The cliché is correct: you have to read this book before you're 25, or maybe even before 20. I guess that at that age you will be attracted by the careless freedom with which the main character enters "real life" and goes searching for himself, like in a quest. The fascination for his friend Dean has something endearing and childlike, but as in Le Grand Meaulnes by Alain-Fournier I am not captivated by it. But then again, I read this when I was 50.

I know, you have to see this as the quintessential novel of the Beat Generation, and as such it sure is of historical interest. But what really annoyed me was the implicit sexism, perhaps typical for male writers in the middle of the last century. On the positive side there are the attractive descriptions Kerouac offers of the places on the road; they make you dream of distant horizons.

It took me over a year to finish this book. I did like it, but for some reason, I could not read more than a little at a time.

The descriptive parts are raw and enticing, and easily my favorite part of the book. I longed for a chance to experience the freedom and insane excitement Sal and Deal relish in, Dean more so than our protagonist. The prose painted the America of the late 40s like a timeless land shrouded in mysticism, its people in a perpetual search for meaning and experience, but riddled by poverty, uncertainty, and debauchery. The massive size of the country also played a pivotal role. East-West, North-South, there are endless landscapes to be seen, people to be met, places to explore.

I can understand the massive impact this book had ever since it was published, and I can't deny I myself was very moved by it. I adored the writing style and imagery. I thought the characters were downright horrible and noxious. Despite my distaste, I believe that flawed, raw characters are essential to the establishment of a realistic picture of the time. "On the Road" is certainly a fearless dive into an uncertain decade, into the dark heart of America, a book which will stay with me for a long time.

1957, Penguin 20: Great Books of the 20th Century - 4/20

This 281 pages has been a long road for me as I was traveling to places and was actually feeling the book...

'On the Road' is a Beat Classic which is a pioneering milestone with other works for the era of the 1950s to be framed as 'Beat Generation', even The Beatles were inspired by it (notice the spelling despite its pronunciation). These revolutionary pieces were written in a very unique way which Kerouac calls 'Spontaneous Prose'. This book listed as fiction is actually a thinly veiled memoir of the author which includes many Beat authors like Neal Cassady (being the hero Dean Moriarty), Allen Ginsberg & William S. Burroughs.

This book is an Odyssey of aimless wanderlust, infidelities, bigamy, meanderings, and lawlessness of the post-WWII men with no frontier to conquer. Though the vice this portrays and inspires generations of exuberant, passionate and adventure seekers to travel and to lead a different life away from all the materialistic bounds on the road with no destination.

Here I can see much hatred for this masterpiece due to all the hype and self-destructive nature. I think its fascinating that how people come to meet such ends.
Some might say it is the sexy, dangerous devil in Cassady that somehow tempts others like Kerouac into ablative behavior. I think that the seeds of self-obliteration lie dormant in the person waiting for a Cassady or a bottle or a drug to come along and start the process. It's going to happen; the cause is unimportant.

Below quote at the climax symbolizes this perfectly - ' the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes “Awww! ". Thus at the end Dean was a sputtering but a beautiful Roman candle. The candle also symbolizes the generosity of the mad travelers which is deeply described.

The work is so touchingly vibrant, I would recommend it to everyone who hustles to explore the so-called Classics...

The other day I was talking to someone and he said, “Well, I’m no pie expert . . . Wait! No! I am a pie expert. I am an expert at pie!”

Another person asked, “How did you become a pie expert?”

“One time I ate only pie for an entire week. I was driving across the country with my buddies, and we decided to eat only pie.”

“Like Jack Kerouac in On the Road!” I said.

“Yes! Exactly! That’s exactly what we were doing. We were reading On the Road, and we decided he was so smart when he realized pie is the best solution when you’re traveling and have no money.”

“He ‘knew it was nutritious, and of course delicious.’”

“Yes! It has all of the food groups - especially if you have it with ice cream." He paused. "Except pie isn’t as filling as you would think it would be, so we had to drink a lot of beer to make up for that. And we ate a lot of multi-vitamins because we felt terrible. We would stop and camp out by the road, eating pie and drinking beer with multi-vitamins.

“We got to my girlfriend’s house, and we looked like shit. We hadn’t shaved and we had the pie sweats. But, it made me an expert at pie.”

“mmmm, pie.”

