his unpleasant father, who says things like, “My son is a God damn no good drunk” and “How the hell are you going to make it?” and charges him rent and clothes washing fees to stay in their home. Interestingly, he only masturbates when he's in his family home. He is not immune from considering getting a gun and putting himself out of his misery. He’s often attracted to and occasionally lucky (?) with members of the opposite sex. He listens to classical music on the radio, and the likes of Mahler and Beethoven perform the soundtrack for some funky filthy sex and debauchery and conflict. I sense a homophobic vibe, as Bukowski shows Henry turning down a couple offers of sex from creepy men and dryly remark that his sudden spate of apartment cleaning must be due to his “turning fag.”

Bukowski writes memorable lines, about--

--charisma:
“I always started a job with the feeling that I would soon quit or be fired and this gave me a relaxed manner that was mistaken for intelligence or some secret power.”

--romance:
“Great lovers were always men of leisure. I fucked better as a bum than as a puncher of time clocks.”

--human nature:
“For each Joan of Arc there is a Hitler perched at the other end of the teeter totter.”

He is a master of the vivid grotesque description, like:

“The people swarmed up out of the subway, like insects, faceless, mad. They rushed upon me and into and around me with much intensity. They spun and pushed each other. They made horrible sounds.”

And
“I was given instruction by a toothless elf with a film over his left eye. The film was white and green with spidery blue lines.”

And
“The large bed was covered with stuffed animals. All of the animals looked surprised and stared at me.”

The audiobook reader, Christian Baskus, is the ideal Bukowski/Chinaski, perfect.

The novel ends with Henry out of work, out of love, and alone, impotently taking in a vigorous strip tease act: “I couldn't get it up.” Rather than closure, it feels like Bukowski just decided to stop his tenuously linked series of work and love anecdotes. There isn’t a clear climax and resolution to the novel so much as a petering out. Nonetheless, I can’t help it: I want to read more!

Peak Bukowski

Firstly, it needs to be said that the narrator is more Bukowski than Bukowski is Bukowski.
I’ve been listening to the Buk’ audiobooks for going on seven or so years. I’m not sure how many dozens of times I’ve heard them each but it’s been a few.
And Christian Baskous is masterful in his performances.
As far as the writing, the story, etc., you either love Bukowski or you don’t. I can’t imagine there’s much in between.
Yes, he’s a womanizer. Yes, he’s a drunk. Yes, he has a foul mouth. Yes, he’s a layabout.
But it is his honesty about his flawed humanness that we love. He was the first to admit he was a big hunk of sh—.
We also love the humor and the big middle finger to fakers and fascists and upper middle class scum.
Bukowski isn’t blue collar … he’s no collar.
He is the working man’s Proust.
The degenerate’s Shakespeare.
The hopeless schlub’s Tony Robins.
If you’re unfamiliar with Bukowski’s work, give him a whirl.
You never know.
He might just wake you up to a number of hypocrisies and pointless rituals you didn’t know irked you.
Better yet, he might caterwaul a tale of desperation and woe that feels like a comfortable old flannel shirt you can wear against the cold cruel world.

Bukowski really kicks Mickey Mouse to the curb.

This is life in the raw, lived without bows and curtseys and if-you-pleases and by-your-leaves and other false courtesies of polite society. And yet it smacks of a level of verisimilitude that is all but absent in certain other cringeworthy indulgences and excesses that Hank freely admits are fiction or mostly fiction.

Dang that's it

If you love a character that gets random jobs, gets drunk, and bangs random women, then this is for you. you freaking weirdo.

Enjoyable

I read this in print probably 15 years ago. Now that the Bukowski books are on audible, I am revisiting all they have to offer. If you are starting off on Bukowski, I'd suggest Ham on Rye or Post office over this. This novel details many years of Bukowski's life, I'd figure after leaving home, in which he worked about a thousand different jobs in a hundred different cities. As per his style, the chapters are short. There's no filler. It's all, "I moved here, I got drunk at this bar, I hooked up with this woman." Factotum is one of his better novels, but not his best. Still, it flows and is an easy listen.

Amazing!!

This book is a great listen and keeps your attention the whole time. I couldn't stop listening till the end!

Bukowski BS

Somehow I am fooled into the abyss of nothingness every time I read a book by Bukowski. Depressing nothingness over and over and over that makes me remember I’m living life not reading a story where I can find solace away from it for a moment of solace.