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3.76 AVERAGE
3.76 AVERAGE
So this is what started the "backpack revolution". Great. Except it was less backpacking, more Buddhism preaching. The main character (Ray?) comes across as a patronizing nutcase with his combination of drunken bumhood, Christianity, and Buddhism.
So he is a buddhist - correction: he thinks he is Buddha - and he also thinks he is a "crazy saint". He believes he can perform miracles, namely cure his mother of allergies, but then decides he won't perform miracles anymore because that will make him vain. WTF? Because him avoiding his own vanity is more important than curing people? Just a tad self-obsessed, no? One of the many, many things that make him look like an arrogant ass.
He's like that super annoying kid you travel with who thinks he is wise and you can't wait to get rid of in the next town because you KNOW his facial expression is saying that he feels sorry for you, poor you, if only you knew that everything is empty and awake! He's like Holden Caulfield with a backpack turned born-again-Buddhist (there is no such thing but that's the best way to describe it!)
Also, I hate to judge religion, BUT (actually I lie, I love judging religion) I am well familiar with zen Buddhism and I think his version of Buddhism is less Buddhist and more junky postmodernist (i.e. full of shit).
The only reason I gave this book 2 stars instead of one was because of the amazing descriptions of climbing and camping on mountains, especially chapter 33. If I had read that chapter alone I would have thought that Kerouac is the most amazing writer in the world. The rest of the book is tripe.
So he is a buddhist - correction: he thinks he is Buddha - and he also thinks he is a "crazy saint". He believes he can perform miracles, namely cure his mother of allergies, but then decides he won't perform miracles anymore because that will make him vain. WTF? Because him avoiding his own vanity is more important than curing people? Just a tad self-obsessed, no? One of the many, many things that make him look like an arrogant ass.
He's like that super annoying kid you travel with who thinks he is wise and you can't wait to get rid of in the next town because you KNOW his facial expression is saying that he feels sorry for you, poor you, if only you knew that everything is empty and awake! He's like Holden Caulfield with a backpack turned born-again-Buddhist (there is no such thing but that's the best way to describe it!)
Also, I hate to judge religion, BUT (actually I lie, I love judging religion) I am well familiar with zen Buddhism and I think his version of Buddhism is less Buddhist and more junky postmodernist (i.e. full of shit).
The only reason I gave this book 2 stars instead of one was because of the amazing descriptions of climbing and camping on mountains, especially chapter 33. If I had read that chapter alone I would have thought that Kerouac is the most amazing writer in the world. The rest of the book is tripe.
enlightenment and cirrhosis can be found at the bottom of a gallon wine jug.
i can’t go into the wine section of a grocery store and see those gallon jugs with the little loop handle without thinking of kerouac, and also that scene from parks and recreation when they drink moonshine.
i can’t go into the wine section of a grocery store and see those gallon jugs with the little loop handle without thinking of kerouac, and also that scene from parks and recreation when they drink moonshine.
It's hard to be bored when you're perplexed by something . . . but that's how I felt while reading (ok listening to) this book. There was no meaning or direction and I didn't care about the characters. I know "direction" isn't necessary for a story to be good, and the point of his story was the lack of direction . . . it just didn't work for me. It's written like a journal, which was cool, but I guess I want to be moved in some way or another. All I saw were these hippie Dharma bums (more bum than Dharma) looking for an excuse not to work and be a part of the moving world. They call each other "Bodhisattva," which got annoying, drink and smoke hash at parties that last DAYS, and sleep around with women - because I guess the only way a woman can become a Buddha is through a man - all the while going on and on about reaching enlightenment like it's a retirement plan.
Wow, I sound a little irked. Maybe there are a few Dharma bums in my own life . . .
Well done, Jack Kerouac. You've moved me. I don't like you. And I like that.
Wow, I sound a little irked. Maybe there are a few Dharma bums in my own life . . .
Well done, Jack Kerouac. You've moved me. I don't like you. And I like that.
I'd probably give it 3.5 so I was generous and rounded up. Found this to be a lot more enjoyable than "On The Road," glad I gave it a chance
I'm not sure if I should be glad that I understood this book so well or if it's a symptom of mental illness... Zip Zap cracking lightening of crystal noontime sunshine on the diamond street. I listened to the audiobook man talking the whole kit and caboodle with a rasp a wheeze. crazy rhythmic cantor time elucidatingness thoroughness of thought through vibrations inside the canyon of mind. timeless and empty. See? I can write like this too. I better see a doctor, gone daddy gone. Also, this was published in 1958 and included the phrase "The Sound of Silence" which I bet you a dime and a butterfly that the cool musical dripdrop of that phrase leeched out and sponged like mercury into the minds of Simon or Garfunkel or Jesus Buddha or the like. Crazytime. Inspiration persperationizing the Bhikku-minded hipster singer. We're all there and nowhere. Yes. No. I can't stop....help!
adventurous
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
This is one of the Beat stories that is often overlooked but definitely worth the read. Jack's autobiographical fiction is a great taste of his time exploring the great expanse of the American West through the lens of his new interest, Buddhism. Jack's mouthpiece of Ray Smith is a product of his time, and his musings are peppered with all of the stereotypes you would expect in 1958 as he sometimes shoehorns in a Buddhism-based reason for the things he was going to do anyway. As an aside, this book could easily be titled "Everything Jack Kerouac ate or wanted to eat in 1957". There are more descriptions of food and drink in this book than anything else but its mighty endearing. - Joyce A.
adventurous
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This book was okay. I don't see what all the hype is. I mean, probably back in the 60s there was reason to see what all the hype was. But now, not so much, and I know my perspective is likely skewed by time.