Other than his advice about pie, I find Jack Kerouac to be one of those useless, narcissistic, cult-leader types. He’s pretty hot, though, and he does have correct opinions about pie.

The Birth of Modern America
11 December 2016

tOne of the main reasons that I decided to read this book, other than the fact that it happens to be a modern classic, is because I was reading an article in a Christian magazine that was complaining about how this book, and the motor car in general, is responsible for the promiscuous, permissive, and licentious society in which we now live. Mind you, this particular magazine pretty much made me want to puke, especially when you came across an article by some guy (and it was usually a guy, never a girl) who carried on about how bad he was, and he got so bad that he landed up in a huge amount of trouble, but then he found Christ and all of a sudden his life was turned around. Okay, some might be asking why, if I happen to be a Christian, am I trashing this particular magazine – well, because it happens to be a complete load of rubbish.

tAnyway, enough of the reason as to why I ended up reading the book (and the other reason was because I wandered into a bookshop in Paris looking for a copy of Hemmingway's A Moveable Feast, and upon discovering that there wasn't a copy of that particular book, or in fact any book by Hemmingway, I decided to get this one instead, particularly since upon seeing it I was reminded of that incredibly annoying article that I read) and onto the book itself. Well, as it turned out the person that wrote the article probably didn't read the book at all because firstly it isn't about a single roadtrip, but about four, and also the main character (which happens to be Kerouac) doesn't own a car but rather relies either on buses, on his friends, or simply hitchhikes to get form point A to point B.

tHowever, what this book does happen to be is a road trip – in fact it happens to be the original road trip. Sure, Willy Nelson might have written a song about a road trip, however the theory is that if it wasn't for this book the multitude of road trip movies (such as Thelma and Louise, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and of course Easy Rider) would never have come about. Mind you, I personally believe that is rubbish namely because if Kerouac didn't write this book then somebody else would have come along and written something similar, it is just that Kerouac managed to beat all of the other authors to the punch with his classic story of how he travelled from New York to Los Angeles and back again, from New York to San Francisco, and from New York to Mexico City where he landed up with the Mexican version of Dehli Belly, and was deserted by his friend (though this particular friend didn't seem to be the most honourable of people, especially since he seemed to have multiple wives and girlfriends).

tOn the Road is apparently the book that thrust the Beat Generation into the lime light, though interestingly enough the Beat actually refers to a group of writers as opposed to a generation as a whole (such as the Baby Boomers, or my generation, that being Generation X). I also suspect that the Lost Generation, that is the Generation of Hemmingway and his cohorts, was also a literary generation as opposed to a generation as whole. However it is interesting how people of an older Generation do tend to have an influence on those of a younger generation – Kerouac was influenced by Hemmingway, who in turn had an influence on the Baby Boomers despite the fact that he was of an older generation. Mind you, when I was young it was the Baby Boomers that had an influence on me, though more the celebrities than my parents. However, we should also remember that writers such as Lewis and Tolkien were from the 'Lost' generation as opposed to the 'Beat' or even the Baby Boomers (of which artists such as David Bowie were members).

tOne thing that stands out from this book happens to be how it seems that it was the beginning of the America that we now know, that is the America of the automobile and of the sprawling suburbs. In a way what the car did, or more specifically the cheap car that could be bought by the average punter (though it sounds as if Kerouac and his friends bought the 1940s equivalent of the old bomb and used it to travel about America). The interesting thing is that this is an America before the interstate highways, an America that is still developing and trying to find its feet and its identity. Sure, it had just emerged victorious from the Second World War, and had also emerged as the superpower after Britain was effectively bankrupted (and also saw its colonies, bit by bit, claiming independence), but it still hadn't really developed the identity that it eventually developed by the sixties and the seventies. However, what it also did was effectively became a car culture, which is a culture of individualism – having a car meant one have freedom, freedom to do, and go, wherever one wants to go, however there was a problem, namely that this place never seemed to exist – Kerouac travels from New York to California a number of times, spends his days in Denver, which seems to be the centre of the United States, and then frees himself further by going South of the Border and dreaming of going even further beyond – having the ultimate freedom to travel as far as the tip of South America.

