I read this book today to celebrate Ti Jean's eighty-ninth birthday and to say "thank you" to the first guy who really inspired me to write.

"Big Sur" is a roman a clef, an all-too-true story of a man haunted by the wrong kind of fame. Our tale opens in 1960. "On the Road" has hit disenfranchised post-war American youth like a tsunami of lava and all of a sudden newspaper reporters and misguided opportunists want to pigeonhole its author, our hero, as a long-haired twenty-year old king beatnik. But in reality Jack Kerouac’s footloose days are over. At this point in his life he's nearly forty years old, living with his elderly mother, and trying to just get some privacy so he can write. He tries to cope with the stress of fame by crawling down the neck of a bottle. Disaster ensues.

Jack decides to get the hell out of Dodge. He figures that maybe he can run away from his problems, at least for awhile. He'll hit the road one last time. He'll come out to the West Coast to try and sober up once and for all in an isolated cabin on the beaches of California. Alas. To no avail. He falls off the wagon, and he falls off hard.

Jack rapidly descends into an alcoholic’s hell, dragging several friends with him. The book describes in detail the horrors of Kerouac’s delirium tremens. Jack gets the whiskey shakes and suffers from all-night Bosch-like hallucinations that climax in a vision of the glowing cross of Christ.
___

I originally read “Big Sur” in high school. That is, I read half of it before giving up. I thought at the time that the book had no real plot or conflict or structure. It resembled a long journal entry. But when I read “Sur” this time I was aware of more tension boiling under the surface than I remembered (Man vs. Himself, Man vs. Nature, Buddhism vs. Christianity vs. guilt, etc.), and even foreshadowing and symbolism. “Sur” is not a poorly-punctuated two-hundred page rant. It’s a novel, god damn it. And a decent one at that.

I found that reading it all in one sitting was the way to go. If you are able to do so, I recommend reading "Big Sur" quickly. Like a painting with pointillism, if you stare to hard at the composition it'll make your head swim. But if you allow your eyes to quickly scan the surface your brain will assemble all of the apparently disjointed blobs of color into a cohesive whole.

“Big Sur.” Not my favorite Kerouac book, or even my second favorite one, but a good one nonetheless.

Happy birthday, big guy. I miss you. We all miss you.

I almost feel bad for Kerouac as portrayed in this autobiographical "novel". I think he's going for the whole "I made something everyone loved and I became rich and famous because of it, but now I don't know what else to write and everyone wants a piece of me because they think I'm some bigshot beatnik but I know I'm not" narrative, and he doesn't necessarily miss the mark. I was occasionally sympathetic to his situation while reading Big Sur. But the book largely comes across as the drunken ramblings of an entitled (entitled to what, I don't know, and I'm not sure Kerouac knows, either) alcoholic. He spends the entire novel drunk, with his friends rotating in and out of frame seemingly randomly. And he spends 95% of the novel talking about the "thing that happened" that he's going to "tell you about really soon"; the "thing" ends up being a semi-religious pseudo-revelation that... the world is good? People are good? I'm still not clear what conclusion he came to after that final night at the cabin. At any rate, I didn't get the impression that he had actually learned or changed in any significant way, but rather that his perpetual hangover finally caught up with him, and the ensuing paranoid delirium caused him to feel reborn or something.

Paradoxically, Kerouac's style of writing makes Big Sur both a quick read and a difficult read. I appreciate the stream-of-consciousness aspect of the writing - I feel it's an apt method of telling this story because it mirrors the actual content. But it also had me rereading the beginnings of paragraphs to remember what was going on.

Mostly, Kerouac comes across as a self-centered mope, and his plight isn't all that intriguing. Billie even calls him out on this near the end of the book, although she qualifies it by immediately adding, "I know you can't help it," which I can't imagine is true. Kerouac has that unattractive quality of thinking he's more worthwhile than he actually is - this is made apparent by his choosing to include the "Sounds of the Pacific Ocean at Big Sur" "poem" at the end of the book. The poem is not only unnecessary, it's basically unintelligible. Even more ridiculous is that in the novel, when he talks about writing the poem, he includes a footnote letting readers know he's included the poem at the end of the book. Kerouac is basically the beatnik version of a YouTube personality who reminds you to "check out my other videos, and don't forget to subscribe!".

Interesting writing style, a neat blend of autobiography and novel, but you have to put up with a famous drunk crying about his life for a couple hundred pages.

Kerouac’s growing following is contrasted humorously with his disillusionment and alcoholism.

