The book had been sitting on my desk for a few days tempting me, making me relish the feasting of it all the more. I sat and read, interested, delighted, sometimes amused and laughing out loud, and wondering why he couldn't get it published until 30 years after he'd written it. He had to be famous first. Plus he had this good friend named Johnny Depp.
I read half of it in the morning, and the other half as the afternoon waned. It is not a great book, but a good book and a good story that is told in a writing voice that little resembles some of his later writings. There is some poetry of writing in it, certainly, and some well-written passages. But mostly, it is readable. The Rum Diary takes you on a fun little jaunt to Puerto Rico, with a some foibles and fistfights. There is a petite blonde who is first introduced when he sees her in the airport boarding the plane, and for a while I thought he had forgotten about her --- breaking a cardinal rule of writing when introducing characters. But she was there again, angelic nymphet, coquettishly frolicking naked in the ocean, and then teasing and flirting throughout the book until the final wildness (which I won't reveal, so I don't spoil the book for you).
So, on one hand, I saw a young writer following the rules, but on the other, breaking them: in an early scene on the plane he (Kemp) beats and old man for trying to take the seat he wanted to save for the blonde. Then he thrashes him again while hurrying out of the plane to find the fine blonde. Not exactly a "likable character" and this is the protagonist. And any Creative Writing 101 class, I'm sure (although I've never had one) will tell young writers that they must first create likable characters and then put them into "challenging" situations. But as Tom Robbins says, "in fiction, whatever works, works." There should be no rules.
I enjoyed the book, from cover to cover, with only a little drag in the middle. There were a lot of hamburgers and beer and glasses of rum, a lot of eating and drinking scenes, and several fighting ones. It's a fun story, a little depraved and a lot of drinking -- especially toward the end -- but not near as much boozing as a Bukowski novel.
It is clearly and plainly written, an easy read. There aren't wasted sentences or too many adjectives, although he probably overused the word "savage" and he tended to begin paragraphs too often with "I" -- sometimes 4-5 times on a page. This is a weakness to me, the sign of a young writer. But then again, he was young when he wrote it. On the other hand, I am sure it has been thoroughly scrubbed and edited dozens of times so that the finished book is far from the original manuscript.
The plot-line of the story is simple and well done, and it follows a logical progression while keeping you interested. There is good tension. The writing may be considered on the "crude" side at times but it is not raw or pornographic -- absolutely not a mention of a private part beyond pink nipples and a muff, and the sex scenes are mostly romantic, nuanced or suggested, and not so much graphic detail.
Here are a few funny and/or notable passages from the book:
The light in gambling rooms is not good for aging women. It catches every crease in their faces and every wart on their necks; drops of sweat between fallow breasts, hairs on a nipple momentarily exposed, a flabby arm or a sagging eye.
* * * * *
Suddenly she began to howl: at first I thought I was hurting her, but then realized she was having some sort of extreme orgasm. She had several of them, howling each time, before I felt the slow bursting of mine.
* * * * *
I bought a bottle of beer for fifteen cents and sat on the bench in the clearing, feeling like an old man. The scene I had just witnessed brought back a lot of memories--not of things I had done but of things I failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back.
* * * * *
The waterfront was nearly deserted, the stores were closed, and only the churches seemed to be doing any business. We passed several of them, and in front of each one was a colorful knot of people--tan-skinned men and boys in freshly pressed suits, flowery women with veils, little girls in white dresses, and here and there a priest in a black robe and a tall black hat.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but to those who can see it coming and jump aside. Like a frog evading a shillelagh in a midnight marsh.
* * * * *