tHowever these dreams seem to be stunted – he ends up with Dehli Belly, and is deserted by his friend, Dean, a number of times. However it also seems that Dean seems to drift from woman to woman, from place to place, and from friend to friend, not having any real roots. We see the same with Kerouac as well, especially when he begins to settle down with the Mexican woman in Los Angeles, but then decides to dump her and return to New York. This is a new time, a time where people can pull out their roots and travel where-ever. Before then people rarely, if ever, travelled too far beyond their home. Yet, the interesting thing is that when one travels, when one pulls out their roots, it is very hard to put them back down again. I discovered that when I moved cities, that the roots that I pulled up had a lot of difficulty being planted again – sure, I have made new friends, but there are times and elements that I do not understand because I have not been around. There is a Website – Adelaide Remember When – that sits in my heart because I grew up in Adelaide, yet a similar website for Melbourne, Sydney, or even London and Paris, wouldn't have the same effect on me. Well, okay, London and Paris might be a little different, but I never grew up there so I don't have a personal connection with the past of any of those cities.

tIn a way what Kerouac is exploring, even if he it being intentional, which I suspect he isn't, is how we are beginning to become disconnected from place. Sure, he lived in New York, but in reality he come from abroad. However, what the car has done is that it has made it even easier from him to pull up his roots and to travel about. I have been on road trips myself, the longest going from Adelaide to Brisbane via Melbourne and Sydney, and back again. There is something liberating about letting go of life and jumping into a car and simply driving, even if one doesn't even have a destination in mind. In fact piling your friends into a car and going on a roadtrip is a bonding experience, as I have discovered on numerous trips to Melbourne and back again. However, things have even gone further with the advent of the commercial airline – now we can simply jump on a plane and simply anywhere we wish (though of course there are some restrictions, particularly when it comes to obtain a visa to enter certain countries, particularly if you happen to be from a country where the passport really has little, if no, power whatsoever).

tAnyway, what better way to finish off this post than with a picture of a place where Kerouac seemed to finish off his journies: Times Square.



The Real Hipsters
12 December 2016

tThe funny thing is that after I had posted this review I suddenly realised that there was something that I forgot – the hipster. In a way it is really amusing reading about hipsters in a book written over fifty years ago. Well, that probably shouldn't be as odd as I think it to be namely because hipsters seem to be very retro in character to the point that retro is the new cool. Mind you, the hipsters of Kerouac’s generation weren't the retro lovers that the millenials are namely because the scene itself simply didn’t exist. In a way what the hipsters in Kerouac’s day were doing were setting the trends for the future – they were the members of the Beat Generation that laid the foundations for the sexual revolution and the era of flower power.

tI have to admit that this whole retro hipster move is interesting in and of itself, and there are a lot of aspects about it that I really enjoy – the second hand clothes, in fact the second hand everything, which probably has a lot to do with them living in ridiculously overpriced innercity housing. However, it isn’t just the second-hand fascination that drives it, but also the coffee and craft beer craze and the smashed avocados and eggs benedict (which is my breakfast indulgence of choice, though I can't stand avocado). Oh, there are sliders as well, but I think there was a time when you wouldn’t get anything like that on a breakfast menu, and people were happy with instant coffee (if you wanted good coffee you would get plunger coffee) – now you can buy your own coffee machine.

tYet this wasn’t the hipster movement of Kerouac’s age – they were bohemian, which is a sophisticated way of saying poor. Okay, not every poor person is bohemian since bohemians also tended to be artists, or wanted to be artists but never actually got a break. Even though Kerouac did get a break it wasn’t until at least ten years after he finished his book, and eventually died of alcohol poisoning pretty shortly after. However, the bohemian artist seemed to be driven by their art, but not only that, they also lived the poor lifestyle, as we encounter in this novel. Here Kerouac basically scabs lifts and when he runs out of money panhandles (otherwise known as begging) to get some more, even if only to get home. Mind you, it isn’t as if he is destitute, he still earns a stipend from the government for his military service, so it is enough for him to be able to live the artist’s lifestyle (which certainly isn’t the case today – if you try that you would be labeled with the term dole bludger and the like).

tWhile Kerouac may not have introduced the hipster, or more precisely ‘Ned Kelly' beard, there is one thing that this book has taught me – how to wear a tie and still look cool (not professional, cool):

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I've been thinking about this book a lot lately, so I figured that I'd go back and write something about it.

