Another brief but enjoyable journey to old Los Angeles with Fante and alter-ego Arturo Bandini. Arturo is more adult and even-keeled, although I imagine that this novel can't take place too long after "Ask the Dust". Bunker Hill is still Arturo's stomping ground, though we get to journey with him to Hollywood, the neighborhood and the industry. His partnership with a name-dropping screenwriter is quite amusing, and the performance that she gives, and the setting that she constructs around herself, is unlike anything else in the Bandini Quartet. Again, Fante is wonderful in his use of neighborhoods which no longer exist, such as Terminal Island. The chapter about the Duke of Sardinia's wrestling match with Richard Lionheart is terrific Fante: hilarious, pathetic and surprising. I have developed some kind of identification with Bandini, or feel that we have certain parallels in our lives, and never more so than during his outburst while revisiting Colorado: "Can't you think of anything else but football? Not me, buster. I live a different life. And without your fucking snow." The line, which I would never have the unmitigated gall to say myself, comes near the end of the novel and brought my full circle. The first of the Bandini Quartet, "Wait Until Spring, Bandini", reminded me of what I found so depressing about snow during the shortest days of the year in Colorado. I'll take my chances in Los Angeles instead, even though I know the dream it promises is just out of reach.
Seemingly every book that Fante wrote is worth reading. I only use the word seemingly because I still have a few to go. I admire his style and ability more and more with every book. I could write that Fante's prose is smoother and more moving than Bukowski. I could write that I could see myself re-reading each of Fante's books -- but only Ham on Rye by Bukowski. I could but the words seem Judas-esque. After all I would never had read Fante -- and most of you wouldn't have either -- if it wasn't for Bukowski. This book was short, but sweet. Every bit as good as the rest -- but slightly below Ask the Dust in terms of the images and emotions that are left behind.Here comes the best part about this book -- it was dictated to Joyce on effectively Fante's death bed, after diabetes first took his sight, and then took his legs. Worth the read. But then again, maybe you have shitty taste in books.
Found the book in the San Pedro Public Library and after reading so many books recently in the Kindle format I found it unusual that the pages were dogeared. Somewhere in the story a used Plymouth is purchased for $300.00 that it seems is a bit high for the times. Again Bandini winds up on Terminal Island where he rents a bungalow for $25.00 a month. "the place was paradise, the South Pacific, Bora Bora. I could hear the sea. ....for it was always low tide, the island protected by a breakwater." I can see Terminal Island from by sailboat where I live and believe me Terminal Island has tides. He takes the ferry across to Pedro for a quarter and rents a bike to ride to Palos Verdes. Who could not like a story that happens in Terminal Island.
—Dewayne Stark
The Hillby Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die All's over that is ours; and life burns onThrough other lovers, other lips," said I,---"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!""We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said; "We shall go down with unreluctant treadRose-crowned into the darkness!" . . . Proud we were,And laughed, that had such brave true things to say.---And then you suddenly cried, and turned away.
—Melissa
Just finished a long, challenging, deep book and decided to follow it up with some Fante. This guy is great. Not his best but great in it's simplicity and entertainment. He wasn't quite as pissed off in this book and didn't fly off the handle as much as I like, but it still works. Would've given this book 3 stars except it has one of the best quotes I have ever read. I hate SoCal and love Boulder so to see this line made me smile for hours.... "So fuck you, Los Angeles, fuck your palm trees, and your highassed women, and your fancy streets, for I am going home, back to Colorado, back to the best damned town in the USA - Boulder, Colorado"
—Xon
