It’s time to take a look at Charles Bukowski’s Ham on Rye which was first published in 1982 and marked a shift away from his preceding works.

This highly autobiographical work ditches a lot of the casual debauchery in the likes of the highly amusing Post Office (1971) in favour of poignancy and melancholia.

Ham on Rye is Bukowski reflecting back on his childhood and teenage years. He endured a sad and difficult time of it, which makes this a rather moving read. And it’s very possibly his finest book.

Confusion and Conformity in Ham on Rye

“I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely.”

Once again, this work follows the antics of Bukowski’s alter-ego Henry Chinaski.

In his other books, such as the leering assault on employment that is Factotum (1975), Chinaski is an in-your-face anti-hero.

But here Bukowski was finally happy to lay bare the reasons why he was… well, the way he was. Often a bit drunk, depressed, and misanthropic.

If you thought being rejected by the hunk/babe of your dreams during your formative years was the crushing psychological low point of your life, Bukowski’s difficult relationship with his father and struggles with his physical appearance make for far more tragic reading than your issues with hunky Henry.

During 1930s Depression-era America, the young Bukowski was beaten by his father and, to compound his misery, he wasn’t going to win Hunk of the Month awards in a rush. That was, in part due, to the appalling acne that blighted his existence.

And he didn’t have a high opinion of himself.

“I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.”

He wasn’t ugly. He had a kind of gnarled charm about him. But yes, he wasn’t going to win any conventional good looking geezer awards.

In arguably the most heart breaking few pages of Ham on Rye, Bukowski recalls watching his peers celebrate their youth at a prom, whilst he stood outside looking in with bandages swathed across his face due to his acne.

It’s no surprise solitude was a close friend of his.

“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.”

In later life Bukowski alienated himself from society, thrived on solitude, and was essentially a social outcast. It’s clear to see why. Due to sheer bad luck, he wasn’t able to fit in amongst his peers and became a beer-sodden misfit.

Bukowski’s Humour Overcomes the Pathos

“The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole goddamned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.”

Despite such difficulties and similar reminiscing, this isn’t a miserable read. Ham on Rye is sprinkled with Bukowski’s trademark sardonic sense of humour. This is a big tribute to the man —there was nothing haughty about him.

Also, a major theme in the work is the rejection of superficial social values. Bukowski was, ultimately, an individual against the system.

He knew his place and what he liked—gambling at racetracks, classical music, poetry, and beer. And he found out at an early age that alcohol made life worth living.

“Getting drunk was good. I decided that I would always like getting drunk. It took away the obvious and maybe if you could get away from the obvious often enough, you wouldn’t become so obvious yourself.”

And a bit more on that drunkenness topic.

“And my own affairs were as bad, as dismal, as the day I had been born. The only difference was that now I could drink now and then, though never often enough. Drink was the only thing that kept a man from feeling forever stunned and useless.”

We’d like to say it was the writer’s sense of humility which led to this, but that’s not what he was about. Very much his own man, he simply distanced himself from the rest of humanity but inadvertently connected with a generation when Post Office was published.

Why was it such a hit? As his writing appeals to us due to many of our lifelong dealings with difficulties and missteps (particularly with work). It’s an intrinsic appreciation.

Ham on Rye is, as a result, arguably Bukowski’s best piece of writing as it’s his most humane work.

His other books breathe misanthropic contempt over the social structure he was forced to live under, but in Ham on Rye we get a glimpse of a beautiful, heartrending youth spent in the build up to World War II.

Ham On Rye Puts Sense Behind the Legend of Henry Chinaski

“It seemed better to delay thinking.”

Bukowski’s canon epitomises dirty realism and transgressive fiction. In a career marked by very direct language, violent ranting, and constant sexual imagery, it’s incredible amongst all that he could also be so profound.

In his drunken, leering way he could capture the human condition.

The only serious misstep he ever committed was with the tedious slog of Women (1978), which stands at 291 pages for some strange reason. And repeats itself over and over.

Following it up with this work was an inspired move.

Every deadbeat loser the world over could identify with his self-confidence problems and unfairness of the world. Ham on Rye captures that perfectly, how he seemed to run out of luck by his formative years and somehow stumbled on through existence from there.

An excellent read, right here, and if you want the most serious piece of writing he put to paper, then this is the one to turn to.