Kerouac truly has the potential to be regarded as a master.

Although he doesn't achieve success in every endeavor, when he does hit the mark, his novels become pure works of poetry.

The simple and elegant "Visions of Gerard" stands out among his better works.

It is deeply affecting, and its success mainly lies in its honesty.

Jean "Jack" Duluoz, Kerouac's alter ego, was around 3 or 4 years old when his brother Gerard passed away.

However, he recounts the story vividly through the eyes of a child.

In its own beautiful manner, "Gerard" evokes the essence of childhood without trying to imitate something like the Stephen Dedalus in the first part of "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man".

The main success of "Gerard" lies in the way Kerouac arranges words and phrases.

Sometimes, his attempts at stream-of-consciousness can be annoyingly incoherent or even irritating.

But here, he is highly evocative, enabling the story of Gerard's death to flow like a memory.

Consequently, when it occurs, even though you anticipate it, it still comes as a bit of a shock.

It is one of Kerouac's finest works and one that easily merits study alongside "On the Road".

Sad and tender, what a pretty book.

This simple yet profound description immediately captures the essence of the book. It implies that within its pages lies a story that evokes a range of emotions, from the depths of sadness to the softness of tenderness.

The word "pretty" further adds to the allure, suggesting that the book not only touches the heart but also has an aesthetic charm.

Perhaps it is the beautiful language used, the vivid imagery painted, or the well-developed characters that make it so captivating.

As we turn the pages, we are drawn into a world where we experience the full gamut of human emotions, sharing in the joys and sorrows of the characters.

This book has the power to make us cry, to make us smile, and to leave a lasting impression on our hearts and minds.

It is a literary gem that deserves to be cherished and read again and again.

When Jack Kerouac combines words, it's as if I'm a newborn, just opening my eyes for the very first time to witness light and color.

Some of his words give rise to perplexing, convoluted images, while others are overwhelmingly, blissfully beautiful.

All of them depict snapshots of life and death.

It boggles my mind to think that a writer as youthful as he was could possess such an abundance of spiritual knowledge.

He had the ability to perceive life in its entirety with unwavering clarity and then transfer it onto paper.

His writing is like a magical journey that takes the reader through a world of emotions and experiences, making us see life from a different perspective.

It's truly remarkable how his words can have such a profound impact on our minds and souls.

Jack Kerouac's writing is a testament to the power of language and the human spirit.

In this early work of Kerouac, you can already catch glimpses of the genius that would later pen the iconic "On the Road."

It serves as a wonderful reminder that there are individuals like Gerard in this world, people whom we should all strive to seek out and cherish during our limited time on earth.

This exploration and discovery of such unique souls are an important part of the human experience.

It also ties in with my research for the third installment of my Omar T, "mystery lite" series, namely "Omar T in San Francisco."

San Francisco, with its rich history and diverse culture, provides the perfect backdrop for Omar T's adventures and the uncovering of various mysteries.

As I delve deeper into this research, I am constantly inspired by the works of Kerouac and the idea of finding those special people and moments that make life truly extraordinary.

Jack's best book is truly a remarkable piece of literature.

It stands out as the most lyrical, with its beautiful and flowing language that seems to dance off the pages. At the same time, it is also the most restrained, showing a remarkable sense of control and discipline in its narrative.

The book has a high sentiment value, touching the hearts of readers and evoking a wide range of emotions. Even if you have no heart, as the saying goes, you would still find yourself drawn into the story and on the road with the dharma bum.

It is a book that invites you to explore the deeper meanings of life, to question your own beliefs and values, and to embark on a journey of self-discovery.

Whether you are a fan of literature or simply looking for a good read, Jack's best book is definitely worth checking out.

A few fall trees stretch their faint red twigs towards it.

The smoke-smells seem to wraith and twist like ghosts in the noses of the morning.

The saw of Boisvert Lumberyard can be heard whining at a log and then whopping it.

The rumble of junkmen's cart on Beaulieu Street is also present.

One little kid's cry is heard far off.

Souls, souls, the sky receives it all.

It is a scene that combines the beauty and decay of nature, the sounds of industry and daily life, and the distant cry of a child.

The red twigs of the trees add a touch of color to the otherwise drab landscape, while the smoke and saw sounds create a sense of activity and movement.

The junkmen's cart and the child's cry add to the sense of community and life in the area.

