Desolation Angels starts where Kerouac left us at the end of The Dharma Bums. On Desolation Peak. Although the two books kind of flow into each other you will notice that Kerouac has changed. After the thrilling and fervid On The Road he became more quiet and meditative. He still has that excitement for life and experience and that somehow never ending urge to be on the road and hang out with his old Beat buddies but eventually he can't identify with the spirit of the so called Beat Generation anymore. Throughout the book he spends lots of time in solitude - thinking, drinking and writing. Some of these passages have been a little challenging if not boring to me. I don't know, it seems you have to be in a certain mood to feel Kerouacs writing because sometimes, I experienced the truth of his words so intensely I thought that every single sentence has to be carved in stone and I wanted to go outside and yell it at the dreary people.
What should I say. It is a book about solitude, friendship and poetry. If you liked The Dharma Bums, Desolation Angels should follow.

I get why a lot of people don’t like this book with 1/4 of it being nonsense sortve and just not appealing to read no matter how much you understand Kerouac and his works, but the second half of the book is beautiful and all the interactions between the great beat poets in the early years such as Gregory Corso, Allen and his lover and then people like Neal and Jack makes it great fun to read. Then there’s interactions with Burroughs and other artists in other countries which is quite interesting to see as well. The beginning of this book isn’t too bad to read if you’ve read some of his other works and you understand it more but if this is the first book you’re picking up by him you will have some trouble understanding anything at all in the beginning of the book.

Like 'the Road' but a more tired kind of version taking place in your mid-30s where the drink and drugs are starting to catch up with you. Liked the contrasting figures of Old Bull (William Burroughs) the morphine junkie in Mexico City and the trying-to-stay-clean Hipster-Hating vigorous walker of Tangiers Souks and alleys.

One of those books Im pleased I continued to read though I didn't enjoy the begining... the jazzy run-on stream of consciousness turned into more of just an interesting travel narrative about a quarter way through the book.

I actually liked how Kerouac brings his beloved Mother on his Greyhound Bus travels with him near the end of the book and there is a nice little scene where the deeply religious Mother and him watch Penitents in a church in Juarez Mexico.

Jack is in northwest Washington for a fire lookout job - with no liquor or drugs! Then, when the job is done, he hitchhikes to Seattle. Then a bus to San Francisco, rucksack still in hand. And then he “…hopped that freight down to L.A. and headed for Old Mexico and a resumption of my solitude in a hovel in the city.” Then, off to NYC! And then, a boat ride across the sea to Tangiers! Over to Europe, back to the U.S., then across the country with his mom. Then back.

Well, I liked this book much more the first time I read it. This time, I just liked it okay. I don't remember Kerouac being so whiny. Even when "On the Road" is published near the end of this novel, he just seems put out. I thought I remembered this book as a fun adventure story, but this time around, it felt more like a sad man who is lost and all alone in the fame he thought he wanted.

"And on the way home he always tells the driver to stop at Cine So and So, the nearby movie house, and walks the extra block so no cabby ever knows where he lives. 'When I go across the border nobody can put the finger on me because I put the finger up my ass.'
What a strange vision, an old man walking across the border with his finger up his behind?" [p. 232]

There were many things I didn't like about this book. While "On the road" suffered from being difficult to follow at times, owing to Kerouac's stream of consciousness writing-style, it had an adventurous sense to it. In Desolation Angels, the prose is instead bordering on the lazy, and the general sense of youth and adventure I enjoyed in "On the road" was nowhere to be found.

There were parts of the book which had the potential to be fleshed out and turned into something interesting, for example Kerouac's voyage to Morocco, but due to the "action prose" it was just messy and unsatisfying to read. It took me a long time to work through Desolation Angels, principally due to the annoying prose.

The experience was not all bad however: at the beginning of the (third?) part, where he is in Mexico and is waiting for his friends, Kerouac consequently uses periods and writes surprisingly coherent sentences. This part of the book was among the most enjoyable, and definitely the most sober, since I finally had the chance to orient myself in the story. I also really appreciated the last part in which Kerouac writes about his mother. The affection and tenderness with which this part is written was really touching.

All in all, I would perhaps give it 2.5/5 but owing to how dreary it was to read, I'll opt for a 2.

Written in the spirit (a humble aspiring spirit) of the bodhisattva, this novel is resplendent with joy, sorrow, and the gentle noneffort of trying to experience that dimension of eternity that is available to us right here, right now (It is here!). 


Though tinged with a beautiful melancholy, this novel also made me laugh countless times as well as afforded me the opportunity to enjoy the joy of loving and living with the ebb and flow. 


A few favorite quotes.


THE MOON -- she come peekin over the hill like she was sneakin into the world, with big sad eyes, then she take a good look and show her no-nose and then her ocean cheeks and then her blemish jaw, and O what a round old lugu face it is, OO, and a lil twisted pathetic understanding smile for me, 


Hold still, man, regain your love of life and go down from this mountain and simply be--be--be the infinite fertilities of the one mind of infinity, make no comments, complaints, criticisms, appraisals, avowals, sayings, shootings stars of thought, just flow, flow, be you all, be you what it is, it is only what it always is -- Hope is a word like a snow drift--This is the Great Knowing, this is the Awakening, this is the Voidness-- So Shut up , live travel, adventure, bless and dont be sorry--

I found this book to be very thought provoking. The first section was particularly interesting when he was alone and isolated on the top of mountain in the state of Washington. Jack's books are all based on his experiences, and I can't imagine being a lookout on the top of a mountain, all alone and isolated for an entire month. It is here where the theme of the book is set.

