miranda july and chuck bukowski

I won't be finishing the Mao biography any time soon, but before I forget, here's a review of the last two books I read: No one belongs here more than you and Post Office.

No one belongs here more than you
Miranda July

You may recognize the name of the author for a different reason. A young rising face in the field of independent cinema, Miranda is the winner of the 2005 Camera d'Or prize from the Cannes Film Festival and was recently named the number one New Face of Indie Film by Filmmaker Magazine.

But I can attest, she's gifted in more than just cinema; this collection of short stories on the whole is one of the most riveting pieces I've read from a modern author. Admittedly, I don't read enough modern fiction, but I'm willing to stake my reputation on your enjoying this collection.

Most of the stories seem entirely implausible from an outside look, but July uses what I presume must be some sort of mysticism to draw you into the situation and accept conventions as if you were watching a stage performance. All of the characters a delightfully insecure and sometimes inarticulate, but always full of heart. There's an androgyny to the feeling of "belonging," and it shines through these pieces. It's rare that an author uses sex not to distract or arouse, but to involve the reader and distance the characters from their own situations; by the end of the collection, I felt like I was on the outside (along with all of the characters whose lives I had just invaded) looking in on everyone's place in the world.

The only real criticism is that the voice never really changes too drastically. Were you not given explicit descriptions off the bat, its hard to draw anything distinguishable from the overriding author's voice. It only bothered me when I came back to it after a reading break. It takes a story or two to get back into the switch of characters, but hell, I reread most of it anyway.


Post Office
Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski is without a doubt one of my three favorite writers in any genre, and Post Office was his first novel. Written in about a month, Chuck recalls his work for the United States Post Office, and the miseries of the life that accompanies it.

Bukowski's style is gritty and straightforward. He, to the discomfort of the reader at some points, refuses to beat around the bush. As his autobiographical counterpart spiraled down into the depths of depression and sexual debauchery and twin addictions to whiskey and gambling, I couldn't help running after him. The novel is not his best prose, and it drags through spells of aimlessness, but it gives a pretty good feeling of his voice.

If you're going to read Bukowski, the other books are much richer reads. If you're looking for a book you can finish in a long evening, Post Office should be on your list, if nothing more than for a couple of cheap laughs and a chance to feel like your life isn't so shitty after all.