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What a sweet book about a young girl's experiences with her family. This book was nothing like what I expected. Thinking it was going to be about life in a coal mine city created reading this an unexpected pleasure.
Offroad trucker crazy street is a amazing android game with Concept and purpose, extreme adventurous android game with risky storms and other riddles to go pass through them and be a more successful player of this game, I'm playing and loving it now a days and you would too!
At $2.99 for the Kindle ver of "The Street to Missanabie: and other motorcycle street tales". I can't imagine any enthusiast not pushing the button and adding this book to their library."The Road" created me smile as it triggered memories of rides I've done. Nick writes a warm & friendly style as if you were sitting with him over a favored beverage sharing reasons you rode.
The appeal of these stories is that of riders and bikes, hills and lakes, curves and canyons. Who would not wish to ride there? Most of us will never obtain that chance, but the adventure can be enjoyed because it was shared.
Had reservations about this story but it became interesting and engaging quickly.Anyone who love bikes or the thrill of adventure will relate to these stories, written with enough detail to engage the reader almost as if the reader was travelling with the author.A amazing read, light, yet engaging, never boring.
When Kerouac's main literary achievement was published, about 50 y ago, I was too young to take notice. 10 y later, when I was old enough, and the book had become a modern cult classic, I did not have the confidence to say that I did not see how it was so great. I did not manage to read it en there was a 30 y gap. In the 90s, my favorite German weekly, the venerable Die Zeit, had a group of people show and introduce their 'life time book', or all time favorite book. One of them recommended On The Road. I tried for a second time, this time an untranslated pocket book edition, and got solidly bored before reaching half en latest year, LoA brought out an edition of JK's street novels. Being a loyal fetishist of the series, I bought it and place it next to the other guys with en latest week, one of my regular everyday papers, the South China Morning Post, reviewed the book in a 'rewind' review series. They said, people who revisit it usually like it less than then. Not a amazing en one of my AFs reviewed the Dharma Bums, 5 stars. That rattled me and I started On the Street for the 3rd I have nearly finished and am still baffled. What was so amazing about it? It must have been a unique cultural constellation that called for this kind of writing. SCMP writes that Capote (whom I do not respect very much) created the intelligent statement, that JK's production is not writing but typing. ere is no plot, just a slightly camouflaged re-telling of happenings concerning some bumming, hitchhiking, boozing, partying, girl chasing etc. What for? There is small diaologue worth praising, no 'story', no poetry, no thought apart from some shallow digressions, no humour (the cover of LoA talks about funny parts; where are they?), no wisdom, no mebody with no personality, but the nice pseudonym Sal Paradise, meets other equally empty characters. They do things without true reasons.What we obtain are trivia written in schoolboy terminology.Whooee, this narrator tells his soul. What depth! What desert and nothingness!And yet... Some fragments here and there... The jazz scenes, with Shearing in Fresh York; with Bop musicians in Chicago...Some fragments of travel are there... Fragments of portraits, eg of W. Burroughs... Some fragments of flimsy spirituality. Some drug l in all, the narration picks up about half method through. The happenings are less arbitrary. There is more of the portrait of the holy con man, the mate Moriarty. I wonder what I would have said if the book started half method thorugh and skipped the first two parts! I might have liked it!
OK, I tried to read this several times with no luck. It is quite possibly the most boring non-story ever committed to paper. There is no plot, no story, no sympathetic (or otherwise engaging) characters, no compelling reason whatever to read this book. It is essentially a rambling tome about the author and his acquaintances drinking, traveling, talking...it's banality is absolutely stultifying. Yeah, yeah, I have heard all of the claptrap about how it broke fresh ground and the rest of the bloated claims, but in the final analysis, it is a boring book with no story to tell and nothing to recommend it. It is far more interesting as some symbol to a lost generation than a book. Buy it if you feel that you need some hip, pseudo intellectual credentials on your mantle, but spare yourself the agony of actually trying to read it.
