Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not easily shocked. But even I must admit, Hurbert Selby Jr.’s Last Exit to Brooklyn is like Bukowski on acid. More often than not, when writers try to tackle the unsavory aspects of the human condition, it comes off as cheap and affected. It takes a true wordsmith to nimbly navigate the putrid waters that can inhabit the human soul, Selby is one such writer. With the blunt frankness of a six o’clock news cast, he shines light on topics that make the average person squirm.
I can honestly say, I found many of the stories that make up Last Exit to Brooklyn, truly disturbing and haunting. They’re the kind that repeatedly replay in your mind whether you wish them to or not. Selby’s world is virtual Island of Dr. Moreau, cold place inhabited by characters devoid of any redeeming quality, where only the strongest survive. These pimps, perverts, addicts, and mad men are both perpetrators and victims, all at once. This is man at his utmost baseness. Prepare to observe an indifferent carnage, the likes of which, I have only witnessed in nature documentaries. Squeamish beware, Selby’s Last Exit to Brooklyn is a detour through Hell.