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Book description: Charles Bukowski is a very versatile person. His talents include both poetry and prose. The stunning novel “Women” was published when the author was already quite popular. Here Bukowski threw out maximum emotions, since the novel turned out to be very daring and rich in erotic terms. Sex scenes, self-irony, the meaningfulness of the characters and their actions makes the reader get carried away and take in the atmosphere of what is happening in one breath. Attention is focused on the main character - Henry Chinaski, who easily weaves himself into the vicissitudes of love. At the same time, the entire relationship process is accompanied by sex scenes with completely different partners. There are not only fleeting affairs here, but also very long-term relationships. The novel “Women” is about sex, scandals, casual acquaintances, breakups and many other interesting and stormy scenes.
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Charles Bukowski
Acknowledgments
Thanks are due to the editors of the anthology City Lights No. 4, First Person Intensive, Hustler, and Rogner's Magazine, where some of the chapters from here were originally published.
How many good men ended up under a bridge because of a woman.
Henry Chinaski
This novel is a work of fiction and no character is intended to represent an actual person or combination of actual persons, living or dead.
I’ve already turned 50, and I haven’t been in bed with a woman for four years. I didn't have any female friends. I looked at women every time I passed by on the streets or anywhere else, but I looked without desire and aware of futility. I jerked off regularly, but the idea of having a relationship with a woman - even on a non-sexual basis - was beyond my imagination. I had a 6-year-old daughter, illegitimate. She lived with her mother, and I paid child support. I was married many years ago when I turned 35. That marriage lasted two and a half years. My wife separated from me. I've only been in love once. She died from acute alcoholism. She died at 48, and I was 38. My wife was 12 years younger than me. I believe she is already dead now, although I am not sure. For 6 years after the divorce, she wrote me long letters every Christmas. I never answered...
I don't remember exactly when I first saw Lydia Vance. About 6 years ago, probably, I had just quit working at the post office, where I had worked for twelve years, and was trying to become a writer. I was terrified and drank more than usual. I tried to write my first novel. Every night while I worked I drank a pint of whiskey and two half dozen beers. He smoked cheap cigars, typed, drank, and listened to classical music on the radio until dawn. I set myself a goal of ten pages a night, but it was always only the next day that I found out how much I had actually written. I used to get up in the morning, vomit, then go out into the front room and look at the ottoman - how many pages there are. I always exceeded my ten mark. Sometimes there were 17, 18, 23, 25 pages. Of course, every night's work had to be either cleaned or thrown away. My first novel took me twenty-one nights.
The owners of the yard where I lived then, who themselves lived in the outskirts, considered me crazy. Every morning when I woke up, there was a large brown paper bag sitting on my porch. The contents varied, but usually contained tomatoes, green onions, radishes, oranges, cans of soup, and red onions. Quite often at night I drank beer with the owners, until 4–5 in the morning. The old man passed out, and the old woman and I held hands, and I sometimes kissed her. He always gave her a real seal at the door. She was terribly wrinkled, but what can you do? She was a Catholic and looked very nice when she put on her pink hat and went to church on Sunday morning.
I think I met Lydia Vance at my first poetry reading. It was held in a bookstore on Kenmore Avenue - the Drawbridge. Again, I was terrified. Arrogant, but terrified. When I entered there was standing room only. Peter, who ran the shop and lived with a black girl, had a pile of cash in front of him.
“This is crap,” he told me, “if I could always cram them here like this, I’d have enough for India again.”
I walked in and they applauded. In terms of poetry readings, I had to tear my virginity.
I read for 30 minutes, then asked for a break. I was still sober and felt eyes looking intently at me from the darkness. Several people came up to talk. Then, during a lull, Lydia Vance approached. I sat at the table and drank beer. She placed both hands on the edge, leaned over and looked at me. She had long brown hair - a decent length - a prominent nose, and one eye that didn't quite match the other. But she emanated a vitality that you couldn’t ignore. I felt vibrations running between us. Some were weird and bad, but they were there anyway. She looked at me, I looked at her. Lydia Vance wore a suede cowboy jacket with a fringed collar. Her breasts are nothing. I told her:
“I’d like to rip the fringe off your jacket—we could start with that.”
