Post Office by Charles Bukowski
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

What I expected:

Sharp satire and/or witticisms couched in brilliant prose, dark examinations of modern society with a slight absurdist flair.

What I got:

A near shaggy-dog story with tones of a Noir as it could be written as a carrier turned long-term clerk, with honestly enjoyable prose and a flippant, dissolute voice.

Not bad by a long shot, but my expectations sure as hell didn't match its execution. Of course, that's all on me.

Will I try more from this esteemed "master" of modern lit? Sure. It was, after all, pretty fun even if it turned expectations on its head. Perhaps BECAUSE it turned expectations on MY head.

This book's synesthesia is the scent of horses and booze to wash down the pain of life's many papercuts.


Personal note:
If anyone reading my reviews might be interested in reading my own SF, I'm going to be open to requests. Just direct message me in goodreads or email me on my site. I'd love to get some eyes on my novels.

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