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3.27 AVERAGE
3.27 AVERAGE
I wanted to like this more, I tried reading it two or three times years ago and ended up putting it down. I decided to try the audiobook on my road trip. It didn't help, I almost hit stop several times but listened to the end.
It is a story of friendship -Sal, Dean and their friends - as they travel back and forth across the country, experiencing life in the specific time period. They have loose morals, they are somewhat stereotypical- maybe they created the stereotype. We hear this from Sal's point of view. The writing is good, but I just wasn't engaged by the story.
It is a story of friendship -Sal, Dean and their friends - as they travel back and forth across the country, experiencing life in the specific time period. They have loose morals, they are somewhat stereotypical- maybe they created the stereotype. We hear this from Sal's point of view. The writing is good, but I just wasn't engaged by the story.
adventurous
inspiring
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
dark
informative
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
adventurous
dark
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
reflective
fast-paced
Ah, who am I kidding any more? I'm not finishing this. This is the first book I've ever not finished. This is a huge thing for me. It just feels like Kerouac doesn't actually want anyone reading this book unless they're a pretentious douchebag from the 50s.
It's as if Kerouac wants to prove he's different from all the other writers by ignoring simple writing rules about paragraphing and punctuation. I can't find anything to be gained by this. It just serves to alienate anyone with concentration issues. The amount of times I had to re-read whole chunks of text to understand simple plot points. Yet despite the frantic pace implied by all the run-on sentences, lack of structure and random asides crammed into unrelated passages, the book moves at iceberg pace. I'd made it 20% in when I stopped reading and all that had happened was Sal had hitchhiked across the country and finally met up with his supposedly hedonistic and drug-fueled friends. If only. Maybe the book would've made sense if they'd all been on drugs.
Am I supposed to care about a cast of characters who think a fun night out is to stay inside and circle-jerk by spouting nonsense bullshit drivel until the sun comes up? Even Sal admits that none of them have any idea what they're talking about, so how am I supposed to know? Am I supposed to care about Dean Moriarty and share in Sal's adoration for him when he treats all the women he's dating/married to like they're pieces of meat or the time-consuming bane of his existence? Am I supposed to relate to Sal who is jobless, poor and living with his aunt and yet decides to travel the country instead of helping his aunt out and getting a job to at least pay for his cross country excursion?
I just couldn't. So this book gets to go on it's own special shelf. Maybe one day I'll be conceited enough to handle reading this. Or maybe one day I'll be able to power through a book despite not connecting or sympathising with a single character. I don't have that motivation for now. As they say, life is too short.
It's as if Kerouac wants to prove he's different from all the other writers by ignoring simple writing rules about paragraphing and punctuation. I can't find anything to be gained by this. It just serves to alienate anyone with concentration issues. The amount of times I had to re-read whole chunks of text to understand simple plot points. Yet despite the frantic pace implied by all the run-on sentences, lack of structure and random asides crammed into unrelated passages, the book moves at iceberg pace. I'd made it 20% in when I stopped reading and all that had happened was Sal had hitchhiked across the country and finally met up with his supposedly hedonistic and drug-fueled friends. If only. Maybe the book would've made sense if they'd all been on drugs.
Am I supposed to care about a cast of characters who think a fun night out is to stay inside and circle-jerk by spouting nonsense bullshit drivel until the sun comes up? Even Sal admits that none of them have any idea what they're talking about, so how am I supposed to know? Am I supposed to care about Dean Moriarty and share in Sal's adoration for him when he treats all the women he's dating/married to like they're pieces of meat or the time-consuming bane of his existence? Am I supposed to relate to Sal who is jobless, poor and living with his aunt and yet decides to travel the country instead of helping his aunt out and getting a job to at least pay for his cross country excursion?
I just couldn't. So this book gets to go on it's own special shelf. Maybe one day I'll be conceited enough to handle reading this. Or maybe one day I'll be able to power through a book despite not connecting or sympathising with a single character. I don't have that motivation for now. As they say, life is too short.
Meh. Felt like something profound was just around the corner, but it never came. Disappointing. Should have given up early on.
Just because I understand what the author was aiming for, it doesn’t mean the result was good. Not only was this book bad, but it was boring—which is why it got a one-star instead of two.
Undoubtedly, this was the worst “classic” I’ve ever read.
Undoubtedly, this was the worst “classic” I’ve ever read.
My my my, I can’t dig this enough. A gorgeous confrontation with industrialised life that leads the reader with furiously frenetic joy to encounter the possibility of a hopeful spirituality that lies beyond it and within the fabulous flaws of bare humanity and the glories of the land.