What did I think? Thought it was great.
A Walk on the Wild Side by Nelson Algren is a crazy rollick through New Orleans in 1930-'31, in that era. Published in '56. Crest books reprinted it in paperback in '62.
We follow the insane adventures--misadventures--of Dove Linkhorn, a red-neck illiterate from Aurora, Texas, by rail. Freight, that is, in boxcars he jumps on his way out of town. He splits from Aurora because of a fall from grace from the gal he falls in love with, Terasina, his employer. He gets into her undies one morning, leaves her in bed, goes downstairs to the café she owns, and emboldened by his success with Terasina in bed, he figures she can't do without him, and opens her cash register. This is a sad mistake. Terasina comes tearing downstairs and tosses old Dove out her joint on his head. This, of course, is why he splits.
He meets up with a young seventeen years old gal, but she is more like two-thousand years old in experience. She talks Dove into a B&A., while she waits outside as look-out. She is nabbed, but Dove escapes, and hits the rails again.
In New Orleans his eyes are knocked out by the marvels of this amazing city of all sins. By and by, he links up with a pimp who recognizes Dove's talents as a cocksman, and puts him to work having his way with "virgins" while paid perverts peek through peepholes to watch Dove's expertise with the "virgins." Of course, these are not virgins, but are old-head whores pimped by Finnerty, who goes shares in the cash with Dove.
Dove can't stand up under the weight of his success, however, and is well on his way to the gutter via the bottle. He is saved by an octoroon beauty, Hallie, who goes into hiding with Dove, and among other things teaches him to read. The problem is, Hallie has a jealous boyfriend. A cat name of Schmidt who has one leg off at the knee, the other one off at the hip, and gets around right fine on a flat-board scooter he straps himself onto. Before he lost his legs, Schmidt had been an awesome athlete who was employed as a stooge in a wrestling team making decent dough. Schmidt still has enormous strength in his shoulders and arms, and is feared from one end of old Perdido Street to the other. He starts on a search for Dove and Hallie--well, he couldn't care less about Dove, but just wants Hallie back.
In the meantime, Dove gets tossed into jail, which saves him temporarily. When he gets out the jug six-months later, Schmidt still hasn't found Hallie. He does find Dove, however, in Dockerty's Dollhouse, a saloon that bills itself as the last speakeasy in the country. A wild and hellish place. What happens next I'll leave to those who want to read it for themselves. It isn't pretty. But it is a great read.
A fellow by name of E. Hemingway--who'n hell is he?--claims that Algren is a man's writer, plus a few more words that I'll not bother to go into here. It's late and time goes by too damned fast as 'tis, and I've spent way too much of it on this review. Jeez, how many words have I wasted?
Sumner