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The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini #2)

John Fante

Paperback | Pages: 167 pages

Rating: 3.83 | 5438 Users | 292 Reviews

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Title	:	The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini #2)
Author	:	John Fante
Book Format	:	Paperback
Book Edition	:	First Edition
Pages	:	Pages: 167 pages
Published	:	January 1st 2002 by Ecco (first published 1985)
Categories	:	Fiction. Novels. Classics. Literature. American. The United States Of America

Chronicle During Books The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini #2)

From the Editorial Note:

This novel introduces Fante's alter ego Arturo Bandini who reappears in Wait Until Spring, Bandini (1938), Ask the Dust (1939), and Dreams from Bunker Hill (1982). The manuscript was discovered among John Fante's papers after his death in May, 1983 by his widow Joyce, and now may be included in that short, distinguished list of important first novels by American authors.

Particularize Books Toward The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini #2)

Original Title:	The Road to Los Ángeles
ISBN:	0876856490 (ISBN13: 9780876856499)
Edition Language:	English
Series:	The Saga of Arturo Bandini #2
Setting:	Los Angeles, California(United States)

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Ratings: 3.83 From 5438 Users | 292 Reviews

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What was the antecedent to today's asshole Rick and Morty fan? It was apparently the devoted follower of Spengler and Mencken back in the 1930s (as well as Nietzsche, of course -- the perennial philosophy of teenage boydom). Unlike the other Bandini novels, I was laughing at him here, and he deserved to be laughed at, but the damn thing never came together properly. It was just a teenage dipshit with a thesaurus, the sort that even I, Nietzsche-spouting blowhard that I was, would have mocked and

I found a used copy of this book the other day, and this was inscribed on the title page:The part about fish canaries made me smile as it conjured some peculiar images of hybrid ornitho-ichthyological species in my head, but he obviously meant fish canneries, which figure strongly in the book. This stolen inscription will serve as my review because its probably better than anything I would write. Id like to find out who Whit and Chuck are; maybe someone will recognize this.

Brilliant. Fante does best what no other writer does: he makes us peer into the mind of Bandini. We inhabit his skin, sense his reactions and indulge in his folly for writing. We wear his mask and suddenly understand him and begin to see the world as he depicts it. Another lip-licking page turner by an established great.

Well deserved 5 stars. This was Fantes first Bandini book, which got to be published first in the 80s, after Fantes death, due to Charles Bukowski 🎩.In the 30s when written, it was refused by all publishers. This book is Arturo Bandini at his best, he is mean, he is raw, he is spoiled, he has the #mimimi syndrome, he wants to conquer the world, to write the perfect novel and get the nobel prize and all the womenThis Bandini reads Nietzsche und Schopenhauer, speaks using all the latest

The white heat of a sex-starved creative Italian teenager scorches every page. A blinding magnesium flare, an elemental torchsong to precocious youth that, for all its down-and-dirty honesty and frustrated libido, manages to retain a charm and innocence that the instant gratification of cyber space has forever appropriated. Arturo is utterly adorable. During each episode in his crazed wanderings through the tough dockside streets of 1930s Los Angeles, I fervently wished he'd been transplanted to

I have to admit it was somewhat of a struggle to get through this book. I am thankful that this wasn't my first read by the otherwise amazing John Fante. The lack of continuity with the family threw me off and is never really explained. It's no "Ask the Dust" that is for sure. And I also enjoyed, "Wait until Spring, Bandini" very much as well. I am surely going to embark on the other member of the Bandini series, Dreams from Bunker Hill. Fante is a great writer, I can drink in his work for the

There are the roads we choose and there are the roads we walk and there are the walks of lifeOh 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.Riotously ambitious, wildly egotistic, possessed with the severe angst of youth, ridden with delirious fantasies, obsessed with the