It took me a long time to get into this book because real life has been doing a rather good job of getting in the way. I’m a student again now, so people expect me to read shit containing actual information these days. Bastards.

It was convenient to be reading Hollywood during this transitional time to be honest, because it’s about a guy who’s been paid to write a screenplay and is watching the machinations of the film industry as it goes from that screenplay to the film premiere and beyond. Even if you could give it your full attention for a day or two, you’d still lose count of the number of times the film is cancelled and then refinanced by some shady Mafia deal or another.

And I don’t know if it’s brilliant or just distracting, but Bukowski doesn’t try very hard to hide the real identities of his characters. We have Tom Jones, Werner Herzog, Jean-Luc Goddard, Sean Penn and Madonna, and loads more, all with names only a few consonants away from their own. I liked being able to spot them, but I think I enjoyed the book more when I stopped bothering and just read it.

“It’s about a writer who couldn’t write but got famous because he looked like a rodeo rider.” “Who?” “Mack Derouac.”

“VISITORS? VISITORS? I NEED VISITORS LIKE A DOG NEEDS FLEAS! GO OUT THERE AND STUFF FROGS IN THEIR MOUTHS! PISS ON THEM! BURN THEM!”

“Listen, do you drink when you write?” “Yes, quite a bit.” “That’s part of your inspiration. I’ll make that tax deductible.”

He was silent a good two minutes. Jon lit a cigarette and waited. Then Friedman spoke, still looking up at the ceiling. “This could be an art film, couldn’t it?”

Charles Bukwoski - Hollywood
Publication date: 1989
Publisher: Black Sparrow Press
Price then: unknown
Price now: $11
Purchased from: Green Apples Books, San Fransisco

From the inside cover: “This is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental, etc.”