An ugly little debut with First Novel written all over it. It's not difficult to see why it remained unpublished during Fante's lifetime. The most surprising and disappointing aspect is how unrecognizable Bandini is here compared to the glorious Ask the Dust (see my review), offensive and obnoxious compared to bold and brilliant.Fante does a good job channeling the arrogance of youth, and a lot of the discrepancies between the two Bandinis could probably be chalked up to just that, in addition to his isolation in the later work (i.e., he has no loved ones to continuously abuse as he does here). But it really just reminded me of my own first efforts at writing, which will also remain mercifully unpublished.The differences between the two novels don't end at the protagonist. The language here is much flatter, not the soaring imagery and innovative flow of Dust. Again: First Novel, understandable. But there's also little to nothing that happens here, and while that was somewhat similar in Dust, there were still various interpersonal connections in that one, not just the one-way invectives or obsessive fantasies you get here. Consequently, the title is somewhat of a misnomer in all but the metaphorical sense. You don't see Bandini physically making his way to Los Angeles; you just see the precious few events that lead to his decision to go there. But Bandini himself stays largely the same from first page to last, literally psychotic at times, even displaying occasional self-consciousness of his mental disturbance. There are even flashes of "Walter Mitty" here, though a sinister Mitty, with Bandini's tendency to convert the mundane into the self-aggrandizing fantastical (interestingly, "Mitty" wouldn't be published until three years after this was written). But Bandini's flights of fancy, unlike Mitty's, hold real-world consequences.Ask the Dust is one of my all-time favorite books, beautiful and inspiring, so I was eager to read the entire Bandini saga in chronological order. Sadly, though I read this in just a day I didn't enjoy it at all, save for a nice little interlude of lovely cheer when Bandini helps an old lady carry her bags and comes away inspired by his own goodness, albeit all-too-briefly (pp. 48-9). But I can't recommend it to anyone except for Fante completists and other writers, and I hope Wait Until Spring, Bandini will be closer in quality to its successor than its predecessor. You can't blame Fante for this one though, because though he wrote it he also recognized after-the-fact that it shouldn't be published. It's disrespectful in a way for his estate to have published it posthumously; Fante certainly had every opportunity to do it himself so you have to assume he deliberately decided not to. And something of such inferior quality can only serve to diminish his legacy. So while it may be valuable as an objective record of Fante's literary transformation, that's probably the only way it should be read and appreciated.Update after perusing other reviews: It's striking how many people loved this book, yet out of all the positive reviews almost none of them mention Ask the Dust, or they admit this being the first Fante book they've read. For those waffling on Fante do yourself a favor and read Dust FIRST, then this, then decide what you think of this one. If you put the two books side by side they're not even close in quality, and it seems like the people who really admire this book are doing it without the context of Fante's masterpiece. In other words: believe me and not them! (How's that for a final Bandini-esque flourish?)Cross-posted at Not Bad Movie and Book Reviews.
'Camino de Los Ángeles' es la primera novela de John Fante, la primera aparición de Arturo Bandini. Fue escrita entre 1933 y 1936, pero fue rechazada y no se publicó hasta después de la muerte de Fante. Se nota que es una novela escrita por un joven lleno de rabia que utilitza la literatura para escupir su rabia en todas y cada una de las páginas que escribe, y en todas y cada una de las páginas que escribe se nota también que quiere ser un "escritor polémico", pero a la vez se nota que quiere ser sincero antes que nada, se muestra tal como es sin ningún tipo de (auto)censura, con todo el patetismo que esto conlleva. Ciertamente se podría definir como 'El guardián entre el centeno' para los jóvenes de los años 30. Y por otra parte, es muy divertido en su grotesco patetismo. Aún así, si Fante sólo hubiera cultivado este tipo de libros no estaría entre mis escritores favoritos. He echado de menos esa ternura tan sutil típica de Fante. Aquí es imposible sentir simpatía por el protagonista.Y también he echado de menos alguna evolución del personaje y/o una reflexión final también marca de la casa (como las que hay implícitas en 'La hermandad de la uva' o 'Mi perro Idiota', que para mí siguen siendo lo mejor de Fante). No es que los libros con personajes con los que sea imposible empatizar y que encima no evolucionen tengan que ser malos, porque 'Camino de Los Ángeles' no lo es, sólo que no está entre mis obras favoritas de Fante. En esta ocasión, Arturo Bandini tiene 18 años y va saltando de oficio a oficio, abandonándo su puesto de trabajo cuando se le cruzan los cables, porque en realidad él es escritor, un gran escritor, por más que lo que se dice escribir, escriba poco. Arturo vive con su madre y su hermana (¿soy sólo yo o la relación entre Arturo y su hermana estaba realmente llena de subtexto incestuoso?) Arturo es un misógino egomaníac0, un sociópata violento. Arturo utiliza adjetivos ridículamente grandilocuentes y mira con desdén a todo el que lo rodea. Y lo más importante: Arturo está tan lleno de sí mismo que es incapaz de ver que es ridículo. Com siempre en Fante, algo de lo que más me ha encantado es como el presunto ateísmo del protagonista choca con su sentido de culpabilidad cristiano. Y hay escenas muy divertidas: la masacre de los cangrejos, la vomitona en la fábrica de conservas, la destrucción de su colección de fotos de chicas, cuando sigue a una mujer que ni conoce por varias calles convencido de que se ha enamorado, el argumento de su primera novela (y también el de la segunda), etc. Y está escrito con una fuerza y un vigor que se contagian. Es un libro que es puro nervio. Pura energía. La lástima es que esta energía no esté canalizada de una forma más satisfactoria.
