In my previous post about Post Office by Charles Bukowski, I talked about how much I love Bukowski’s work. Over the weekend I went to a used book store in hopes of buying Ham on Rye, one of his most well known books, but they didn’t have any copies. So I decided to buy Hollywood instead in hopes that it would be just as enjoyable as Post Office.

Hollywood was Bukowski’s fifth novel, and he wrote six during his life, Pulp being the last. Hollywood chronicles Bukowski’s experience writing the screenplay for Barfly, the 1987 film that was written with the intent of being a semi-autobiography of Bukowski’s life.

I’ve only gotten about halfway through the novel since last Friday, and so far it’s enjoyable and reads like most of Bukowski’s work does, but the plot is not nearly as enticing as Post Office was for me. It’s still just as funny as his other works I’ve read and is just as intelligently engaging, but I really, really enjoyed Post Office, and Hollywood just doesn’t offer the same for me.

I’m still definitely going to finish the book, even though it’s not exactly what I expected, because there’s a huge chance it ends up amazing. Or at the very least, hilariously dark.