When I first read this book, I loved it as a piece of art, but its effect on me was different than I expected. So many people hail Kerouac as the artist who made them quit their jobs and go to the road, become a hippie or a beat and give up the rest. When I read it though, I had been completely obsessed with hippie culture for a long time, and it caused me to steer away from it for a while. While I thought that it would be a rollicking tale of freedom and glory, I found that all of Dean's conquests were tainted by the fact that he had to take advantage of other people every step of the way. He was a hugely entertaining character, but would have been a terrible friend, lover, or even acquaintance. From the women he married to gas station attendents, right down to Sal Paradise himself, Dean drained everything that he was right out of other people, and it eventually ruined him. It left him beat...not heart beating exhilarated, but beat up, dead beat and alone. Once I stepped back a little from the awe at Dean's greatness, this book was really sad, and it caused me to put away that romanticism for a while.

Now, 2 years later, though, On the Road is coming back to me full on. I didn't escape the total wonder at the Beats and the road. I have been on the road myself for the last 2 months and have a long way to go before I get back home, and I am constantly aware that the the way was paved by Kerouac and the rest of the crazy geniuses of his generation. The road is every bit as romantic as Sal Paradise made it out to be, and its glory far out weighs the short comings of Dean as a friend. I mean, the road is a lot like Dean, it takes a lot out of you, but you get addicted to it and obsessed with it and can't let it go, and I don't think there's any other way about it. I am in love with America for the first time. Now that I've seen it, driven across and up and down, around and over America, I find it sublime and incredible. I think that Kerouac and his friends might've been the first to see that. Maybe not. Maybe they are just part of all of American history...they translated the world of Western expansion and canvas covered wagons into the way of the modern world. America is something to dream about. It is worthy every exuberant and formerly offensive "I'm proud" sticker that's plastered on the back of a pick up truck. And Kerouac saw that first hand. So, it seems, that there is a certain tragedy in this book, but that it is less important than the unavoidable glory that you come to associate with the road and freedom after following these guys on their crazy adventure. I think this book should be read by everyone who wants to know about America.

By a complete coincidence, a friend and I both read On the Road at the same time. Our literary tastes are usually pretty similar; so it was a surprise for me to find that he absolutely hated this book, while I quite enjoyed it.
tt
But it got me thinking: is On the Road a ‘good’ book? It’s certainly not a ‘good’ novel. There is very little character development; a monotonous plot; erratic pacing; hardly any dialogue. The story has no moral, no drama, and presents no interesting ideas. A tone is established on the first page, and it is carried on until the last. Simply put: if you like the style, you’ll like the book. If you aren’t interested by the third sentence, spare yourself and put it down.
tt
Perhaps On the Road is more profitably viewed as a kind of literary exercise or experiment; I think that’s what Kerouac was going for. This makes it rather difficult to evaluate aesthetically, since what are the aesthetic criteria by which one evaluates an experiment? The only criteria left to a reader is enjoyability. So is On the Road enjoyable?
tt
I think it is; my friend thinks it isn’t. You won’t know till you try. That’s almost all there is to it. But I’ll try to explain why I did enjoy it.
tt
For me, Kerouac’s sentences are refreshing and lively. The language just pops. But what really makes the language interesting is the contradiction between the style and the content. Kerouac uses very naïve and sentimental language to describe things that are far from naïve and sentimental. At times it seems like Kerouac is trying to romanticize the hedonism and depravity of his cronies. But nobody is convinced—not even himself. It’s too obvious that there’s something badly wrong. To pick just one example, Dean Moriarty—the hero of this book—steals cars and picks up 15-year-olds from high school, to take them into the mountains and take advantage of them. There’s nothing naïve or sentimental about that.
tt
On the Road is often held up as epitomizing the Beat generation. But all claims about books ‘epitomizing’ any historical period or generation or country or city sound dubious to me. Did everyone take a vote? And what gave Kerouac this marvelous insight into the lives and thoughts of thousands of people? Was he a sociologist? The idea that any book—however profound it might be—could summarize a generation is obviously the product of a bookworm. But it strikes me as mildly insulting to think that one novelist somewhere, sitting at a desk, could somehow capture the essence of Bob, the car mechanic 1,000 miles away, who just wants to make a living and drink beer on Saturdays with his neighbors. Point is: the world is a big place.
tt
But let’s just take it on faith, for a moment, and assume that On the Road did capture something essential about the Beat Generation. What, then, is this mysterious ether in which they dwelled? Maybe this question will be easier if we compare On the Road with another book commonly held up as summarizing a generation: The Sun Also Rises.
tt
There are similarities between the two. The most striking one is the hedonism in the two works. The characters in both novels drink a lot. A lot.
tt
There is also a sense of ultimate meaninglessness that pervades both works. But this nihilism is much more crushing in Hemingway. The Lost Generation were like survivors of a nuclear war, just drinking and waiting to die so the human race would finally end. But the Beats tried to take nihilism in stride. They take their hedonism seriously; they aren’t waiting to die, but trying to enjoy being alive. They’re always looking for new drugs, new girls, new friends, new cities, new music. This restless hedonism is what drive them across the country; it’s why they’re on the road.
tt
I can’t find anything really admirable in Kerouac’s worldview. It’s just too selfish. He and his friends mooch off every kindness showed them by strangers. They give nothing back; they are hardly even loyal to each other. They just want to get their kicks, get laid, and move on. Kerouac tries to justify this selfishness by showing us how ‘lost’ or ‘confused’ or ‘restless’ the characters are. This is not an excuse for being a bad person.
tt
So On the Road may not be a great guide to life. It may not even be ‘great’ art. But it’s a fun read.

