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On the Road by Jack Kerouac |
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Book Review by Krista Benson |
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“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the skies …” |
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Jack Kerouac didn’t think that he was making literary history when he wrote these words, but he did. When he typed out these lines in the writing streak that lead to the classic “On the Road,” Kerouac was simply writing what ran through his head in a three-week writing spree, during which Kerouac did not leave his typewriter — even going so far as to make his wife bring him new shirts every few hours to replace the sweat-drenched ones. The story of a writer hitchhiking back and forth across the country — drinking too much and trying to find his own voice — “On the Road” is a blatant autobiography, as was most of Kerouac’s work. The most amazing thing about this book is the way that it can be read. When you pick up “On the Road,” you may not be that impressed with it at first — until you look up three hours later and realize that you forgot to eat dinner. Then you’ll understand. The book reads like the original manuscript that Kerouac sent his publishers — a 300-foot-long spool of paper with no page breaks and no chapters. The only reason that chapters were inserted (appearing more or less at random) is because the publishers insisted that “real books” had chapters. Another change made by Kerouac’s publishers was changing the names of characters to protect Kerouac from libel. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but when the names are those of world-renowned writers Allen Ginsberg and Neal Cassidy, it changes how the book is perceived. “On the Road” was based on the adventures of the beat writers and their friends. It makes the book even more interesting to realize that “Sal Paradise” is Kerouac, “Dean Moriarty” is Cassidy and “Carlo Marx” is Ginsberg. All of the leaders of the beat movement live on in this book. “On the Road” is one of the best books I have ever read, weaving together fact and fiction, poetry and prose. “On the Road” has the literary flow of a bedtime story a grandfather would tell his grandchild, although, in Kerouac’s case, a pretty scary grandfather. With this book, Kerouac revived the grand tradition of storytelling. When you start “On the Road,” you don’t want to stop to put the book down. There is no good stopping place, except the end. |
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