“A strange thing happened the next day, to illustrate the true power I had gained from these magic visions. My mother had been coughing for five days and her nose was running and now her throat was beginning to hurt so much that her coughs were painful and sounded dangerous to me. I decided to go into a deep trance and hypnotize myself, reminding myself ‘All is empty and awake.’ To investigate the cause and cure of my mother’s illness. Instantly, in my closed eyes, I saw a vision of a brandy bottle which then I saw to be ‘Heet’ rubbing medicine and on top of that, superimposed like a movie fade-in, I saw a distinct picture of little white flowers, round, with small petals. I instantly got up, it was midnight, my mother was coughing in her bed, and I went and took several bowls of bachelor’s buttons my sister had arranged around the house the week before and I set them outside. Then I took some ‘Heet’ out of the medicine cabinet and told my mother to rub it on her neck. The next day her cough was gone. Later on, after I was gone hitchhiking west, a nurse friend of ours heard the story and said ‘Yes, it sounds like an allergy to the flowers.’ During this vision and this action I knew perfectly clearly that people get sick by utilizing physical opportunities to punish themselves because of the self-regulating God nature, or Buddha nature, or Allah nature, or any name you want to give God, and everything worked automatically that way. This was my first and last ‘miracle’ because I was afraid of getting too interested in this and becoming vain. I was a little scared too, of all the responsibility.” pg. 148
On page 222, he uses the term “souped-up motor” and I didn’t know that term existed back then. I only knew it first from people who owned and talked about “rice rockets” and souping them up in the late 90’s/early 2000’s.
“Then my first sunset came and it was unbelievable. The mountains were covered with pink snow, the clouds were distant and frilly and like ancient remote cities of Buddhaland splendor, the wind worked incessantly, whish, whish, booming at times, rattling my ship. The new moon disk was prognathic and secretly funny in the pale plank of blue over the monstrous shoulders of haze that rose from Ross Lake. Sharp jags popped up from behind slopes, like childhood mountains I grayly drew. Somewhere, it seemed, a golden festival of rejoicement was taking place. In my diary I wrote, ‘Oh, I’m happy!’ In the late day peaks I saw the hope. Japhy had been right.” pg. 236
Book: taken from Kevin LP in 2009. Bathroom book.
“A strange thing happened the next day, to illustrate the true power I had gained from these magic visions. My mother had been coughing for five days and her nose was running and now her throat was beginning to hurt so much that her coughs were painful and sounded dangerous to me. I decided to go into a deep trance and hypnotize myself, reminding myself ‘All is empty and awake.’ To investigate the cause and cure of my mother’s illness. Instantly, in my closed eyes, I saw a vision of a brandy bottle which then I saw to be ‘Heet’ rubbing medicine and on top of that, superimposed like a movie fade-in, I saw a distinct picture of little white flowers, round, with small petals. I instantly got up, it was midnight, my mother was coughing in her bed, and I went and took several bowls of bachelor’s buttons my sister had arranged around the house the week before and I set them outside. Then I took some ‘Heet’ out of the medicine cabinet and told my mother to rub it on her neck. The next day her cough was gone. Later on, after I was gone hitchhiking west, a nurse friend of ours heard the story and said ‘Yes, it sounds like an allergy to the flowers.’ During this vision and this action I knew perfectly clearly that people get sick by utilizing physical opportunities to punish themselves because of the self-regulating God nature, or Buddha nature, or Allah nature, or any name you want to give God, and everything worked automatically that way. This was my first and last ‘miracle’ because I was afraid of getting too interested in this and becoming vain. I was a little scared too, of all the responsibility.” pg. 148
On page 222, he uses the term “souped-up motor” and I didn’t know that term existed back then. I only knew it first from people who owned and talked about “rice rockets” and souping them up in the late 90’s/early 2000’s.
“Then my first sunset came and it was unbelievable. The mountains were covered with pink snow, the clouds were distant and frilly and like ancient remote cities of Buddhaland splendor, the wind worked incessantly, whish, whish, booming at times, rattling my ship. The new moon disk was prognathic and secretly funny in the pale plank of blue over the monstrous shoulders of haze that rose from Ross Lake. Sharp jags popped up from behind slopes, like childhood mountains I grayly drew. Somewhere, it seemed, a golden festival of rejoicement was taking place. In my diary I wrote, ‘Oh, I’m happy!’ In the late day peaks I saw the hope. Japhy had been right.” pg. 236
Book: taken from Kevin LP in 2009. Bathroom book.