ვიტყვი, აღარ დავწერო რივიუები-მეთქი მაგრამ ჰოპ, გაიჩითება ისეთი წიგნი რომ რა ვქნა, უნდა დავწერო :დ

კერუაკის და საერთოდ ბიტნიკების გაცნობა on the road-ით დავიწყე (“გზაზე” ვერ ჩავსვი სწორ ფორმაში, გზაზეთი?! მოკლედ, ინგლისურად მარტივია). ჰოდა, არც თუ მაინცდამაინც აღფრთოვანებული დავრჩენილვარ. ხისტი, მშრალი უწყვეტი თხრობა. რატომღაც მეტ პოეზიას, მეტ ფილოსოფიას ველოდი, მაგრამ თავად გზის იდეამ და გზის რწმენამ კი შემიპყრო, ვაღიარებ. საინტერესო კი ისაა, რაღაც პერიოდის მერე ერთ წიგნში ეპიზოდურად დაადგა პერსონაჟი გზას და უცებ ისეთმა ნოსტალგიამ და ისეთმა ჟინმა შემიპყრო, რომ კვლავ წამეკითხა, რამე ბიტნიკური და კერუაკისეული რომ მართლა ლომკა დამეწყო.

ჰოდა, მივადექი “დჰარმის მაწანწალებს”. უჰ, ეგ უკვე ძაან გამისწორდა. რაც on the road-ში დამაკლდა თითქოს (გზაზეში?!) აქ უკვე სავსე იყო. ულამაზესი წიგნია, თავისი უმიზნო ხეტიალით, პოეზიით, ტყის ჰაერით, ვარსკვლავებით, ბუდიზმით... მოკლედ, უკვე ნელ-ნელა შემოიპარა ჩემს ცხოვრებაში კერუაკი და ფესვებს იდგამდა.

და ახლა კიდევ “დიდი სური”! ახლაც ლომკა მქონდა გზის და მივადექი კიდევ ერთ დიდ წიგნს კერუაკისას. ამ წიგნში უკვე კერუაკი ბიტნიკების მეფეა, უკვე გადაღლილია პოპულარობით, სმით, ღრეობებით და მიდის დიდი სურში განმარტოებისთვის. მისი ბოლო გზაზე გასვლაც კია აღწერილი. ცოტათი გული მწყდებოდა, ასეთ კერუაკს რომ ვხედავდი. მასაც სწყდებოდა გული. გზაზე რომ იდგა და დიდი შავი ჯიპებით ჩაუვლიდნენ, არავინ უჩერებდა. ახლა ყველას უკვე ხომ ტურისტული სააგენტოები მართავენ, მათ ყველაფერი გაწერილი აქვთ, რომელ საათზე სად და როგორ უნდა იყვნენ, უცნობი ადამიანის ჩასმაზე ხომ საუბარი ზედმეტია. და ცოლები, ოჰ, ცოლები, რომლებიც უკან სხედან და საჭეს იქედან მართავენ მკაცრი დიქტატორებივით. ჰოდა, ფეხებდასისხლიანებული ივლის ცხელ ასფალტზე ჩვენი კერუაკი, უკვე ჭაღარაშერეული. მაგრამ მთლად ასეც არაა, ის ბიტნიკური სული მაინც არ ტოვებს კერუაკს და მალევე დიდ სურს ისევ ღრეობის, სმის, ნარკოტიკების ბუდედ აქცევს, მაგრამ აშკარად უკვე გადაღლილია. და ჰო, კიდევ პერსონაჟები, კესიდი (ღმერთო, ეს გადარეული მორიარტი როგორ მომნატრებია), ბეროუზი, გინგსბერგი...

მოკლედ, ერთ დღესაც, მართლა, მეც ავდგები და გზას დავადგები, უბრალოდ ვიწამებ გზის და ვეცდები, რაც შეიძლება მალე მოვიშორო კისრიდან ჰალსტუხ-ჯაჭვის ნაიარევი, მანამდე კი გავაგრძელებ საზიზღარი იურიდიულის ლიტერატურის კითხვას. ჩემი გჯერაა?!

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

This is one of Jack Kerouac's fictional autobiographies, where he is Jack Duluoz. In this novel, Duluoz is a popular author dealing with alcoholism. He is not handling fame well, and decides to get away from the public by taking a trip to Big Sur. Ultimately, the story is leading to his breakdown.