Two American Wanderers

Kerouac's "On The Road" Is an outstanding work to think about on America's Fourth of July. The following review dates from 2007 and would undoubtedly be different if I rewrote it today.

In the fifty years since its publication in 1957, Kerouac's "On the Road" has become an American classic. The book will bear a variety of interpretations: different readers have found and will continue to find many ways or reading and understanding "On the Road." Some readers see the mad journeys of the characters in the book as a seeking, religious in character. Other readers, see the protagonists as out for "kicks", "gurls", and wild times. Some see Dean Moriarty as the hero of the book -- as the protagonist of a new way of life which became known as 'beat'. (The term "beatnik" is not used in "On the Road".) But it is also possible to read "On the Road" as a rejection of Dean Moriarty and the life he represents. I have read this book several times, and with each reading have got something new from it. It is a passionately written work with a tone of poetry, bop, and movement. Oddly, the book didn't impress me when I first read it as an adolescent many years ago, but it has become one of my favorite novels.

"On the Road" is an autobiographical novel. The two major characters are Dean Moriarty who is based on a figure named Neal Cassady (1926 -- 1968) and Sal Paradise, the first-person narrator who is based on Kerouac (1922 -- 1969) himself. (Some early readers believed that Moriarty was the Kerouac figure, resulting in a serious misunderstanding of the book.) The action of the story takes place between 1947 and 1950. When the novel opens the reader hears Paradise's/Kerouac's inimitable voice: "I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up. I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won't bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably weary split-up and my feeling that everything was dead." Moriarty was born in Salt Lake City and had spent much of his youth in pool halls, reform school, and in prison, from which he had escaped. He came to New York City with his 16 year old wife, Marylou and met Kerouac and his friends. In following Moriarty with his energy, restlessness, endless movement, and sexual libido, Paradise thinks he might find his way out of his sadness and purposelessness.

The book tells of the friendship between Paradise and Moriarty and of their many reckless journeys back and forth through the United States. Paradise first travels alone, by bus and by hitchiking, to catch up with Moriarty in Denver and in San Francisco. Throughout their trips, Moriarty looks for his elderly father who, as did his son, lived a life of vagrancy and criminality, and was thought to be wandering as a hobo or in jail. The two, in the company of others, travel back to the East coast, to New Orleans, to meet "Old Bull Lee" (William Burroughs -- the author of "The Naked Lunch"), to San Francisco and Denver again, through Chicago and Detroit, back to New York City, to the West coast, and to Mexico City, where Moriarty, for the second time in the book abandons Paradise who has become ill with dysentery. In the final scenes of the book, the two wanderers have a reunion of sorts in New York City before Moriarty heads back to San Francisco to resume living with his second wife whom he has just divorced.

The book proceeds at a frenetic pace as Moriarty drives recklessly from coast to coast, usually in cars he has borrowed. The book shows the breadth of America as well as the questing of rootless, troubled individuals with no particular place to go. "Whee, Sal, we gotta go and never stop going till we get there," says Moriarty at one point. "Where we going man?" Sal asks. Moriarty responds, "I don't know but we gotta go."