There once was an emperor who ruled over a amazing kingdom. One day, two tailors/book salesmen came to visit him. They told him about this glorious fresh novella "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. They told him it was a barometer try for whether or not a person was intelligent. Anyone who liked "On the Road" was a genius, and anyone who disliked it a buffoon. Eager to prove how intelligent he was, the emperor quickly read the novella. When he was finished, he realized he was an idiot. Rather than being brilliant, he found the book to be a collection of insane ramblings and occurances that could only be interesting to Kerouac himself. It was about a man on a find for truth and meaning in the world, but he went about this by getting drunk and pretending that he liked not good people. However, when he saw real not good people in Mexico, he thought about how not good it would be to be them. This created no sense. The philosophy for a better life was more vapid and meaningless than the life Sal was leading before Dean came around. Rather than changing the emperor's life, it created him long to have 4 hours of his life back. However, he was afraid to look like an idiot, and told the salesmen that it was the best book he had ever read. They were delighted, and told him he qualified for a unique fabric...one that was invisible to everyone except those who loved "On the Road". The emperor couldn't see the fabric, but eagerly bought it. He then arranged for a public reading of "On the Road", and told the townspeople how only smart people liked the novella. The people all lined up to hear the reading. They thought the book was nonsense, but were afraid to say so. They pretended that the work was life altering, and that their ruler was actually clothed. Finally, a brave small boy in a tree shouted "This makes no sense. Dean isn't Jesus, he's a raging lunatic, and Sal isn't a disciple, he's just a fool. More importantly, why are you naked?"
The continent "groans" again and e night is too often "sad," the cities are "mad" or "wild" and "sad" some more. Fresh York is the "edge of the continent," and San Francisco, too and sometimes they're the "rim of the world," or some related allusion.Jack Kerouac and his friends, hanging outside Fresh York City's Harmony Bar, would be considered drunks and losers by the standards of most. The author's muse and messiah, Neal Cassady, is a fellow too easily distracted, undisciplined and, by today's measurements, a candidate for depression the recently released "scroll" ver of "On the Road," Cassady's criminal bent and complete disregard for his friends' concerns or the safety of strangers are drawn in much starker contrast than they are in the (we now know for sure) much toned-down Viking Press ver of the 1950s.But it works and wonderfully so.Whatever the private flaws of the roadgoers, and they are multiple, whatever the prosodic sins of their faithful secretary Jack, equally numerous, The Scroll is blessed with energy and truth and dynamism, a beatific rhythm and sound that keep up, even though 50 years on we've read it all before.But where what was once novel becomes cliché with the passing of time, The Scroll takes on enhanced value as snapshot of a country e Scroll includes a hundred pages more than the edited "On the Road," and that's a lot of adventure and resulting ruminations, as Kerouac takes us to Denver and San Francisco, and back out to Fresh York and down to North Carolina, back up again, and then down through Louisiana back up to San Francisco, Fresh York again and finally through Texas to damp and sexy San Antonio before shooting through "biblical" Mexico, now gone, too.Even the "normal" people in this frantic tome, those with wives and jobs they stick with are not like us anymore, working on ships and in factories as they do, residing in company towns and town e Scroll is a sweeping panorama of America and of thought beaten out on teletype paper by a guy on speed; maybe drug speed, maybe coffee, but probably something else that burned out of Kerouac like massive kerosene and which caused his death when the latest vapors rose from his being and poofed into the dusty has politics without the jeremiads and program points, just whole manifestoes in a masterful word-stroke such as "sullen unions," a flavor and entire reality nailed to the mind's wall."The American police are involved in psychological warfare versus those Americans who don't frighten them with imposing papers and threats. There's no defense. Not good people have their lives interfered with ad infinitum by these neurotic busybodies. It's a Victorian police force; it peers out of musty windows and wants to inquire about everything, and can create crimes if the crimes don't exist to their satisfaction."It is loving landscape portraiture as in this passage laid down about Neal, his "whore wife" Luanne (meant here as flattery), and Jack's departure from Fresh Orleans:"Port Allen -- Not good Allen -- where the river's all rain and roses in a misty pinpoint darkness and where we swung around a circular drive in yellow foglight and suddenly saw the amazing black body below a bridge and crossed eternity again. What is the Mississippi River -- a washed clod in the rainy night, a soft