---
product_id: 8248363
title: "Ham on Rye: A Novel"
price: "€ 26.87"
currency: EUR
in_stock: true
reviews_count: 8
url: https://www.desertcart.nl/products/8248363-ham-on-rye-a-novel
store_origin: NL
region: Netherlands
---

# Ham on Rye: A Novel

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Ham on Rye: A Novel [Bukowski, Charles] on desertcart.com. *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Ham on Rye: A Novel

Review: Bukowski gets better with age - Ham on Rye is a brilliant little novel about adolescence. While this story has been told a thousand times before, the narrative voice of our acne'd outsider protagonist is incredibly refreshing. When one considers that many of the other narratives of the era tend to be self-affirming urban adventure stories that take themselves too seriously, Bukowski's narrative shows us a semi-autobiographical, self-deprecating, cynical life that’s rife with alcohol, disappointment, and fistfights. Bukowski's boozy world is one where the outsider is the king protagonist of his own destiny, and it is one that is probably shared with a great deal of young men in their American upbringing. His dysfunctional family echoed my own experiences (even though I didn't necessarily have physical punishment, the emotional aspect was spot on). His feelings on his own existence as an animal (and of course, I didn't have the acne problems, but I have myriad others that gave me outsider social status) were real. His experiences with young women, school, and trying to make it against all odds professionally and educationally were very familiar to me. While Bukowski may be offensive to most readers, the plain fact of the matter is that his views on life and adolescent sexuality are the exact same ones I had in my youth. What is the most memorable is the manner in which he tells the story. He doesn't self-edit. He doesn't leave anything out. He tells us everything about his experiences as they happen. This isn't entirely something that should be described as offensive, but real. A real experience. What it is really like. And while many of us want to find some parochial editorializing when we read, the best part about Bukowski is that that is simply not in his novels. I first read his work when I was eighteen or nineteen years old. Now that I am thirty-five, picking up HOR again has left me with a reading experience that was much different since I have had a great deal more life experience and perspective. Looking at this book today, I have found a hilarious, beautiful, tragic, and exciting narrative about living as an outsider in America. I absolutely loved it – more than I did the first time – and look forward to revisiting a couple more (Post Office and Women) in the coming year.
Review: A very well-written, kind of existentialistic book - This is like reading Faulkner, without all of the fuss, with more fun, and perhaps without the same levels of philosophy and psychology. It's arty without being hoity-toity about it all. A simple language is used, and bombs go off without much fanfare. It's astounding in the way that it mixes observations with inner thoughts from the main character. From the very first paragraph: The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight. The book is strewn with subtle and horrendously beautiful writings about the patriarchal, capitalistic stuff that happen: There were continual fights. The teachers didn’t seem to know anything about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a raincoat was singled out. Most of our parents were too poor to buy us such things. And when they did, we hid them in the bushes. Anybody seen carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat was considered a sissy. They were beaten after school. David’s mother had him carry an umbrella whenever it was the least bit cloudy. The above shows how this book, published in 1982, hasn't really changed much over most of Western "society" when considering nowaday literature like Édouard Louis‘s “The End of Eddy“, which was published in 2014. I love the way that things are written about, in a quite stoic and existentialistic fashion: He walked over and slapped me on the ear, knocking me to the floor. The woman got up and ran out of the house and my father went after her. The woman leaped into my father’s car, started it and drove off down the street. It happened very quickly. My father ran down the street after her and the car. “EDNA! EDNA, COME BACK!” My father actually caught up with the car, reached into the front seat and grabbed Edna’s purse. Then the car speeded up and my father was left with the purse. “I knew something was going on,” my mother told me. “So I hid in the car trunk and I caught them together. Your father drove me back here with that horrible woman. Now she’s got his car.” My father walked back with Edna’s purse. “Everybody into the house!” We went inside and my father locked me in the bedroom and my mother and father began arguing. It was loud and very ugly. Then my father began beating my mother. She screamed and he kept beating her. I climbed out a window and tried to get in the front door. It was locked. I tried the rear door, the windows. Everything was locked. I stood in the backyard and listened to the screaming and the beating. Then the beating and the screaming stopped and all I could hear was my mother sobbing. She sobbed a long time. It gradually grew less and less and then she stopped. There are some funny, and a lot of tragic sides to all of this. While reading the book, I often wondered whether the character caused his problems, or was just affected by them, unable to avoid it all; naturally, it all depends on from where you're standing. The book reminded me a lot of Camus's "The Stranger", but that may be due to the existentialistic nature of that book, which I love. All in all, this book makes me want to read more of Bukowski's books. This book will linger in the back of my head for quite some time, I think.

## Technical Specifications

| Specification | Value |
|---------------|-------|
| Best Sellers Rank | #18,689 in Books ( See Top 100 in Books ) #108 in Biographical & Autofiction #505 in Classic Literature & Fiction #1,001 in Literary Fiction (Books) |
| Customer Reviews | 4.4 4.4 out of 5 stars (5,785) |
| Dimensions  | 5.31 x 0.65 x 8 inches |
| Edition  | Reprint |
| ISBN-10  | 006117758X |
| ISBN-13  | 978-0061177583 |
| Item Weight  | 10.4 ounces |
| Language  | English |
| Print length  | 288 pages |
| Publication date  | February 27, 2007 |
| Publisher  | Ecco |

## Images

![Ham on Rye: A Novel - Image 1](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/81I6o0x1Q+L.jpg)

## Customer Reviews

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Bukowski gets better with age
*by G***R on December 12, 2015*