Lydia walked away. Did not work. I never know what to say to the ladies. Well, she has food. I watched this beautiful stern as Lydia walked away. The back of her jeans hugged her, and I watched this woman as she walked away.
I finished the second half of the readings and forgot about Lydia, as I forgot about all the women I passed on the sidewalks. I took my money, signed a few napkins, a few pieces of paper, then went back home.
I was still working every night on my first novel. I never sat down to write until 6.18 pm. At this time, I checked in at the checkpoint of my terminal wing at the post office. And they showed up at 6 pm: Peter and Lydia Vance. I opened the door. Peter said:
- Look, Henry, look what I brought you!
Lydia jumped onto the coffee table. Her jeans fit even tighter. She shook her long brown hair from side to side. She was mad; she was wonderful. For the first time I thought about making love to her. She began to read poetry. Their. It was very bad. Peter tried to stop her:
– No! No! No rhyming in Henry Chinaski's house!
- Let him read it, Peter!
I wanted to look at her buttocks. She paced back and forth on the old coffee table. Then she started dancing. She waved her arms. The poetry was terrible, the body and madness - not at all.
Lydia jumped down.
- How did you like it, Henry?
- Poetry.
- With difficulties.
Lydia froze with her sheets of poetry in her hand. Peter groped her.
“Let's fuck,” he told her. -Cum, let's fuck!
She pushed him away.
“Okay,” said Peter. -Then I'm leaving.
- Well, get out. “I have my own car,” Lydia answered. “I’ll get to my place myself.”
Peter ran to the door, stopped and turned around:
- Okay, Chinaski! Don't forget what I brought you!
He slammed the door and was gone. Lydia sat down on the ottoman, closer to the door. I sat down about a foot away and looked at her. She looked great. I was afraid. I reached out and touched her long hair. They were magical. I pulled my hand back.
– And all this hair is really yours? – I asked. I knew it was true.
“Yes,” she answered, “mine.”
I took her chin with my hand and very clumsily tried to turn her head towards me. I'm never sure in such cases. I kissed her lightly.
Lydia jumped up:
- I have to go. I pay the nanny.
“Listen,” I said, “stay.” I'll pay. Stay a little.
“No, I can’t,” she answered. - We need to go.
She went to the door, and I followed. She opened the door. Then she turned around. I reached out to her one more time, for the last time. She threw her head back and gave me a tiny kiss. Then she pulled away and placed some typewritten sheets of paper in my hand. The door closed. I sat on the ottoman with papers in my hand and listened to her car start.
The poems were stapled together, copied and called "EEEE". I've read a few. Interesting, full of humor and sensitivity, but poorly written. The authors are Lydia herself and her three sisters, all together - so perky, so brave, so sexy. I tossed aside the leaves and uncorked a pint of whiskey. It was dark outside. The radio played mostly Mozart, Brahms and Boe.
A day or so later, a poem from Lydia arrived in the mail. The long one started like this:
Come out, old troll,
Come out of the dark hole, old troll,
Come out into the sun with us and
Let us braid daisies into your hair...
The next morning I was awakened by a knock on the glass panel of the front door. It was 10.30 on the clock.
“Go away,” I said.
- This is Lydia.
- OK. Just a minute.
I put on some pants and a shirt and opened the door. Then he ran to the bathroom and threw up. I tried to brush my teeth, but only vomited again: the sweetness of the toothpaste made my stomach turn out. I went out.
“You’re sick,” said Lydia. - Should I leave?
- Nah, everything's fine. I always wake up like this.
Lydia looked good. Light seeped through the curtains and shone on her. She tossed an orange in her hand. It was spinning in the morning sunlight.
“I can’t stay,” she said, “but I want to ask you something.”
- I'm a sculptor. I want to sculpt your head.
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City of publication: Moscow
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ISBN: 978-5-699-37887-6 Size: 396 KB
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Description
Charles Bukowski is one of the greatest American writers of the 20th century, the author of more than forty books, including novels, poetry, essays and short stories. Despite the sometimes shocking naturalism, his texts are full of lyricism, even a kind of sentimentality.
