Rich (9/26) On The Road by Jack Kerouac.
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Or, are these the real men and women and the rest of us slaves to our own need for security and order? Kerouac seems to think so and simultaneously romanticizes the penniless wanderer for his uninhibited passion and condemns him for being self-absorbed and unable to care about anybody but himself. This tragic hero never fails to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, but can never find peace. It is the curse of being halfway enlightened to spurn the futile pursuits of the working stiff, yet be unable to obtain any greater goal. This was the red pill/blue pill choice of the 1950s, and this was the book that inspired many to live out their dreams. Fifty years later, the questions are still unanswered, and the choices equally unclear.
2 Comments:
Great review, as always.
Travel books are easier and more fun for me to read than novels. I think I prefer representative anecdotes much more so than well-spun stories.
"On the Road" is definitely not a travel book; it's a novel in much the same way "Huckleberry Finn" is a novel and not a travel book. One of the critics summarized on the back of the book compared this "On the Road" to "Huck Finn."
I hesistated a long time before reading this book. It had sat on my list of books to read for over 3 years (though, honestly, this is the case for many books). And, just as I feared, I didn't relate to it much. I think of it as a parallel to "the Great Gatsby," another novel with which I didn't identify.
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