Overall, it is a vivid and evocative description that invites the reader to imagine the scene and feel a part of it.

It is sad like all of Kerouac's novels, but it seems to me less virtuosic. In this one, he had already embraced Buddhism and contemplation, so it is full of religious references, although it is only a literary tool to narrate the death of his brother Gerard. What is to be appreciated is that he maintains the frenzy and honesty in his narrative, characteristics present in the Beat Generation.

Kerouac's works often explore deep emotions and spiritual themes. This particular novel, while perhaps not as technically精湛 as some of his others, still manages to touch the reader's heart. The use of religious references adds an interesting layer to the story, but it is important to note that they are used more as a means of expression rather than a full-blown religious treatise.

The frenzy and honesty in his writing are what make Kerouac's work so unique. He doesn't hold back, but rather lays bare his thoughts and feelings for all to see. This raw and unfiltered approach is what吸引s readers to the Beat Generation and keeps them coming back for more.

There is a truly special place reserved in heaven for all the ailing children of the world.

Among them, Gerard holds a particularly unique position. Despite the challenges and hardships brought on by his illness, or perhaps even because of them, Gerard astonishingly managed to achieve full and true enlightenment before he reached the tender age of nine.

His journey was not an easy one, filled with pain and struggle. But through it all, he showed an extraordinary resilience and a deep spiritual awareness.

Gerard's story is one that inspires us all, reminding us that even in the face of great adversity, there is the potential for profound growth and enlightenment.

His presence in that special place in heaven is a testament to his remarkable spirit and the impact he had on those around him.

We can only hope to learn from his example and find our own path to enlightenment, no matter what obstacles we may encounter along the way.

The child's gentle spirit ought never to meet the vicious winds of death. Rest well, Gerard.

One day, Gerard found a mouse caught in Scoop’s mousetrap outside the fish market on West Sixth Street. The faces of those who invented mousetraps were more bleak than envenomed spiders, with paths of bullgrained dullishness beaten to their bloodstained doors, and they crowed in the sill. On this gray morning, Gerard could remember the faces of the Canucks of Lowell, the small tradesmen, butchers, butter and egg men, fishmen, barrelmakers, and bums on benches. The hungjawed dull faces of grown adults had no words to praise or please little trying-angels like Gerard, who was working to save the mouse from the trap. They just stared or gawped and were silly in their prime. The little mouse, thrashing in the concrete, was released by Gerard. It went wobbling to the gutter with the fishjuice and spit, to die. Gerard picked it tenderly and sowed the goodness in his pocket. He took it home and nursed it, actually bandaged it, held it, stroked it, and prepared a little basket for it, as Ma watched amazed and men walked around in the streets “doin good for themselves” rounding up paper beyond their beans. Bums! all! A thought smaller than a mouse’s turd was directed to the Sunday Service Mass necessity, and that was usually tinged by inner countings of how much they’ll plap in th’basket. Gerard could really feel empathetically the pain the mouse was in, the pain he’d had enough to not be an apprentice at the trade and pang. He could feel the iron snap grinding his little imagined birdy bones and squeezing and cracking and pressing harder unto worse-than-death the bleak-in-life. For it’s not innocent blank nature that made hills look sad and woe-y, it’s men, with their awful minds, their ignorance, grossness, mean petty thwarthings, schemes, hypocrite tendencies, repenting over losses, gloating over gains. They were pot-boys, bone-carriers, funeral directors, glove-wearers, fog-breathers, shit-betiders, pissers, befoulers, stenchers, fat calf converters, utter blots & scabs on the face of the earth. “Mouse? Who cares about a gad dam mouse—God musta made em to fit our traps.” That was a typical thought. Gerard was not like that seedy lot, that crew of bulls. He was a soft tenderhearted angel, the likes of which you’ll never find again in science fictions of the future with their bleeding plastic penis-rods and round hole-machines and worries about how to get from Pit to Pisspot. Some afternoon, Gerard went to school. It had been on a noontime errand when sent to the store to buy smoked fish that he’d found the mouse. Now, smiling, Gerard walked up Beaulieu Street to school with his strapped books and long black stockings and that peculiar gloomy sweetness of his person that was all things to Gerard. He was happy because his mouse was fed and repaired and safe in her little basket. But when the cat came in the mid drowses of day and ate the mouse, leaving only the tail, Gerard cried when he came home at 4 to see it in the bottom of the poor little basket he’d so laboriously contrived. Gerard knew it wasn’t the cat’s fault, but he took Nanny and sat her on the rocking chair and held her jowls and delivered her an exhortation. “Méchante! Bad girl! Don’t you understand what you’ve done? When will you understand? We don’t disturb little animals and little things! We leave them alone! We’ll never go to heaven if we go on eating each other and destroying each other like that all the time!—without thinking, without knowing!—wake up, foolish girl!—realize what you’ve done!—Be ashamed! shame! crazy face! stop wiggling your ears! Understand what I’m tellin you! It’s got to stop some fine day! There won’t always be time!—Bad girl! Go on! Go in your corner! Think it over well!” Gerard had never been angry before, and Gerard was amazed and scared in the corner, as one might have felt seeing Christ in the temple bashing the moneychanger tables every which away and scourging them with his seldom whip.