Do You like book The Road To Los Angeles (2002)?
I think every writer would ultimately admit, that out of all the books they’ve read, there was one that stood above the rest. One that lit a fire in them. A book that changed their idea of what writing could be. A book that in the end helped to shape their career as an artist and perhaps touched their life. For me that book was, The Road to Los Angeles.I was in my early twenties, depressed, living in this tiny apartment that leaked when it rained and perpetually had ants, trying to write, reading all the Bukowski I could find, and feeling marginalized. I was looking for something, but I didn’t know what. Like most people my age I was trying to find my place in a rapidly changing world.At any rate, I soon finished all of Bukowski and found myself with nothing to do. After being steeped in the world of “the dirty old-man” for so long, how could one be expected to go back to the Bronte sisters or Melville? I just couldn’t do it. I was jonesing like a junkie. In an attempt to sate my hunger I went back and poured through all the Bukowski I had read. I decided I would read any writer of worth he had mentioned in his books. Perhaps they would be the Methadone to slowly wing me from the intense grip “the poet laureate of skid row” had on me.Sadly it wasn’t the case. I read them all: Celine, Hamsun, Saroyan, Li Po (and while all excellent in their own right); none of them packed the punch that Bukowski did. Then, at my wits end, I finally came Fante –The Road to Los Angeles, specifically.It was like striking gold! Here was this crazy little book written in the 30’s screaming at me through time, and daring me not to relate. Like Bukowski, the language was cleverly simple and fresh. Short declarative sentences one after the other. Like bullets being fired from a gun. They burrowed in you stinging all the way. Yet they carried a warmth and love I never felt in Bukowski or any other writer for that matter. The pain was mixed with humor, making you want to laugh and cry at the same time (a technique I often try to mimic in my own writing).In Arturo Bandini I found a fellow brother in arms, as desperately eager to impress people with his knowledge (as I was), regardless of how pompous he might look. A wiseass who covered up his low self-esteem with a veneer of biting sarcasm. A misfit and an outcast. A lonely intellect forged through erudition. A lost soul struggling to find his way. A madman.Like Bukowski before him, I would soon consume all the Fante I could find. Dissecting and studying his style like an eager student. And although all of his books should be considered national treasures, none of them are as dear to me as the first one I read –The Road to Los Angeles. A book full of insanity, character, and most importantly –love.-Steven Eggleton, author of Dry Heat
—Steven Eggleton
I loved this book. Being John Fante's first novel it's the story of a precocious, rude, wannabe-writer, would-be intellectual who uses fancy words and quotes from Nietzsche he half the time doesn't get himself to separate himself from the riff raff, such as the possee working in the fisheries. It is a very blunt book for its time, and I would say there is no literature today that is any more extreme, nasty, subversive than this book written over half a century ago. And while the great Arturo Bandini stumbles from one menial job to the next, shoots down the whole crab population of the harbour, he has to come to grips with his own idea of greatness. He's incredibly likeable though, all the way through.
—Jan
It's patchy but much better than I expected. I had put off reading this because most Fante websites have negative reviews of it; however, it is very good in places.The main character is a classic narcissistic personality which makes him not very likable and very annoying. The description of him (all show, not tell) is so spot on that it's scary.There is a thumb biting homage to Hamsun's Hunger and a good description of a young writer's first attempt a a novel and his realization that it is junk.The writing that Fante later perfected is obvious in places; in more places than not, and he uses the bad writing example to hammer (maybe a little heavy handedly) home his message on what good writing is. It's unfortunate it wasn't edited and published while Fante was alive. It would have been a good first novel with a little editing. If you have any interest in Fante's writing, as shown in Ask the Dust, you should read this; probably read this after Ask the Dust.
—Jay
