Kesey's masterful novel, which is about a logging family in the Pacific Northwest and the impact of a strike that collides with their never-say-die attitude towards the world, has unfortunately been somewhat overshadowed by the success of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

This is truly a pity, as it is one of the finest novels written about the west and the western mindset. It rightfully belongs on the shelf alongside Stegner's Big Rock Candy Mountain, Denis Johnson's Dead Again, and Steinbeck's East of Eden.

A movie was made based on this novel, starring Michael Sarrazin, along with Paul Newman, Henry Fonda, and Lee Remick. It's quite strange that I only remember Sarrazin. Nevertheless, the movie was damned good.

The story likely delved deep into the lives and struggles of the logging family, showing how they coped with the challenges brought about by the strike while still maintaining their unwavering spirit.

It would have explored the unique culture and values of the Pacific Northwest region, as well as the impact of external events on the family's dynamics.

Perhaps the movie adaptation captured the essence of the novel and brought its characters and story to life in a vivid and engaging way.

Overall, both the novel and the movie are worth exploring for those interested in the west and its rich literary and cinematic history.

I’ve never read a book quite like this, most likely because I firmly believe there isn’t any other book of its kind. Kesey seemingly invented a novel narrative structure when he made the decision to tell this story without any limitations regarding time or the narrator.

The point of view from which the story is being recounted switches with great frequency, often several times within the same paragraph, with very little indication that the narrator has changed. (Sometimes this is denoted by parentheses or ellipsis.) The outcome is a complex work of literature that demands one to invest a significant amount of time in reading. I initiated this in late November, and although I took breaks with other books, I was rather consistent in my reading of this one. However, the effort on the part of the reader is not without its rewards. By telling a story from so many perspectives, Kesey successfully crafts a story that is more comprehensive than anything I’ve ever perused. As a reader, I took one side early on in the competitive relationship between the Stamper brothers (Lee), yet in the evolution of Hank’s perspective, I began to perceive how both sides were equally valid and entirely invalid. The same can be said about the relationship between the Stamper’s and the union (and of Jenny and the guy who ran the laundromat).

No character is without virtue or defect, and there are probably over 15 that are well-developed. It’s an exhausting read. In the end, I liked Draeger the best. And Viv is kind of badass.

Come look. Ken Kesey's first book, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," indeed receives a great deal of attention. There's the movie and all that. However, Kesey's debut is excellent, but "Sometimes a Great Notion" is even much, much better.

After devouring this cantankerous, demanding, swollen, raging, tragic and utterly beautiful novel, the way I read, what I read - hell, life itself - has never been the same. A recent re-reading bumped this up to second on my list of favorite novels, leaving "Titus Groan" hanging on to the top perch by its fingernails.

Simply saying that this towering novel is about a rebellious family, the Stampers, defying a loggers strike doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. Although family tensions and sibling rivalry contribute to the power of this masterpiece, there are so many layers and so many voices - not all of them human - that any description I could give would be insufficient.

The various narrative approaches are initially off-putting, but before long everything clicks and you pick up the trail like the Stampers' dog going after bear. I once read that Kesey said he could never write a book like this again, that it was a novel only a young man could write, full of ideas and energy. Supposedly, Kesey wrote this in bursts of creativity that lasted days. It shows. This is a messy work that perhaps has too much of everything. But the feast of Kesey's words leaves us sated, stunned, logy, like an animal that must periodically gorge itself to live, for who knows when the next meal will come? Kesey's words tried to break out of my distended stomach but remained. They're still scrabbling around inside me.

The book is written in that no-nonsense style that great American writers excel at. It appears effortless yet is filled with similes and other literary devices. Reading it feels like sitting by a campfire, listening to an old-timer share his life story. His face takes on the expressions of each character he describes, and the darkness of the night around the golden fire makes you lean in closer, mouth agape and eyes wide. It gave me the same feeling I used to get when watching The Waltons on a lazy Sunday in my youth.