The novel “Women” was written by him on the wave of popularity and contains a lot of Bukowski’s signature “tricks”: self-irony, an abundance of sex scenes, the energy of the plot. The hero of the book is 50 years old, his name is Henry Chinaski, and he is the author's constant alter ego. The novel is a series of more than frank sex scenes, which are united by the main thing - the hero’s endless love for his women, admiration for them and rough-sincere admiration.
Charles Bukowski's third novel, The Women, tells the story of the sexual adventures of the protagonist, the writer's alter ego, Henry Chinaski. The novel contains more than a hundred chapters in which Henry describes his passion for women, his love for them, albeit somewhat rude, but still he has warm feelings for them.
In the book, the main character appears as a man of advanced years, whose life is still eventful. First, the writer's background is told. The previous fifteen years had left a significant mark on Henry's life. He was unsuccessfully married, met his only love, and also had an illegitimate daughter, who at the time of the story is already six years old. For several years, Chinaski lived without sex and often engaged in masturbation. He talks about his sexual experiences directly, without unnecessary embellishment.
Henry Chinaski's life has always been filled with women, most often these were fleeting hobbies, rarely long-term relationships. He talks about his tumultuous relationship with Lydia Vance, which is given a lot of attention in the book. Their life consisted of constant showdowns, quarrels and scandals, reconciliations, sex and subsequent breakups. But even during their relationship, Lydia was not the only woman in his bed; besides her, there were six more. After a trip to Los Angeles, their connection is finally interrupted, Lydia decides to go to her sister.
Henry's companions were very different, from high-status women and admirers to prostitutes. He does not describe his love affairs in the same way as is done in women's romance novels. Chinaski may be cynical and straightforward, but that is precisely why many people love him. He writes about women for whom he felt in love, and about those for whom he felt nothing. However, despite the endless stream of lovers, he found a woman who made him think about what he could give her.
On our website you can download the book “Women” by Charles Bukowski for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.
Women Charles Bukowski
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Title: Women
About the book "Women" by Charles Bukowski
The book “Women” is the third novel by the famous American writer, which brought him both fame and heated discussions. Charles Bukowski still remains a controversial character in the literary world, which makes him even more special and readable. The novel is central to a series of five autobiographical works by the author, which were called Chinaski's Odyssey, after the name of the novels' protagonist.
In the book “Women” the described alter ego of the novelist himself is clearly visible. This is not just a story about the writer’s fleeting affairs, but a story about deep love for women, which is accompanied by admiration, admiration and even worship. Charles Bukowski describes numerous meetings, affairs and bed scenes of the novel's protagonist, Henry Chinaski.
The story of the novel begins with a short excursion into the life of a key character, where women and sexual relations play a significant role. The last fifteen years of Henry's existence brought him many impressions and gifts, including an unhappy marriage, and a little daughter, and finding the love that everyone can only dream of.
From the first to the one hundred and fourth chapters, Charles Bukowski talks about various persons of the opposite sex with whom fate encountered Henry. These are not only fleeting affairs, although there were certainly many more of them. Serious romances and emotions did not pass by this man. Even a mountain can be broken by the work of a small stream. And the book “Women” confirms this fact.
In the novel, the author describes explicit sexual bed scenes that were remembered and lived by the main character of the book “Women”. But this is not a vicious circle that leads to nothing but new connections. All of Henry Chinaski's passion is united by one thing - his love for all his women. Albeit with some rudeness, he sincerely admires them, surrendering to their power not only physically, but also psychologically.
The American writer tries to describe the character and way of thinking of men, answering questions about why they change partners so often. But Henry stops, leaving the reader to understand that “sex isn’t everything.” Even after hundreds of fleeting affairs, the hero can still love one, without ceasing to admire women as works of art.
On our website about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book “Women” by Charles Bukowski in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.
Quotes from the book "Women" by Charles Bukowski
The greatest people are the loneliest.
God is a hook in the sky.
Poverty and ignorance produce their own truth.
Depression and suicide were often the result of poor diet.
Let's just call it interest. Or caring.
Sex isn't everything.
A good person is hard to find these days.
It’s as if one animal is using a knife to drive another into submission.
It's good to have somewhere to go when things are bad.
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