Is it possible to have sympathy for alcoholics, foul-mouthed madmen, a liquor store hold-up man, draft-dodgers, sexists, self-centered writers or any combination of the above? Yes, as long as the writer is Charles Bukowski.

The famous symbolist painter, Odilon Redon once said that dead flowers are just as beautiful as those in full bloom. Bukowski would agree. His characters have seen better days; in fact their best days are well behind them. Or, to paraphrase one of his characters, once you think you've hit bottom, another bottom rises up to hit you. And yet, there is a substantial nobility, a worthiness--I'm struggling for the right word--about these down-and-out characters. For the most part, you like them. Watching a felon, on the night he is about to stick up a liquor store, conversing with his little daughter, is downright poignant. (If you can't tell, "A .45 To Pay The Rent" is among my favorites.)

I'm stretching here a bit, but reading this reminded me of Jacob Riis' "How the Other Half Lives". While I am a working class guy, these stories revealed to me a world that I could never have imagined, nor survived in. The only difference between this and Riis' classic, is that this is autobiographical fiction. But the feeling is still there. These wretches have pride and assert their needs and identities.

These are not stories for the squeamish. So do not go lightly into "Tales of Ordinary Madness". But these stories are not shocking for shock's sake. They are shocking because they are real.

I have been reading books for about 50 years now--and this guy just about beats them all. Buk lives on! So much sorrow and pain--but what a talent, what a crazy genius!

A Taoist story tells the tale of poor sage who declined an invitation to live in the palace of the Emperor. When asked how he could possibly choose to continue living homeless and broke instead of living amidst the slendor of the Emperor's palace, the sage pointed to a pig rolling about in the mud, and said, "Like that pig, I prefer to live in the mud then be dead in a velvet box."

In the movie "Barfly" (screenplay written by Bukowski), "Hank" (Bukowski's fictional alter ego) was invited by a beautiful lady to live in her mansion, where he could live and write in peace. Hank declined, saying "Look around you, you're in a cage with golden bars."

This collection of stories further illustrates the beauty and honor of living in the mud.

This book is a bit explicit in its content, and for those that find subjects about filthy drunks, offensive sexual details, and nonstandard behavior, do not read this book. The book is funny, disgusting, and sad at times. With Bukowski one has to read between the lines, take what is good, and leave the rest. The stories are obviously autobiographical since every Bukowski fan knows he was a drunk and lived in filthy transient hotels for most of his life. His auto-fiction stories are colorful, crude, and unsavory.
Tales of Ordinary Madness is a great book; it is full of amazing poetry and short stories about people that were erratic, and rejected by society because of the way they lived. Is it because these characters were mad, or is it because that was their natural course in life? Well, that has to be interpreted by the reader. Through his writing he allows you to get into the subhuman scenario of the people that he chose to surround himself with, you can feel it. Bukowski made it clear through his prose that he was a non-believer of what society dictated he was a radical. Bukowski was a great writer, however he did contradict himself by professing to hate poets although he was one himself. He never wanted to fit into any role in society although he ended-up doing so. If you can stomach Bukowski it will make you think quite a bit.

Some of the stories contained in this collection are comical as has been mentioned. However, for the most part the stories come off as vulgar, crass, and lacking artistic direction. I was continually reminded of the proverbial "hack" typing away at his typewriter while reading this collection. Now if you happen to like rape, bestiality, references to crap, gambling, horse-races, alcoholism, and smoking cigarettes then this may just be the book you are looking for. After reading through these stories one is continually reminded how pathetic and lifeless a human being can become and for what? Why is Bukowski a sad, broken-down, hack? Well, he never tells us and one can only surmise that it's because he is naturally lazy or lacks motivation. Anyway, I won't completely knock him because some of his writing seemed to show promise but it was undeveloped promise that needed more refinement and a touch of class.