I think the point I was trying to make about the misanthropy et al was that Ham On Rye seemed far enough away from the subject (his childhood and early adulthood) that any embitterment was assuaged by the distance that time had lent it. I guess he’s tried many versions of it over the years. The version we have has such a level of equanimity that the book becomes a startled, dignified (bthough very funny and confrontaional) memoir rather than a scabrous, horrified backward glance. So yes, it really does read like nothing else he’s done, and yet has the evocation and embattled beauty of the best poems.

And by the way, I received Selvon’s first Moses book in the mail yesterday. I was slightly miffed at the Book Depository’s packing method as the book came a bit bent out of shape, but it’s not terrible. More interesting is the edition of the third Moses book I received. Turns out I ordered a published-on-demand copy (which explains why it was so cheap) and the cover art looks like something a highschool student would draw for his (definitely his) school sports team.

Still, having read Post Office, it’s hard to imagine Bukowski without rancour, corrosive indignation and scattershot misanthropy. That’s basically much of what Post Office is. Take that out and he must be almost a different author.

Trevor, what about continuing the Bandini quartet? I appreciate they’re not actually memoirs, but they’re pretty close and you enjoyed the first.