The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arthur Bandini #2)
I was in my early twenties, depressed, living in this tiny apartment that leaked when it rained and perpetually had ants, trying to write, readin...more
No estaba seguro de por qué me había exasperado tanto aquel personaje llamado Arturo Bandini.
Unos años después, caí en la tentación de acercarm...more
UPDATE: The protagonist is ostentatiously verbose in his conversations with others, using colorfully large words like bobdingnagian. He's especially vigorous when excoriating his sister. He postures as a writer for quite a while before he actually writes anything.
There is a lot of gratuitous destruction i...more
And while the great Arturo Ban...more
"Deve essere stato amore, ma poteva anche essere il suo costume da bagno bianco."
"Un matto, uno svitato. Fuori di testa, le dico, fuori di testa. Eh già: troppe donne, e della specie sbagliata. Avrebbe dovuto sentire che discorsi. Da pazzo. Il più fottuto bugiardo della contea di Los Angeles. Aveva le allucinazioni. Sogni di gloria delusi. Minacce contro la società."
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....more
Also, I'll point out that Fante's alter-ego Arturo Bandini is the most unlikable twat of a main character I've ever read in a book. The entire time I was just hoping someone would just p...more
Two brilliant sections worth mentioning: the putting down of the crab insurrection (Chapter 4), and a description of the euphoria following a inspired moment of artistic creation (Chapter 19). "Com...more
This became so tedious as Arturo would drone on and on about his fantasies and how great he was, and he was a writer, beyond all others in intellect and wit.
I know the book is about a kid, who has a way to go to maturity, but my God, there were passages that made my head almost explode.
Internally I was yelling at Arturo, "get on with it, please your killing me"....more
In 1929, he dropped out of college and moved to Southern California to concentrate on his writing. He lived and worked in Wilmington, L...more
Share This Book
Every morning I got up feeling like that. Now I've got to find a job, damn it to hell. I ate breakfast, put a book under my arm, pencils in my pocket, and started out. Down the stairs I went, down the street, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, sometimes foggy and sometimes clear. It never mattered, with a book under my arm, looking for a job.
What job, Arturo? Ho ho! A job for you? Think of what you are, my boy! A crab-killer. A thief. You look at naked women in clothes closets. And you expect to get a job! How funny! But there he goes, the idiot, with a big book. Where the devil are you going, Arturo? Why do you go up this street and not that? Why go east - why not go west? Answer me, you thief! Who'll give you a job, you swine - who? But there's a park across town, Arturo. It's called Banning Park. There are a lot of beautiful eucalyptus trees in it, and green lawns. What a place to read! Go there, Arturo. Read Nietzsche. Read Schopenhauer. Get into the company of the mighty. A job? fooey! Go sit under a eucalyptus tree reading a book looking for a job. ”
The callous vexations and perturbations of this night have subsequently resolved
themselves to a state which precipitates me, Arturo Bandini, into a
brobdingnagian and gargantuan decision. I inform you of this in no uncertain
terms. Ergo, I now leave you and your ever charming daughter (my beloved sister
Mona) and seek the fabulous usufructs of my incipient career in profound
solitude. Which is to say, tonight I depart for the metropolis to the east — our
own Los Angeles, the city of angels. I entrust you to the benign generosity of your brother, Frank Scarpi, who is, as the phrase has it, a good family man
(sic!). I am penniless but I urge you in no uncertain terms to cease your
cerebral anxiety about my destiny, for truly it lies in the palm of the immortal gods. I have made the lamentable discovery over a period of years that living
with you and Mona is deleterious to the high and magnanimous purpose of Art, and I repeat to you in no uncertain terms that I am an artist, a creator beyond question. And, per se, the fumbling fulminations of cerebration and intellect find little fruition in the debauched, distorted hegemony that we poor mortals, for lack of a better and more concise terminology, call home. In no uncertain
terms I give you my love and blessing, and I swear to my sincerity, when I say
in no uncertain terms that I not only forgive you for what has ruefully
transpired this night, but for all other nights. Ergo, I assume in no uncertain terms that you will reciprocate in kindred fashion. May I say in conclusion that I have much to thank you for, O woman who breathed the breath of life into my
brain of destiny? Aye, it is, it is.
Arturo Gabriel Bandini.
Suitcase in hand, I walked down to the depot. There was a ten-minute wait for
the midnight train for Los Angeles. I sat down and began to think about the new novel.”