I have read a few other Kerouac novels, and this one is my favorite. I enjoyed his writing more, and the story was real and honest.

"کل حرف‌هایم ناگهان ورور می‌شود طوری که معنا حتا یک دقیقه پابرجا نمی‌ماند."
از صفحه ۲۳۴ کتاب

بیگ‌سور، چنین چیزی است.
نویسنده‌ای که با ذهن بی‌قرار و وحشی‌اش، هر آنچه که در لحظه به ذهنش می‌آید را می‌نویسد، بسطش می‌دهد یا نمی‌دهد، به موضوعی دیگر می‌پردازد، لا‌به‌لای افکار مشوشش گم می‌شود، قواعد مرسوم جمله‌بندی و نوشتار رسمی را به سخره می‌گیرد، جاهایی به شعر نزدیک می‌شود و جاهایی به متن، ارجاعات فراوان به کتاب‌های دیگرش می‌دهد و هر چه پیش می‌رود فضا را دیوانه‌وارتر ترسیم می‌کند.
مواجهه اولیه با این زبان و نوشتار خود‌به‌خودی مشکل است اما به تدریج و با پیشرفت کتاب و فهم و پذیرش قاعده‌ای(در واقع ضدقاعده یا شاید هم بی‌قاعده) که نویسنده تعیین کرده، گرفتار انبوه سیلاب کلمات و توصیفات بی‌پایان او خواهید شد.
از آن جنس گرفتاری‌هایی که هر لحظه بیشتر می‌شود و هر گونه تلاش و دست و پا زدنی برای رهایی از آن سخت‌تر خواهد شد. شاید هم از جایی به بعد دیگر نیازی به رها شدن حس نشود چرا که کیف مبسوطی که در جست‌وجوی آن بودید همین‌جا و در لا‌به‌لای کلمات و تعبیرات نفس‌گیر کرواک پنهان شده است.

"E um pássaro que se encontrava num ramo retorcido desapareceu de repente sem que eu chegasse sequer a ouvi-lo cantar." Sublime, caótico e maníaco. Os acontecimentos que levaram Jack à loucura no Big Sur, vão ficar para sempre na minha memória como os mais frenéticos e sórdidos momentos que tive o prazer de conhecer. Big Sur é delicioso e magistral!

Well, this book starts off quite interestingly, with Kerouac apparently aiming to write his own version of Henry David Thoreau's Walden. Quite intriguing, I thought. He is also funny and sardonic about the success of On the Road and the experience of becoming a cult figure among teenagers when he was actually approaching forty! However, at some point not too far into this book, he lapses back into his On the Road persona, interspersing accounts of car journeys with accounts of drinking bouts and generally disappearing up his own backside whenever he thinks he's being philosophical. While his friend Cody has settled down with a family and a job, Kerouac is trying to recapture their youthful enthusiasm for bumming around and talking shite. It's all a bit sad, really. You can see how it came about that Kerouac finally drank himself to death because, although he exhibits the stylistic potential to become a great writer, he unfortunately doesn't have anything to say.
That sounds harsh. But a few interesting ideas and a handful of brilliant sentences do not a novel make. :(

This is Jack Kerouac's novel where he was basically catatonic and spending his time drinking in the bathtub. But I still liked this, although I don't remember it very well. It also got me into the habit of reading in the bathtub, (he reads a lot in the bathtub in the novel itself, when he isn't drinking) which is something I still do from time to time. No, I'm not afraid of dropping the book in the water. I'm willing to take that chance.

Jack Kerouac you are worthless

Διαβάζω συνέχεια κριτικές για πολλές και φλύαρες σελίδες που δεν προσφέρουν τίποτα σε αυτό το βιβλίο. Δεκτό. Παρόλα αυτά, αυτό το βιβλίο του Κέρουακ είναι -και θα πρέπει να θεωρηθεί- ένας χείμαρρος, και όπως όλοι οι χείμαρροι εκτός από το νερό παρασέρνουν στο διάβα τους οτιδήποτε. Το μπικ σερ είναι η πτώση του βασιλιά -της μπιτ όπως τον αποκαλούσαν. Ο επίλογος, η κατρακύλα. Είναι το τέλος που αρμόζει στον μοναχικό ταξιδιώτη, το μικρό Ζαν. Είναι ένα βιβλίο τόσο όμορφο και αληθινό, γεμάτο υπερβολές και παράνοια. Είναι ότι ήταν και η μπιτ γενιά.

Crying. Unsure why.