It's a classic'son returns home' novel. The protagonist tries to fit back into his family, but having changed during his travels, he views them with a stranger's eyes and questions what he sees. He is called home to assist with the family logging business due to a strike. Even before arriving, he is already imagining what will happen when he reunites with his family, especially his oldest brother, as there are tensions between them. The relationship between the two brothers is the main story, exploring East meets West ideologies and inherent family issues. Real and imagined problems surface and must be resolved, climaxing in an amazing bar scene where the brother refuses to fight to prove a point, but the protagonist misinterprets it, making the brother's sacrifice seem in vain.

One of the book's strongest aspects, in my opinion, is that we get to hear both brothers' thoughts, presenting both sides of the story. It also shows how people believe what they want, regardless of the facts staring them in the face, as exemplified by the bar scene. There is another brother who is like a child, full of unending positivism and joy for life. I found him to be one of the best characters I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

Some people have said it's a difficult read, and to some extent, that's true. You really have to immerse yourself as some chapters are long and seem never-ending. However, the story and style keep you going for pure enjoyment. It's not a book you can just dip into; you need to set aside time, turn off the phone, disconnect the doorbell, throw out the cat, and have a stack of biscuits nearby. But you'll do these things willingly. My only advice is to avoid the version with the orange cover as the print is far too small for a book of that size and with such long chapters.

This is my all-time favorite book!

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To truly understand a thing, one must have faith in what one knows, all that one knows, and to the fullest extent of one's knowledge in whatever direction that knowledge leads. One of the things I am certain of is that Ken Kesey was an extraordinary writer, a master of his craft who crafted his own unique style.

Starting this book can be a bit off-putting. There is no traditional narrator; instead, Kesey delves into the minds of a dozen characters, switching abruptly from one to another without warning, leaving the reader dizzy as they try to figure out whose thoughts they are following. He also eschews the mundane linear storytelling, preferring to bounce around in time frames almost as much as he does with the characters in the beginning. But don't give up! As you become accustomed to the rhythm of his writing, he begins to tell a more linear tale, and it becomes clear who is speaking and why it is essential not to view the story through the eyes of just one character or even an omniscient being.

I was captivated by his beautiful descriptions and language. It was as if I was on an Oregon river in the winter, and as close as I ever wanted to get to a logging operation. The prose is not only beautiful but also has a touch of poetry, as demonstrated in this passage: "But the breath of memory still plucks such instances, setting the whole web shaking. People fade up the stairs, but to dream of each other’s dreams; of days coming gone and nights past coming; of hard sun-rods crisscrossing back and forward across outspreading circles of water, meaningless-seeming…"

The Stamper family are loggers and rugged individualists. They don't ask for anything and give little thought to those outside their family. Henry Stamper is the patriarch, and his son, Hank, is the heart and driving force. When all the logging operations unionize and go on strike, the Stamper's non-union business takes on the major contract in the area, defying the strikers. Everyone is against them, even the town. The youngest son, Leland, is a college kid who has been raised in the city since the age of twelve. He has a significant problem with his older brother, and much of the angst and tension is heightened by the silent duel Lee is constantly fighting in his mind. He has come home, ostensibly to help with fulfilling the contract, but mostly to prove to himself that he can dethrone his older brother. And, of course, there is a woman involved, adding to the edginess.

This is a very long book, but not a single page is wasted. It explores themes as vast as the outdoorsmen who inhabit it. Sibling rivalry, the conflict between individuals and organizations, brotherhood, the love between men who share daily dangers, the differences in the needs of a woman and a man, and the true meaning of love all play out in the unfolding of the novel. "For there is always a sanctuary more, a door that can never be forced, a last inviolable stronghold that can never be taken, whatever the attack; your vote can be taken, you name, you innards, or even your life, but that last stronghold can only be surrendered. And to surrender it for any reason other than love is to surrender love."

If you enjoy books that can transport you to another world and hold you there, this book is for you. It stayed with me long after I turned out the lights at night. It haunted my dreams and distracted me from my duties. It consumed me. It made me feel the restlessness of these men and worry about their safety from the environment, from the people around them, and from one another. This is truly a masterpiece.

