Ham On Rye [antikvár]

INTRODUCTION by Roddy Doyle 'This is presented as a work of fiction and dedicated to nobody.' These are the first words I ever read by Charles Bukowski. I'd just picked up a second-hand copy of Post Office, his first novel I'd never heard of the man, and the cover, a bad drawing of a postman, wasn't promising. But the words on that empty dedication page had grabbed me. 'Presented as a work of fiction' suggested that there was more than story-telling going on inside, that there was real living behind the disclaimer, and 'dedicated to nobody' yelled anger, frankness, desolation and a sense of humour that was right down my alley. I forked out the 50p and started it on the bus home. 'It began as a mistake.' That was the first sentence, and paragraph. It was plain, yet intriguing, a good start to a crime novel perhaps, or a story of love gone wrong. I liked it, and read on. 'It was Christmas season and I learned from the drunk up the hill, who did the trick every Christmas, that they would hire damned near anybody, and so I went and the next thing I knew I had this leather sack on my back and was hiking around at my leisure. What a job, I thought.' What writing, I thought. It wasn't just the words that made Vll