Read in Kerouac: Visions of Cody, Visions of Gerard, Big Sur.

This is a profound story that delves into the realms of childhood and the special bond between brothers. Jack Kerouac penned this book dedicated to his older brother, Gerard, who tragically passed away at the tender age of nine. It is evident that Jack held a deep and abiding adoration for Gerard. In the book, Gerard is portrayed as a happy older brother, possessing a wisdom that far exceeded his years. This is a truly heartbreaking narrative that explores the themes of grief, the arduous process of coping with death, and the very essence of existence.

I found this work by Kerouac to be more engaging than some of his other writings. Although the subject matter diverged from that of his other books, the distinct writing style that is quintessentially Kerouac was still very much present.

From Visions of Gerard:
And I wonder what Gerard would have done had he lived, sickly, artistic - But by my good Jesus, with that holy face they'd have stumbled over one another to come and give him bread and breath - He left me his heart but not his tender countenance and sorrowful patience and kindly lights -
\\"Me when I'm big, I'm gonna be a painter of beautiful pictures and I'm gonna build beautiful bridges\\" - He never lived to come and face the humble problem, but he would have done it with the noblesse tendresse I never in my bones and dead man heart could ever show.

A very difficult book to rate. Kerouac grapples with numerous crucial issues such as death, the afterlife, and interpersonal human struggles. However, his writing style fails to move me. There are run-on sentences, missing punctuation, and paragraphs that seem to go on forever. Ugh. It's evident that he was experimenting with a stream-of-consciousness style of writing, similar to Henry Miller, but it's often difficult to understand.

And what a tragic tale it is. He employs his saintly, older brother, who is fated to die young, as a means to discuss his disappointment in a world filled with pain and sorrow. It's poignant yet extremely depressing to read. Most of Kerouac's books depict the world as being full of nothing but loneliness and suffering. The only glimmer of hope appears to be an escape to heaven. It's no wonder that he drank himself to death at the age of 47.

Perhaps Kerouac's writing was a reflection of his own tortured soul. Maybe he was trying to make sense of the chaos and pain in his life through his words. But for this reader, his style and subject matter made for a challenging and ultimately rather melancholy read.

The framework for this novel is the inevitable death of Kerouac's 9-year-old older brother, who succumbs to an incurable sickness.

Although the somber backdrop is a real debbie-downer, the style of the writing is uplifting. This book is filled with poetic prose, which makes it my favorite Kerouac work. It could have been labeled an epoch poem, but unfortunately, poetry doesn't sell as well as novels.

Truman Capote once said that Kerouac's stuff wasn't writing, it was just typing. But if you stick your finger anywhere in this book and read an excerpt, you will immediately recognize that it was Kerouac who wrote it. Do the same with Capote's work, and it could have been written by just about anyone.

Developing such a distinctive style as Kerouac did in a field that has been so thoroughly explored by so many others before him is no easy feat.

You can see the deep respect Kerouac had for his mother. During the ordeal, she suffered so much that she lost her teeth one by one, enduring a kind of suffering that only a mother can understand.

Near the end, at the funeral, Kerouac writes, "I want to express somehow, 'Here and Now, I see the ecstasy,' the divine and perfect ecstasy..." For me, I don't want to see ecstasy when God's Kingdom Comes; I just want to see no more 9-year-olds dying helplessly.

This novel is a powerful exploration of life, death, and the human spirit, and it continues to resonate with readers today.