The stories that men tell…

If there is one central theme in mid-20th century American writing, it must surely be masculinity. The pioneer era, still within touch, saw men battle nature and win, albeit with many losses and tragedies along the way. The Great Depression, still within living memory, had men struggling to survive and feed their families, reduced to mindless labouring, their hard-racked bodies and starvation. A century of warfare, both civil and international, had left its mark. The rise of the great industries, still based on physical strength, hard labour and danger, complete with unionisation and corruption on a grand scale, was another aspect. The growth of the true gods of the US – guns and money, dressed up in the covers of a tattered Bible, was yet another. Women were for sex and breeding – if they could cook too, that was a bonus.

The Stamper family arrived a few generations ago in the East, migrated gradually all across the continent to the Pacific, then, with nowhere further to go, turned and headed back inland. Eventually they settled in Oregon, on the Wakonda Auga river, and took to logging. Jonas, the patriarch, couldn't take the place, with all the fecundity and swampiness of nature seeming to close him in, so he fled to Kansas, leaving his family to survive as they could. Now in the present (early 1960s), Henry is the current Stamper patriarch, running the business with the help of his elder son, Hank, and various assorted nephews and cousins. The local loggers have decided to strike against the hardship they are suffering due to reduced hours. But the Stampers avidly worship their money god and won't strike. Worse than that, they will break the strike by taking on a contract to supply the local mill with all the lumber they need. Anger against the Stampers is running high in town.

But when Henry breaks his arm, the family needs more help to meet the contract and Joe Ben, one of the cousins, writes to Leland – Lee – Henry's younger son, whose mother had taken him East years ago to be educated. Lee is everything Hank is not – educated, wants to be a writer, talks about the current fads of psychology and psychiatry, physically soft, uses any kind of drug he can lay his hands on. When we first meet him he has just failed to kill himself, attempting to follow in the footsteps of his more successful mother who achieved that end a couple of years before. With nothing to hold him where he is, Lee agrees to return to Oregon. He also has an old grievance against his half-brother, Hank, and wants revenge…

The descriptive writing is wonderful – the vastness of the forest, the encroaching river, the overwhelming beauty and power of the natural world. There's a kind of poetic horror at points in the way he describes the forest and man's relentless destruction of it. It feels like a fever dream, reminding me of Conrad's descriptions in Heart of Darkness. Although the story is mainly about the people, the river and forest are always present, always providing, always threatening; and the men, whatever else may be going on in their lives, are in a constant war with nature, sometimes winning, sometimes losing. The sheer physicality involved in logging is brilliantly portrayed, men's bodies racked and torn but hard as iron and leather, men brushing off injuries that would have a city boy running to the nearest ER. The women have potions and lotions for all wounds, their role to nurture the men and their children.

The writing is complex and requires concentration. There are three main narrators, and they are all mixed together so that at first it can be hard to know whose perspective we're getting. The third person narration is the glue that holds it together, but the two primary perspectives are Hank's and Lee's, both told in first person and sometimes jumping between them from paragraph to paragraph. It also jumps backwards and forwards in time with no clear signalling, so that it takes a moment to readjust. It's hard work to read and at first I spent a good deal of time simply trying to work out who was speaking and whether we were in the past or present, but as the characterisation grows deeper and deeper, taking us into the secret hearts of both men, it becomes much easier. A lot of it tends towards stream of consciousness, never a favourite style of mine, but here done so skilfully that it never gets in the way. The dialect of the Oregon loggers and the contrast with the more hip language of the Eastern-educated Lee is superb.

