When I first read John Fante I felt as if I had a great new friend, someone I wished I had known all my life. If you like books that communicate eternal, human truths to you, books that remind you of the way you felt when you were growing up, and the way you still feel today, then you will love John Fante. It's a shame the Fante never achieved much recognition when he was living and working, and that he is not as famous as he should be today, but I'm just glad he ever wrote anything at all.
"The Road to Los Angeles" is the first novel John Fante wrote, and it is probably the weakest of the books I have read so far (I am still making my way through all the books ever written by him). It's the weakest, but it still manages to make you shiver with recognition at the pure, emotional honesty of the writing. It still delights you with the orchestral, flowing sentences that are a John Fante trademark, sentences that can make you laugh and almost cry at the same time. (Try not to read John Fante on the bus, or people will look at you funny). This book seems to be John Fante finding his style, honing his craft and working out when he can go over the top, and when he should restrain the raw emotion and exaggerations that gush out of his prose sometimes.
Like many of John Fante's available books "The Road to Los Angeles" tells the story of Arturo Bandini, a compulsive, emotional young Italian American who feels that he has a calling to a higher purpose, and has a hilariously unshakeable confidence that he will soon escape the drudgery of his life. In this instalment of the Bandini saga, young Arturo is eighteen, he has just left school, and he finds himself having to support his mother and sister with a succession of menial jobs. Because of his own pigheadedness, his compulsive behaviour, and his conviction that he is better than the drudgery that surrounds him because he knows long words and reads Nietzche, Bandini manages to get fired from all his jobs. Eventually he gets a job at a fish cannery, and he comes home every night stinking of fish, secretly plotting his apotheosis with his plans to become a great writer.
There are certainly parallels with James Joyce, but the way John Fante so brilliantly portrays the burning yearning for something more and raw emotional intensity of youth, has a lot in common with that other American classic, J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye". If you grew up thinking you were Holden Caulfield, you'll love this, and it will remind you why you loved reading in the first place. Bandini is compulsive, selfish, and foolish, but he's one of us! He's one of those kids who is never satisfied with what's there in front of him, one of those kids who feels he had something inside him to give to the world, if only the world would want it. He's one of those kids who escapes through reading, who wants to become clever by reading lots of books with big words. Anyone who ever posed with an Albert Camus book in their teens, while not entirely understanding it, is sure to identify with the words:
"It was always the park. I read a hundred books. There was Nietzche and Schopenhauer and Kant and Spengler and Strachey and others. Oh Spengler! What a book! What weight! Like the Los Angeles telephone directory. Day after day I read it, never understanding it, never caring either, but reading it because I liked one growling word after another marching across pages with somber mysterious rumblings."
Read this. And then read everything else by John Fante, especially "Ask the Dust". You will laugh with Bandini, and you will cry with Bandini. He will make you remember things about your hopes and dreams that you thought you had forgotten.