Ham on Rye is a brilliant little novel about adolescence. While this story has been told a thousand times before, the narrative voice of our acne'd outsider protagonist is incredibly refreshing. When one considers that many of the other narratives of the era tend to be self-affirming urban adventure stories that take themselves too seriously, Bukowski's narrative shows us a semi-autobiographical, self-deprecating, cynical life that’s rife with alcohol, disappointment, and fistfights. Bukowski's boozy world is one where the outsider is the king protagonist of his own destiny, and it is one that is probably shared with a great deal of young men in their American upbringing. His dysfunctional family echoed my own experiences (even though I didn't necessarily have physical punishment, the emotional aspect was spot on). His feelings on his own existence as an animal (and of course, I didn't have the acne problems, but I have myriad others that gave me outsider social status) were real. His experiences with young women, school, and trying to make it against all odds professionally and educationally were very familiar to me. While Bukowski may be offensive to most readers, the plain fact of the matter is that his views on life and adolescent sexuality are the exact same ones I had in my youth. What is the most memorable is the manner in which he tells the story. He doesn't self-edit. He doesn't leave anything out. He tells us everything about his experiences as they happen. This isn't entirely something that should be described as offensive, but real. A real experience. What it is really like. And while many of us want to find some parochial editorializing when we read, the best part about Bukowski is that that is simply not in his novels. I first read his work when I was eighteen or nineteen years old. Now that I am thirty-five, picking up HOR again has left me with a reading experience that was much different since I have had a great deal more life experience and perspective. Looking at this book today, I have found a hilarious, beautiful, tragic, and exciting narrative about living as an outsider in America. I absolutely loved it – more than I did the first time – and look forward to revisiting a couple more (Post Office and Women) in the coming year.

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐ A very well-written, kind of existentialistic book
*by N***C on November 30, 2017*

This is like reading Faulkner, without all of the fuss, with more fun, and perhaps without the same levels of philosophy and psychology. It's arty without being hoity-toity about it all. A simple language is used, and bombs go off without much fanfare. It's astounding in the way that it mixes observations with inner thoughts from the main character. From the very first paragraph: <blockquote>The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight.</blockquote> The book is strewn with subtle and horrendously beautiful writings about the patriarchal, capitalistic stuff that happen: <blockquote>There were continual fights. The teachers didn’t seem to know anything about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a raincoat was singled out. Most of our parents were too poor to buy us such things. And when they did, we hid them in the bushes. Anybody seen carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat was considered a sissy. They were beaten after school. David’s mother had him carry an umbrella whenever it was the least bit cloudy.</blockquote> The above shows how this book, published in 1982, hasn't really changed much over most of Western "society" when considering nowaday literature like Édouard Louis‘s “The End of Eddy“, which was published in 2014. I love the way that things are written about, in a quite stoic and existentialistic fashion: <blockquote>He walked over and slapped me on the ear, knocking me to the floor. The woman got up and ran out of the house and my father went after her. The woman leaped into my father’s car, started it and drove off down the street. It happened very quickly. My father ran down the street after her and the car. “EDNA! EDNA, COME BACK!” My father actually caught up with the car, reached into the front seat and grabbed Edna’s purse. Then the car speeded up and my father was left with the purse. “I knew something was going on,” my mother told me. “So I hid in the car trunk and I caught them together. Your father drove me back here with that horrible woman. Now she’s got his car.” My father walked back with Edna’s purse. “Everybody into the house!” We went inside and my father locked me in the bedroom and my mother and father began arguing. It was loud and very ugly. Then my father began beating my mother. She screamed and he kept beating her. I climbed out a window and tried to get in the front door. It was locked. I tried the rear door, the windows. Everything was locked. I stood in the backyard and listened to the screaming and the beating. Then the beating and the screaming stopped and all I could hear was my mother sobbing. She sobbed a long time. It gradually grew less and less and then she stopped.</blockquote> There are some funny, and a lot of tragic sides to all of this. While reading the book, I often wondered whether the character caused his problems, or was just affected by them, unable to avoid it all; naturally, it all depends on from where you're standing. The book reminded me a lot of Camus's "The Stranger", but that may be due to the existentialistic nature of that book, which I love. All in all, this book makes me want to read more of Bukowski's books. This book will linger in the back of my head for quite some time, I think.

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The unfiltered voice of a child, not PC, not a comedy, not pure drama, it just is...perfect. Wow.
*by S***R on November 7, 2015*

This was my first foray into Bukowski so I figured, why not start with what may be regarded as his best. My expectations were low if I had any at all, in honesty I didn't know what to expect, for someone who is spoken about, we never once mentioned his name is high school or in college literature classes, and I suppose within a few pages it is easy to figure out why. Sadly, those who would protect us from ourselves nearly kept me from one of the true (if perhaps a bit colorful) voices of the last few generations. Yes is it absolutely true that the writing or the voice is crude and it absolutely is not PC. But the fact that it is not PC is not some conscious political statement, it simply is. This is the sad, matter-of-fact voice of a child who has faced a hard life at a hard time and through that we get to hear his actual voice without a filter. Our inner voices are not filtered. Half the time young Henry said the things he did he didn't even know what he was saying exactly. He would sit and observe alcoholics and broken people and wonder at the color of their eyes. Until discovering sex he would be offered the chance to look at pretty girl's panties and take note of how they were clean. As he was repeatedly struck by his father he would note how beautiful the bathroom was the moment his father left. Some have called this book hilarious and I have to admit that it one of the few books where I sat and laughed at the audacious statements of Henry but make no mistake this is not a hilarious book, it is sad, and harsh and rough but perfectly so.

## Frequently Bought Together

- Ham Rye Pb
- Post Office
- Women

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*Last updated: 2026-02-14*