Besides the broad, travel scenes, "On the Road", includes detailed descriptive passages of many individuated scenes -- jazz clubs in San Francisco and New York, seedy all-night theatres, small hotels and road side stands, cold water flats in New York, a brothel in Mexico, and much else. There are strong characterizations of several characters in addition to Moriarty and Paradise, including Moriarty's three wives, Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, and Ed Dunkel and his wife Galatea -- who delivers a stunning rebuke late in the novel to Moriarty and his way of life. One of the finest extended passages in the book is the story in Part 1 of Paradise's brief affair with a young Mexican girl named Terry, which begins as the two are passengers on a bus to Los Angeles.

But the focus of this book is on Paradise and Moriarty and on how Moriarty changes Sal Paradise's life. Paradise is a writer who has just published his first novel. (Kerouac's first book, "The Town and the City".) Paradise is torn between the fast-paced, romantic, woman-filled life he sees in Moriarty and his own feelings for a more conventional, settled life with a purpose -- as represented in "On the Road" by the character of his aunt. Paradise admires Moriarty deeply for his energy and attempts to maximize experience and optimism, while he is also troubled by Moriarty's violence, criminality and irresponsibility and by his treatment of his three wives. Galatea Dunkel's lengthy tirade against Moriarty, which I mentioned above, seems to me one of the key passages of "On the Road."

After Moriarty abandons Sal in Mexico, Sal eventually makes his way back to New York City where he meets the woman who will become his second wife and makes what will prove to be an unsuccessful attempt at a domestic, settled life. Moriarty is sent packing alone into a cold night back to San Francisco. The book ends with an ambiguity in the relationship between Paradise and Moriarty which mirrors the ambiguity of the entire story and which is at the heart of the divergent interpretations of "On the Road." Many current readers are inclined, contrary to the way many of the book's earliest readers understood "On the Road" to see Kerouac as rejecting, in large part, the life of protagonists of "On the Road", rather than celebrating it. Much can be said for this reading. But Moriarty has a tight hold on Paradise, who gives him up, if he does so, only with difficulty. As the book concludes, Paradise writes: "... nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old. I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty, the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty."

Robin Friedman

Out-of-kilter writer Sal Paradise sort of worships Dean Moriarty, a traveller and an almost mystic-like man who epitomises the 'Beat Generation'; this is the story of their friendship mostly focussed on their journeys across America (east to west, and west to east), their and their fellow travellers' escapades; and the personal growth that they may or may not go through. A roman a clef work that is essentially a quasi-autobiographical take on the American Dream from a non-conventional perspective drenched in sexual comedy, almost widescreen-like travel writing, counter-culture, and evocative recollections of growing up (in America).

Neal Cassady(L) and Jack Kerouac(R)
A book that drips with lyrical writing that feels almost like a 300+ paged unstoppable juggernaut that once entered, enveloped me in what (in 2021?) feels like almost a constructed reality, despite it being drafted from the pages of Kerouac's diaries and notes, and based heavily upon his relationships and times with the likes of Neal Cassady, William S Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg. It's a bit of a cliché to say, but I do feel that this book has such a prominent place in 20th century American culture that everyone should read it. 7 out of 12, because after awhile the stories and adventures as 'out there' as they were, did feel a bit repetitive.

2021 read

I honestly had trouble finishing this. Not because I hated it but I just didn't feel very into it. While I was reading it I was somewhat engaged but I never felt like I needed to know what happened next. I think the stream of conscious style of writing in this book actually made it harder to forget I was reading. The book isn't that old but it still felt like it was speaking an older dialect that I could recognize but not easily understand. The way it ended also felt unsatisfactory but I can't really put my finger on why. I thought I would enjoy this a lot more but maybe I've outgrown the phase in which a book like this feels impactful.

And you thought nowadays hipsters were strange

Why don´t just drivel about everything that comes to mind
Without much caring about second thoughts in an autobiographical stream of consciousness overkill? Well, because hipster gods like Kerouac and William S Burroughs aren´t just too freaking cool to listen to the music of the day. But also believe that they´re ingenious literary prodigies that don´t need anything taming their rhetoric diarrhea. Heck, if anyone today would just write whatever comes to mind, with an added political and philosophical undertone, the person would be trolled to pieces within hours. But in the good, old days

This was the hottest, new batshit crazy progressive hit
Don´t get me wrong, sociocultural evolution is important, but it should be somewhat substantial too. It´s hilarious that Mark Twain, Jonathan Swift, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, and old Greek and Roman satire real life theater screenwriters created well charactered, fine plotted, and smartly built works that have been copied and refined over the centuries and millennia. And then hipster Beatnik authors come along, think that they´re better than everyone and everything, and instead of using the treasure troves of old classics of social criticism, are too lazy and megalomaniac to just create a modern interpretation of these concepts?