The desolation angels are his troupe of famous beatniks that keep him from feeling isolated. The rest of the novel involves them traveling around California, Mexico, New York and Europe. At some point, On the Road is released and he briefly talks about the fame that he experienced.

The introduction, by Joyce Johnson, was very enlightening. She explains how she met him in New York back in the 1950s and his fascination with Buddhism. In his later years, he used Buddhism to justify his isolation from the world, which would eventually lead him to being alone and out of touch with his friends in a small house in St. Petersburg, Florida.

The book is uneven at times but there are several passages that show the true brilliance of Jack Kerouac. As a whole, I think this is an outstanding book.

"Una tristeza apacible en casa es lo mejor que podré ofrecer al mundo al final y por eso dije adiós a mis Ángeles de Desolación"

Self isolation stack cleanse book #4.

Desolation Angles has been sitting in my 'to-read' pile for a good 7 years, and I had given it a try a few times over that span, only to put it down after a handful of the short opening 'chapters.' Something about the style perhaps that kicked things off, or my memory of reading On the Road (which I did not enjoy all that much) left me thinking of this book as impenetrable. With all this time on my hands, of course, there was really no better opportunity to give this a shot.

Over time, that sense of impenetrability gave way to a pretty enjoyable rhythm. The book has some valleys, to me mostly in terms of pacing, but fortunately they do not last long - Kerouac's ability to dip into almost self-indulgent writing moods, but recognize that he is doing so and thus pull right out of them, really impressed me this time around. Naturally, reading a book with this subject matter at this specific moment in time was really interesting - I wonder if many of us will feel an ongoing sense of desolation as we re-emerge into the world bit by bit over the coming months.

I also found the timing of this personally relevant in terms of Kerouac's reflections of traveling and embracing the 'dharma bum' lifestyle towards the end of the book, at which point he seems to recognize greater value in finding a home, establishing roots, and finding peace that way. In my 20s, all I cared about (primarily) was seeing the world, meeting new people, experiencing new things - the idea of home ownership or staying in one place for too long seemed almost unnatural. Though I still want to travel and learn, I find myself aligning a bit more with Kerouac's interest in finding his own corner of the world (although, the way things are trending in the final pages of Desolation Angels, I have to wonder how long that will last). Thus I found this book extra impactful on a personal level.

Overall, this piece represents the changing attitudes of a great American novelist and face of a culture, as he questions his beliefs, place in the world, and even how his writing is going to impact a generation, for better and, as he seems to think, for worse. Moreso than On the Road did for me, I find myself interested in exploring more of Kerouac's works in the future.

This book is the best reason I can think of for anyone ever learning to read. I've spent most of it with my mouth - metaphorically - hanging open, and my heart perpetually glowing and breaking along with Kerouac's various and numerous highs and lows. Can you be in love with someone who died years before you were even a twinkle in the eye of the universe? I think so.

This is not On the Road, and On the Road is nothing by comparison. That is, if there can be any other piece of writing that could even come close to being comparable with Desolation Angels. Of course, from somewhere and someone there will be, but with the same kind of sincerity and authenticity that Kerouac delivers? I seriously doubt it. The things he sees and thinks and writes, they're gorgeous, uplifting, insane, horrific, and sometimes bleak beyond belief. But through it all there is a shocking sweetness and sometimes earnest naivety from Kerouac himself, which endears so much about the world to - I'm certain - anyone who reads it.

I still don't believe in God, but Kerouac has given me the best reasons why belief is still important, and can still be beautiful. Oh, and the temptation to hop on a train and disappear into the unknown, is a force to contend with once finished...

You know when you've just finished reading something utterly wonderful, and you feel all pretentiously gob-smacked that your brain has been irrevocably changed? My poor brain! There's no going back.

Jack-EEE Duluoz climbs the mountain, and comes down (p. 113):

"I go all the way down to First Avenue . . . I realize it's Friday Night all over America, in New York it's just ten o'clock and the fight's started in the Garden and longshoremen in North River bars are all watching the fight and drinking 20 beers apiece, and Sams are sitting in the front row . . . while I spent all summer pacing and praying in mountaintops, of rock and snow, of lost birds and bears, these people've been sucking on cigarettes and drinks and pacing and praying in their souls, too, in their own way . . ."

Love Jack, love the writing: the humility, intellect, humanity, and humor; I'm a big fan, and he inspires me. This is a great, great book. Jack is hilarious, as in the scene when Raphael (angel) confronts the mob (p. 321-322), and then the trip to Rutherford to met William Carlos Williams (p. 323), and WCW's famous parting words (p. 324), and it continues throughout the book.

poem "Old Shoe"

http://www.beatdom.com/?p=3096

poem "Shack on the Beach"

http://www.beatdom.com/?p=3109