The story is both intimately personal and widely political, as we follow Lee's plan for revenge at the same time as we see the impact of the Stampers' strike-breaking on the sense of community in this small town. Capitalism is in full destructive force, letting nothing – not the welfare or safety of the men nor the long-term viability of the land – stand in its way. The major skill of the book is that Kesey makes us care about all of the characters, from the family to the townspeople to the union leaders – he shows us their weaknesses and peculiarities and their selfish ambitions, and their sometimes petty rivalries. But he also shows us their strength, their loyalties and the deep masculine friendships forged and tested in dangerous physical labour where one careless action can endanger lives. There are tragedies here, large and small, and Kesey is willing to break the reader's heart. But he also heals it – there is humour and warmth in the relationships, and time for the stories that men tell of old adventures and how to be a man in a man's world. Despite all the tragedies, I found the after-effect oddly life-affirming, a kind of celebration of the human spirit being beaten down but never truly defeated. I loved One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, but this one is truly Kesey's masterpiece. Wonderful!

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Ken Kesey was a remarkable American figure, not just a novelist but also an essayist and a prominent countercultural icon.

He saw himself as a crucial link bridging the Beat Generation of the 1950s and the hippies of the 1960s. His most renowned work, the 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, achieved instant commercial and critical acclaim. It was later adapted into a highly popular movie starring Jack Nicholson.

During the writing of Cuckoo, Kesey participated in CIA-financed studies involving hallucinogenic drugs like mescaline and LSD to boost his income. Subsequently, he became known for hosting events with former colleagues that involved the consumption of LSD.

Kesey's second novel, Sometimes a Great Notion, was about an Oregon logging family. He aspired to the modernist grandeur of William Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha saga and regarded this novel as his magnum opus. The title was taken from the song "Goodnight, Irene", popularized by Lead Belly.

The novel is set around an Oregon logging camp and centers on the Stamper family. They are in conflict with the town, their union, and even among themselves. The story mainly focuses on the brothers Hank and Leland Stamper and their long-standing conflict that dates back to Leland's childhood.

Leland had left Oregon with his mother (Hank's step-mother) and lived in New York, attending college. But when he receives a postcard from Hank and the other Stampers asking for his help with the work in Oregon, he returns and gets embroiled in a conflict with the trade union. However, Leland is also returning to seek vengeance on Hank for what he feels Hank did wrong to him and his mother years ago.

This novel was very long, over 600 pages, and sprawling, filled with vivid descriptions of the Oregon logging community and the perils of the logging profession. It encompassed a wide range of emotions, including both humor and tragedy. Kesey's writing style took some getting used to as he would randomly switch first-person narratives from one character to another, making it sometimes challenging to follow who was telling the story.

Overall, I consider this a great novel that did bear some resemblance to Faulkner's works. It was also made into a movie in 1970 with Paul Newman and Henry Fonda. I saw it when it first came out and remember enjoying it, although I know it was a significant watering down of the novel. I may seek it out again for a rewatch.

I had completed my college education in the spring of 2005 and managed to secure a job in Oregon. Hailing from Wisconsin, Oregon seemed like an entirely foreign land to me. During the summer prior to my relocation, I came across this book. It truly excels in capturing the very essence of the Oregon coast. Kesey skillfully weaves together the mentalities of a small town with larger-than-life characters.

One recurring theme in the book is the sight and sound of geese flying overhead. Kesey employs this as a portent of forthcoming events within the story. I made the move to Oregon in the early fall, and the very first time I heard those geese soaring above, I experienced a shiver down my spine (haha, excuse the pun).

The book not only provided me with an engaging read but also gave me a sense of anticipation and excitement for what awaited me in my new home state. It served as a kind of preview, allowing me to envision the unique charm and atmosphere of the Oregon coast.

As I settled into my new life in Oregon, I often found myself reflecting on the themes and characters in the book, and how they related to my own experiences. It became a sort of companion on my journey, adding depth and meaning to my exploration of this new place.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the Oregon coast or in stories that capture the spirit of a place and its people. It is a truly remarkable work that will stay with you long after you have turned the final page.

Good chance this'll be my favorite novel of the new year. Kesey's writing is truly remarkable as he skillfully presents multiple perspectives simultaneously. Sometimes he uses parentheses and italics to distinguish them, but linguistic clues also offer hints, and I didn't find it difficult to determine who was narrating. This technique is perhaps the most successful I've seen in such writing.

