Leukemia – DaneCobain.com

Title: The Hippopotamus

Author: Stephen Fry

Type: Fiction

Page Count/Review Word Count: 399

Rating: 7/10

Stephen Fry – The Hippopotamus

The Hippopotamus is an interesting insight in to the way in which Stephen Fry sees the world, the second novel of the comedian and television personality who’s earned a rightful place in the hearts of the British public. It might not be as strong as some of his other work, but it’s certainly a lot better than the endless slew of ghostwritten rubbish that seems to spew forth from most modern celebrities.

The titular hippopotamus of the novel is a cantankerous old poet who’s past the pinnacle of his career, a lecherous man who’s given to wallowing in long baths like the hippopotami that inspired him. The novel largely follows his exploits as he investigates some bizarre goings on, reporting back to his goddaughter Jane, who suffers from Leukemia – it’s actually a heartwarming story, despite the fact that you initially worry that the main character is simultaneously unpleasant and fundamentally unlikeable.

The Hippopotamus might not be Fry’s strongest work, but it does still lay claim to a certain amount of inventiveness and it contains the usual wit and wisdom that we’ve come to expect from him. Like with most novelists‘ early works, there’s both the signs of future potential and also some worrying gaps in the narrative that leave the reader to un-suspend their disbelief and let their mind wander off to other places.

Stephen Fry

That said, Fry uses the letters of Ted Wallace, the hippopotamus poet himself, to great effect – as a literary device, they remind me of the diary entries of Jonathon Harker in Dracula. It’s all too easy for a writer to drift in to using this technique as a gimmick, but Fry puts it to good use and it actually breaks the novel up in to manageable segments, which is great if you plan to read it in the evenings before bed.

All in all, this isn’t the immortal novel of a classic writer like Hemingway, Dickens or Graham Greene; this is a pretty good piece of fiction from a guy who’s already proved himself to have a way with words. I’m not going to lie, there are better Fry novels out there – Making History stands out, and some of his non-fiction is fantastic as well. Still, it’s worth reading if you’re a fan of his work.

Stephen Fry Quote

Click here to buy The Hippopotamus.

Charles Bukowski – The Pleasures of the Damned (Poems 1951-1993) | Review

Title: The Pleasures of the Damned

Author: Charles Bukowski

Type: Poetry

Page Count/Review Word Count: 506

Rating: 8/10

Charles Bukowski – The Pleasures of the Damned

This book promises ‘the best of the best of Bukowski‘, and it certainly doesn’t disappoint – then again, at over 500 pages, there’s a lot in there to choose from. However, there’s some new stuff too – some of the material was first published here, and its covers contain a sizable amount of the great poet’s work between his early, formative years and his final days, dying of leukemia after a lifetime of heavy drinking.

And, for once, the editor is almost as qualified as Bukowski himself to bring the collection together – his name is John Martin, and he was the editor of the Black Sparrow Press, which you might have heard of. If you’re in to poetry, odds are that you’ve read one of their books.

Now, I’ve got to admit here that so much, so far, is explained in the back of the book, but I figured that with 500 words I had the time to cover the blurb. Besides, it’s relevant. There’s just one quote in particular that I’d like to dwell on, though – Leonard Cohen said: ‘He brought everybody down to earth, even the angels.’ I think that’s a fair summary.

Charles Bukowski

Bukowski’s work is always unique, he just has a certain style that nobody else can imitate, though many have tried. He just writes about his everyday life, a life which generally consists of a mixture of bad jobs, women, booze, horses and unsavory and unhygienic situations.

It’s in the way that he says so much about himself by just illustrating a snapshot of the events that occur in his alcohol-riddled day-to-day life. He does it with lines like: “I think of devils in hell and stare at a beautiful vase of flowers as the woman in my bedroom angrily switches the light on and off.”

Bukowski’s poetry is kind on the mind, it’s both easy to read and highly intellectual, and the ever-present ghost of Hank Chinaski threads through all of his work like the mirror that it is. At times, we get rare glimpses of the pressure of being a writer: ‘A great writer remains in bed, shades down, doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want to write anymore, doesn’t want to try anymore; the editors and publishers wonder: some say he’s insane, some say he’s dead; his wife now answers all the mail: “… he does not wish to …” and some others even walk up and down outside his house, look at the pulled-down shades; some even go up and ring the bell.’

Bukowski is an interesting character, a man with many faces, most of which are drunk. I strongly suggest that you check out some of his work and consider investing in a copy – once you find out just how he lived his life, you’ll wonder how he managed to survive in to his seventies and how such an old, cynical soul could have such a poetic voice.