On The Road - Jack Kerouac

Ok. I’m probably going to offend the whole reading population in about… a second, so brace yourself - I hated this book.

I know. Get your stones ready. Look. I’ll even get them ready for you… see… this is a nice sharp one. I only deserve it, right?

Kerouac’s On The Road has long been hailed as one of those landmark novels that changed a generation, or, in this case, defined a generation. Which is a shame because this means that Gen ‘Beat’ was a confused drug-induced load of crap (and for some, the only response to that is “fair call”).

 

Kerouac has been recorded to say that he wrote this novel in one go. All 300 or so pages. I can’t quite remember if it was Sal Paradise, Jack Kerouac or even some random character from some other novel saying that “his blood sweat and tears” were in this novel written on a role of toilet paper. Oh wait. It was a tv show. About weed. Go figure. Either way, it explains why this novel (prepare for highly immature pun) stinks. Do you follow my drift? Is any of this making sense? Is this getting annoying? Can you see why it was so hard to read On The Road?

This one-off rant-like style of Kerouac’s writing made sure that the story sped along like that flatboard Sal rode across the North American landscape. This is all well and good until you consider how comfortable a ride would be in the back of a hillbilly ute with bad suspension, sardined in with more than enough flannel shirts that you would care to count. 

Personally, I feel that the badam badam badam that resulted was just plain annoying. Sure it excited a whole generation of Americans who were dulled down by the prim livin’ 50s, but then who wouldn’t. God. If I were them I would even be excited by a plate of that stringy I-talian food with tomato sauce.

I will give it this though - On The Road did have a sense of poetic beauty about it. It shuddered and throbbed with each fall, with each stolen article of clothing, with each stolen moment with a hot chick amongst the cotton. 

Look. I still think that this book should be read, if only to understand exactly what everyone is talking about when they mention the beats and great American roadtrip. Just remember this: Sal is the narrator, Dean is the impressionable little fucker who has dreams of greatness (and screwed up our little Sal along the way) and Marylou is his first wife. Call me retarded, but that is all I could work out. 

The End.

Tags: America, Books, Kerouac, On The Road, roadtrip, the beats