It´s not their fault, but Beatnik authors ruined the image of postmodernism by the way too
With great, good works they could have done the same as the cynical and dark satires of the late 20th and 21st century, combining giggles with deep insights about what´s wrong with society. So, they rebelled too hard to understand that protests against social norms and governments aren´t the same as the art of writing. By ignoring and rejecting the millennia old storytelling rules, what audiences expect from literature, and being so egoistic as to not even consider the immense work of plotting, editing, and rewriting, they not just ridiculed the concept of satirical writing, but of postmodern art too. By that they

Fuel the argumentation of the conservatives
Because dark satire and sarcasm have the potential of transforming whole societies by enlightening much more people than just boring them by criticizing and telling the sad truth. Comedians, comedies, and adult animation like South Park and Rick and Morty go full frontal in your face because they are smart and deep. Ignorant backlashers use the bad stuff like the Beatniks to show how unsubstantial and irrelevant the extremely important messages of progressive thinkers are, they Jordan Peterson things like critical race theory, cancel culture, and woke movement. Thanks for all of that, you freaking high hippie hipsters.

Tropes show how literature is conceptualized and created and which mixture of elements makes works and genres unique:
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.ph...

I read this book when I was 20 and I loved it, it spoke like Truth to my Heart, and every summer I and one or some of my increasingly hairy friends got on the road West, to the Rockies, to the Grand Tetons, to backpack and climb and breathe in for a time the pure air of the West. Freedom, man! Back to Nature, one with Nature. At its best the writing was a celebration of all that is good in life, of love, of intoxications and lusts of various kinds. On the road! Romantic. Ecstatic. 5 stars.

At 30 I read it again to see if it was still vibrant and relevant and happy to be all alive. I was looking for a touchstone, spinning out of control, recently divorced, directionless, had bought (what I thought was, for no clear reason) a hot car, spent money I didn't have on a cool stereo system, started to live and drink and drive faster and faster. I had been teaching at that point eight years; My life was in a crisis of my own making. I was deeply disappointed in myself as what I read in the writing not only didn't reinforce my bad choices but reflected on my own excesses and mistakes and sadness; I found the writing turgid, narcissistic, badly edited, somewhat misogynist, drunken wastrel prose, though I saw better this time in it the deep sadness underlying the wild surface. I thought it was writing of a certain time in your life, but when you grow up you leave those childish things behind. I tried to get my life together and went to grad school. On the road, eh. I had found it in some ways juvenile and about selfish individualism this time, mine and his. 2 stars.

At 60 I am in my 38th year of teaching, now in my happy third marriage, with five kids I feel I am lucky to have and be able to support who all still love me. I am happy to be alive and healthy. I survived some very rocky years when much worse might have ensued. So when I took a road trip with my friend George to see my friend Corey in Boston and see Fenway Park, a bucket list item, we had a blast (notwithstanding a poem I wrote about it that makes fun of all the high expectations amidst all the rain). Loved the trip. We visited Kerouac's gravesite in Lowell and in the mist of the day hovered over George's IPhone to listen to Kerouac's own voice reading his words from "October in the Railroad Earth."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hjPZ...

The prose I find on my third reading is poetic, deeply committed to working class and democratic values, and a celebration of life. When I get home I start to reread all the Kerouac I still have in the house, including On the Road, which I find I love like an old friend I have had been "on the outs" with, as my Dad used to say. We are pals again, we love being on the road! Romantic, just what I need in this phase of my life, connecting passionate language to life. It's a little uneven, it's not always really great language or storytelling, it feels sometimes like a young man's diary, but I also like that for the immediacy of that, too, and it is important to me for the joy and sadness in it. 4 stars. Not because it is one of the greatest books of all time for all people. It's a "boy book" in what are sometimes painful ways to read, because the women always seem peripheral to the men. But 4 stars + because it is a very personal book right now for me, speaking to me in ways I need to listen to, especially the darker aspects of it, when it veers dangerously close to madness and regret.

Jack Kerouac reading from On the Road in the surreal circumstance of an appearance on The Steve Allen Show:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LLpN...