plopping from drooping Missouri banks, a dissolving, a riding of the tide down the eternal waterbed, a contribution to brown foams, a voyaging past endless vales and trees and levees down, down along, down along, by Memphis, Greenville, Eudora, Vicksburg, Natchez, Port Allen, and Port Orleans and Point of the Deltas, by Venice and the Night's Amazing Gulf out. So the stars shine warm in the Gulf of Mexico at night. From the soft and thunderous Carib comes electricity, and from the continental Divide where rain and rivers are decided come swirls, and the small raindrop that in Dakota fell and gathered mud and roses rises resurrected from the sea and flies on back to go and bloom again in waving mells of the Mississippi's bed, and lives again."The passage lies almost exactly at the book's midpoint; stands as powerful backbone to all the word swirling before and after, a fine spine, like the Mississippi in its marriage with the landscape.Everywhere lively applications, symbols, poetry pulled from the very map that is America, multiple magic in Missouri and Mississippi, no invention with Port Orleans and Point of the Deltas, by Potash, and Venice, just the natural ordering of an evident and obvious song about the land itself.Early on in this passage the prose become unnecessary, the point made, ripe for a Sixth Avenue editor's pen. But gripped by the author's sweaty hand, we are yanked along, pointed here and there on the keyboard toward ecstatic websites he has taken the time to see for n the Carib be both soft and thunderous? Does the oscillation between them create electricity? On paper it does. Is there such a thing as a mell or does his lazy resort to something that sings create it go down so much easier, and isn't that part of the job?Mell is a swell on the Mississippi and we know that, even if we didn't is not simple to sift through all the postmodern swill that has come after and still be awed at the pure audacity of Kerouac; the audacity to create up words, to appear at his Fresh York editor's office sweating and stinking of chemical ooze with a manuscript written on 120 feet of rolled paper demanding respect of The Scroll as if it were plumbed from Dead Sea goes it with the aspiring philosopher whom, even if he is a bum, still philosophizes for all of us and not just for those of high brow and intentions:"death will overtake us before heaven. The one thing that we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced -- tho we hate to admit it -- in death. But who wants to die. More of this later."Beyond bum philosophy or travel writing The Scroll renders social commentary still relevant today:"On the sidewalk characters swarmed. Everybody was looking at everybody else. It was the end of the continent no more land. Somebody had tipped America like a pinball machine and all the goofballs had come rolling to LA in the southwest corner. I cried for all of us. There was no end to the American sadness and the American madness. Someday we'll all begin laughing and roll on the ground when we realize how funny it's been. Until then there is a lugubrious seriousness I love in all of this."There's that "end of the continent" bit while "sadness and madness" appear elsewhere in a vignette of Kerouac's entitled "October In the Railroad Earth," as "end of the land sadness end of the land gladness" not precisely alike, but essentially the same literary t if you're hip to all of this, if you can dig it and know time, then it's not lack of imagination so much as your favorite band playing the same songs at a second show. And Kerouac likened his writing to "blowing," which is what the trumpeters and saxophoners of his time did, in fact, do.And then there's Neal; stripped of Dean Moriarity's mask and draped in a legend Cassady came to embody for three generations of misspent youths, stealing four vehicles at a roadhouse party outside Denver, denied entry into the homes of kith and kin alike, boy to his father's bum and disappeared dad, wrangler, brakeman, seducer of everybody else's girlfriends (and boyfriends), absentee father ys "Naked Lunch" author William Burroughs of Cassady when they visit him in the Louisiana swamps, "He seems to be headed for his ideal fate, which is compulsive psychosis dashed with a jigger of psychopathic irresponsibility and violence."Pretty intelligent fellow Bill Burroughs, as were they all, in spite of their nasty ssady floats free of all preconceived notions regarding expected behavior, free of the bars others attempt to bind him with through holy judgments...part-time N.Y. hipster and satisfied pervert to Kerouac's ambiguous French-Catholic curiosities."He lived with Diane in a coldwater flat in the East Seventies. When he came home at night he took off all his clothes and place on a hiplength Chinese silk jacket and sat in his simple chair to smoke a waterpipe loaded with tea. These were his coming-home pleasures: together with a deck of dirty cards. 'Lately I've been concentrating on this deuce of diamonds. Have you noticed where her other hand is? I'll bet you can't tell. Look long and test to see.' He wanted to lend me this deuce of diamonds, which depicted a tall mournful fellow and a lascivious sad whore on a bed trying a position. 