Scan barcode
hperks18's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.5
adru's review against another edition
5.0
Tegelt on siin kaks raamatut, ehkki räägitakse samast aastast, kuid pool on kirjutatud kohe (1956) ja pool viis aastat hiljem. Esimest poolt on kuidagi rusuv lugeda, sest ehkki sinna on veel meelega ägedus ja õhin sisse kirjutatud, vangutab lõpus nt Neal pead, kui märkab, et Kerouac on veini asemel viskit jooma hakanud jne ja me ju kõik teame, mis tulemas on (13 aastat veel). Teine pool on aga kui ime ja palju parem - võiks ju eeldada, et kõik on tasapisi luhta minemas, aga Kerouaci pilk on asjade suhtes selge ja sõbralik (ka halbade asjade suhtes) ja milline kirjutamissujuvus veel. Paneb kergemalt hingama.
rkade93's review against another edition
challenging
dark
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
emma_ireland's review against another edition
5.0
Desolation Angels follows on from Dharma Bums, but if you're looking for the high-on-life rush and optimism of Dharma Bums or On the Road, then you won't find it here. It's a melancholic slide into depression and rejection of the lifestyle that he brought to public consciousness. The first part details his summer as a fire lookout, and when he comes down from the mountain he does resume his old habits, but there's an air of sadness and desperation about it all this time around. It's not an easy read - the description of sex with a 14 year old prostitute in Mexico, and the pedestal he tries to hoist his mother onto are particularly cringe-inducing, and in relation to the latter there was a definite sense of him trying to justify still being (voluntarily) strangled by her apron strings at such a late stage, complete with snide remarks about his fellow writers all hating their mothers. But it's compulsive reading for anyone who has (or intends to) explored Kerouac beyond On the Road. Big Sur is next in the pile, but I don't think my soul's ready for it just yet.
buddhafish's review against another edition
4.0
72nd book of 2020.
This is my 8th Kerouac now - And though not my favourite (that is still Big Sur - review here), this is still a great read.
Desolation Angels begins again, where we are left at the end of [b:The Dharma Bums|412732|The Dharma Bums|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1428986082l/412732._SY75_.jpg|827497] - at the top of the mountain as a fire-warden. Then we traverse not only America but Mexico, Tangiers and England. The most interesting part for me was the short section in Tangiers with writer [a:William S. Burroughs|4462369|William S. Burroughs|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1459243207p2/4462369.jpg]. Neal Cassady returns too (Dean Moriarty in [b:On the Road|70401|On the Road|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1413588576l/70401._SX50_.jpg|1701188]) as Cody. So, we have many returning characters.
I have to record this short discussion between Kerouac and Burroughs, referring to the shocking nature of the images in Burroughs' work. Kerouac is speaking first.
'Why are all these young boys in white shirts being hanged in limestone caves?'
'Dont ask me - I get these messagesfrom other planets - I'm apparently some kind of agent from another planet but I havent got all my orders clearly decoded yet.'
'But why all the vile rheum - like r-h-e-u-m.'
'I'm shitting out my educated Middlewest background for once and for all. It's a matter of catharsis where I say the most horrible thing I can think of- Realise that, the most horrible dirty slimy awful niggardliest posture possible - By the time I finish this book I'll be pure as an angel, my dear. These great existential anarchists and terrorists so-called never even their own drippy fly mentioneth, dear - They should poke sticks thru their shit and analyse that for social progress.'
'But where'll all this shit get us?'
'Simply get us rid of shit, really Jack.' He whips out (it's 4 p.m.) the afternoon's aperitif cognac bottle. We both sigh to see it.
Kerouac also gives us beautiful writing, as expected, and at the end, honest and heartfelt writing about his mother. There is a lot on the internet, and in biographies, about Kerouac and his mother- how he (I'm paraphrasing some quote I remember here): 'never freed himself from her apron strings' - never could 'escape' her. He loved her 'too' much.
But anyway - I'm here for Kerouac's unwavering voice, and beautiful writing:
But how can I ever forget even madder Fall in the Skagit Valley where it would whip the silver ooing moon with slavers of cold mist, smelling of orchards, and tar rooftops with night-ink colours that smelt as rich as frankincense, woodsmoke, leafsmoke, river rain, the smell of the cold on your kneepants, the smell of doors opening, the door of Summer's opened and let in brief glee-y fall with his apple smile, behind him old sparkly winter hobbles
This is my 8th Kerouac now - And though not my favourite (that is still Big Sur - review here), this is still a great read.
Desolation Angels begins again, where we are left at the end of [b:The Dharma Bums|412732|The Dharma Bums|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1428986082l/412732._SY75_.jpg|827497] - at the top of the mountain as a fire-warden. Then we traverse not only America but Mexico, Tangiers and England. The most interesting part for me was the short section in Tangiers with writer [a:William S. Burroughs|4462369|William S. Burroughs|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1459243207p2/4462369.jpg]. Neal Cassady returns too (Dean Moriarty in [b:On the Road|70401|On the Road|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1413588576l/70401._SX50_.jpg|1701188]) as Cody. So, we have many returning characters.
I have to record this short discussion between Kerouac and Burroughs, referring to the shocking nature of the images in Burroughs' work. Kerouac is speaking first.
'Why are all these young boys in white shirts being hanged in limestone caves?'
'Dont ask me - I get these messagesfrom other planets - I'm apparently some kind of agent from another planet but I havent got all my orders clearly decoded yet.'
'But why all the vile rheum - like r-h-e-u-m.'
'I'm shitting out my educated Middlewest background for once and for all. It's a matter of catharsis where I say the most horrible thing I can think of- Realise that, the most horrible dirty slimy awful niggardliest posture possible - By the time I finish this book I'll be pure as an angel, my dear. These great existential anarchists and terrorists so-called never even their own drippy fly mentioneth, dear - They should poke sticks thru their shit and analyse that for social progress.'
'But where'll all this shit get us?'
'Simply get us rid of shit, really Jack.' He whips out (it's 4 p.m.) the afternoon's aperitif cognac bottle. We both sigh to see it.
Kerouac also gives us beautiful writing, as expected, and at the end, honest and heartfelt writing about his mother. There is a lot on the internet, and in biographies, about Kerouac and his mother- how he (I'm paraphrasing some quote I remember here): 'never freed himself from her apron strings' - never could 'escape' her. He loved her 'too' much.
But anyway - I'm here for Kerouac's unwavering voice, and beautiful writing:
But how can I ever forget even madder Fall in the Skagit Valley where it would whip the silver ooing moon with slavers of cold mist, smelling of orchards, and tar rooftops with night-ink colours that smelt as rich as frankincense, woodsmoke, leafsmoke, river rain, the smell of the cold on your kneepants, the smell of doors opening, the door of Summer's opened and let in brief glee-y fall with his apple smile, behind him old sparkly winter hobbles
More...