However, there is now one way in which Fante and Bukowski inhabit the same literary world – both men have proven themselves to be master craftsmen of the novel, poem, and with the release of ‘Corksucker,’ the short story.

The thread connecting the tales in ‘Corksucker’ is the years Fante spent as a cab driver and self loathing alcoholic in the pitiless sunshine of Los Angles. All of the anger and rage of the novels are here, yet the format of the short story allows him to shift focus away from Fante as anti-hero and focus on the bizarre and damaged characters who come in and out of his orbit: the sad, petty, spiteful alcoholic doorman known as Wifebeater Bob, the beautiful, grief-crazed, tragic Mrs. Randolph and most memorably the smacked-out, fast talking, amoral Libby who along with his girlfriend Niggabitch and their insatiable pet boa constrictor form the nucleus of one of the collections stand out stories – the outrageous, ghoulish black comedy ‘Princess.’

For me, finding the writings of Dan Fante was a revelation; in an era were safe writing and intellectual cowardice rule with an iron fist his books are a blessed anachronism. I’m not sure that ‘Corksucker’ will bring Fante the success and recognition he so richly deserves, but in the US at least if you are unwilling to vomit out tame, soulless garbage and wait for Oprah Winfrey to champion your cause in her ‘book club’, then success is very much a private party... Sadly most of the readership suited to Fante’s work prefer their idols dead: petrified in wax, given a sense of context by a neat biography featuring a suitably tragic ending, and with forewords written by academic and historians. That leaves Fante to keep writing his brutal, terrifying books safe in the knowledge that someday soon he will be looked upon as the only relevant, honest and genius-possessed writer in America, 2005...

As Burroughs put it in an article on Kerouac (and I am paraphrasing from memory here, a memory shot to pieces by long periods of pummeling my mind with narcotics, so be patient):

“Writers are either bullfighters, who risk all for art... or bullshitters, who make fake passes in an empty ring. To be a Writer, one must risk getting gored in the process...”

Fante is a perfect illustration of what it is to be a writer, instead of just someone who writes.

RTony O'Neill is 26 years old. In a previous life he played keyboards for bands and artists such as Kenickie, Marc Almond and The Brian Jonestown Massacre. After moving to Los Angeles he also became a heroin addict, crack fiend and a speedfreak. He started writing about his experiences on the periphery of the Hollywood Dream and has been writing ever since. His autiobiographical novel 'Out Of Body' is due to be published in the US and Canada by Contemporary Press in December 2005. He lives in New York where he works as a labourer and writes. To read a selection of poetry and short stories by Tony on the Showcase section of this site, click here

© 2005 Laura Hird All rights reserved.