Customer Reviews

Notebooks of a Naked Youth: The Continuing Saga of Chatham Jack

5 star:		(1)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Billy Childish an "underground" legend, has emerged as one of the true renaissance men of his, or any other, generation. His dedication to poetry, music, and painting has been astounding, and now he has managed to produce two novels, of which this one is the second. Childish's prose style, while contemporary, also will remind the reader of Knut Hamsun, the great Norwegian writer, and Dostoyevski's Notes from the Underground. This novel enters the pain of youth, taking you right into the middle of an anguished young misfit. However, there is sly subtle humor which constantly runs through the undertones of the book, sometimes inducing out and out laughter. And, as with all of Childish's work, Notebooks of a Naked Youth leaves one with a sense of, despite bitterness, a search for something more than the mundane, something perhaps beautiful.

Due to an almost overwhelming hyper-valor indicative of a pure creative artist's soul, one that most certainly wouldn't have been shared with us had the author experienced a relatively stable upbringing, this novel has to rank among the dozen most
courageous and paradoxically depressing works of the 20th Century. No doubt whatsoever: Mr. Childish has been attacked by some hideous spirit-killing insect, the result of which has been the rotting away of that which shielded his innards from hordes of those tire-kicking readers among us. No doubt this was an exceptionally difficult and painful book for him to
birth. And as necessary for him to get out of himself as was D-DAY so painful and critically needed more than a half century back.

More than anything, Mr. Childish displays with this work a quite possibly terminal case of the sad sads. It's up to readers not to shirk, not to shy away from exceedingly depressing books which are in every other sense magnificent triumphs of a delicate, sensitive, and very alive artist. Presently, Knut Hamsun Billy Childish is not. But he's on the way. Hamsun had to write for Nazis. There is a rightist tendency in some of Mr. Childish's finger pointing prose. May he grow out of this, manage his burning anger better in future volumes.
He's a fierce talent who needs to guard against rash judgments of others and their own works. Dig a little deeper before hating so fast and full. He'll discover the golden rule not so simple-minded after all.