Pulp is Buk's only novel that i have yet to read. seems like most people around the site don't like it too much so i haven't really been motivated to check it out.
Maybe that's why it stinks. Because it's half-assed at two things rather than being good at one.You quickly realize he isn't bothering to convince you that he knows or cares anything about the standard mystery conventions.
... I saw in a film or read, maybe something Linda Lee said, about how he was cozying up to the Buddha towards the end, or was it Meher Baba? But maybe that was just her wishful thinking, and he really wasn't into it any more than he'd ever been?
I don't know the cause of her pain. But it seems that, despite how she may have looked to the outside world in comparison to someone whose madness was right on the surface for all to see, like Linda King, you can say with some confidence that Bukowski was always attracted to damaged women and a steady stream of relationship drama.why would Linda have "considerable psychic pain"?
Wasn't part of his choice simply that he had novelised every stage of his life already and that if he was going to write another novel it simply couldn't be biographical? He had to write about someone/something else and the easiest way to get out of routine is to adopt a genre.I get the impression that he started it, and maybe if it had been a decade earlier he wouldn't have finished it, but by the end of his life there he must have known that it would be his last long work, so he was reluctant to kill it himself.