The setting, which is a crucial element of the novel, becomes increasingly intertwined with water towards the end. The rain and the river add a unique dimension to the story, making it especially appealing, especially during an Oregon winter. The climax of the book brought me to tears, as it features one of the most astonishingly chaotic paragraphs that leads into a scene that is tragic, striking, and yet somehow funny all at once.

However, it must be noted that the book does have its problems. It is typical white male literature, focusing on men and their conflicts, with women often being reduced to pawns. It probably doesn't pass the Bechdel test, and the character of "Indian Jenny" is predictably fetishistic. There is also a content warning for the frequent use of the n-word. Nevertheless, it is still incredible writing, with a poignant theme of individualism versus community versus nature, and it is very American. Perhaps its greatest triumph is how it makes you root for people who are broken to the core and somewhat despicable.

I have to be honest, I really wanted to like this book. The best intentions were there.

Part of the problem may have been Kesey himself. It's a strong storyline, with the irascible Stamper family that will abide by the rules of no other man. They're a richly drawn cast, full of flaws, secrets, and mistrust. Their unbreakable self-determinism defines them. It's a strong start, but he confounds it by overwriting the minutia and underwriting the big events. He chases a questionable narrative machination to the brink. By the end, I couldn't help but feel that he had undermined himself with his own writing.

Oddly enough, I wasn't terribly confused by the character-jumping narrative. For me, the trudge came from the drawn-out descriptions, the constant, seemingly trifling ruminations, and the inexplicably soap operatic family skeletons that were so easy to predict yet delivered with such severe, assured confidence. Kesey makes damn sure the reader takes things seriously, whether they need to or not.

Somewhere in this book is a great American novel, but it somehow falls just short. Sometime there was a great notion, a notion that succumbed to the torrential floodwaters of the very book it spawned.

In retrospect, attempting a review of this book may be pointless. It's a huge, sweeping novel, but I could never get beyond the feeling that the story itself was much smaller than the book it came in, like a giant box with a small present inside. I've always been one for economy in literature, both in words and interpretation, but Kesey's prose comes in torrents and leaves little doubt as to his intention. It's a shame, because with characters this good, it would be rewarding to follow them when their lives aren't so metaphorically predestined.

For my money, Sometimes a Great Notion stands as The Great American Novel. In contrast, Huckleberry Finn, often given that title, simply can't measure up. It seems like a mere twaddling piece of kiddie lit. Twain may have a greater reputation as a writer, but in my mind, Kesey is the superior one. While Twain focuses on the relationship between a black man and a white boy to highlight the shame of slavery and the promise of emancipation, Kesey takes a different approach. He doesn't directly portray historical American race relations. Instead, he only tips his cap to it by having the Stampers use the word nigger against everyone, regardless of their race. Kesey makes individualism the essence of his novel and, by extension, the essence of Americanism, which is certainly an arguable position.

The story is about an immigrant family that has continuously moved westward, echoing the early history of the United States. They finally settle in Oregon's timber country when stopped by the sea. The novel focuses on the latest two generations of this family, exploring their relationships with the neighboring townspeople, the local economy, and their intra-familial conflicts and commitments.
The writing of Sometimes a Great Notion rivals that of Faulkner in its daring, depth, and power. It remains sharp and clear even in its experimental structure. In one paragraph, an omniscient narrator may reveal a character, and in the next, the character himself continues the story in the first person. Interior monologues punctuate the straightforward narrative. A paragraph may have several separate and subordinate narratives progressing with just a sentence or two each. Another paragraph may combine all of these devices. Once you get a feel for the story and learn about the characters (which is fairly quick and easy), it remains surprisingly clear. All the while, a straightforward narrative unfolds, although not always in a temporal sequence. My only minor complaint is that near the end, the extreme commingling of external action with interior experience (often in the same sentence) made it a bit difficult to parse carefully, but it was still easy to follow in essence. Nevertheless, this device powerfully推进 the action, and perhaps that was Kesey's intention, with the confusion actually conveying the nature of the conflict being depicted.