“My eyes were blue and my shoes were old and nobody loved me. But I had things to do. I was Nick Belane, private detective.”
Pulp is the last novel Bukowski wrote before his death. It is a novel that demonstrates the whole vast extent of his talent and his passion for the artistry of writing. Pulp is a novel about a detective, who is anything but competent. Old, unattractive, dull and passionate about nothing but drinking. Instead of working on his cases, he would rather go gambling with money he does not possess.
Just like its protagonist, the novel itself seems to be a depiction of dullness and nothingness itself. There is no real plot, no tension, no climax. Instead, Pulp is the verbal visualization of the petty life of Nick Belane, the worst private detective that has ever existed. And yet it is Nick Belane who happens to get into a lot of trouble involving a woman and a ton of gangsters, just like in any other pulp thriller novels. Bukowski did it again, he strove against the stream and created a thriller that is anything but romantic, featuring a protagonist who could be considered the perfect anti-hero. The perfect pulp novel and therefore absolutely worth reading.