'Go ahead man, I've used it a lot of times!'"Drunken romantics bound early to your graves. Who should purchase your peddlings? A dank Detroit theater is no palace at 4 a.m. and an alley is an alley is an alley in the crappy part of a marginal Texas town. Or is it? Throwing down your challenge, your example was enjoyment. "Man can you dig the beauty and kicks!""We wandered out and negotiated several dark mysterious blocks. Innumerable houses hid behind verdant almost jungle-like yards we saw glimpses of girls in front rooms, girls on porches, girls in the bushes with boys. "I never knew this angry San Antonio! Think what Mexico'll be like. Lessgo! Lessgo!"Yet for all its ebullience, "On the Road" is but a marginally successful find for joy that, at bottom, asserts something is not right in these sojourners nor in the America which spawned them."Looking at snapshots of Cassady's children," Kerouac writes, "I realized these were all the snapshots which our kids would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth and well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness of the riot, or our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road. Juices inform the world, kids never know."Nightmare and dream sit on various sides of the same coin and to know one, you must be familiar with the e extension of the Mexico trip, trimmed to a classical dénouement in the edited version, renders the American break with an organic globe wrought by the huge bomb drops on is mentioned vaguely, as if to do so more emphatically might conjure another nuclear massacre, but in this passage we hear it and understand that, for all their rebellion and dissociation, the roadgoers are tainted by meal from the same poisoned factory e indigenous peoples they saw, "knew who was the father and who was the son of antique life on earth, and created no comment. For when destruction comes to the globe people will stare with the same eyes from the caves of Mexico as well as from the caves of Bali, where it all began and where Adam was suckled and taught to know."Jack and Neal and the third wheel rolling with them are no heroes. They are vehicle escapees from the psychic slaughter unleashed in their homeland, a sudden clanking folly from America with its three broken bozos inside. And the choice has been the same for half a century now: to be with them or versus them.Lead the method you lost and lonely bozos.
Even more boring than the original published editions. Everyone who met Jack was relieved when he moved on. He was a rude ignorant boring drunk and his experiences of trying to decide which U.S. street to take are just not readable. The writing is crude and the b.s. with people trying to create the "beat" generation somehow admirable is a mystery. The humdrum experiences of a loser are not entertaining or even mildly interesting so what generates all the hype? He had no concept of love except perhaps for himself and even that is weak. Not even a dog much less a true human love affair. Much of his attempts to stay "straight" and not present the true "closet" Jack are what generates all the faux sex stories. Whining that he is lonely while his mum and wife are somewhere else begs the question as to why are they someplace else???The "Beat" generation is a fake and very artificial idea. A little number of people acting out failed lives while most people were struggling to do something positive with their lives. I see current day homeless with more entertaining stories than this and they are often considered mental. (But they have cell phones so I often wonder who they talk to?)I love the hype about the endless typing paper taped together. People who buy this don't know much about typewriters of that era. My take is the taping was done after the typing of individual ggest reading it will be an perfect choice for insomniacs.drlee
So I finally sat down and read "the legend," the book that has shaped the minds and lives of millions of artistes and pseudo-intellectuals over the past 50 years. Going into "On the Road," I assumed a book so legendary could only be one of two things: it was either going to be a five-star masterpiece, a life-changing book of indescribable beauty---or it was going to be a disaster, a wreck of over-wrought, pointless ramblings.I wasn't expecting it to be both at the same can I describe "On the Road"? Have you ever been to a party where everyone is drinking and getting high, smoking weed and maybe doing a few other illicit drugs, and you're the only sober person? Do you remember how wildly entertaining all the other chemically-altered people are, how funny and silly and strange they are that first hour? And do you remember how, in the second hour or so, they started seeming less and less funny, and indeed even started to obtain on your nerves a little? And how, after two or three hours, you couldn't support but be thoroughly irritated at how LAME and STUPID everyone is, and GOD why didn't they realize it? That, in a nutshell, is "On the Road."There's no point to this novel, beatniks be damned. It's just a series of stories about Sal Paradise (aka Jack Kerouac) and his journeys back and forth across the country with assorted friends, primarily his best mate Dean Moriarty (aka Neal Cassady). The characters never develop, they're the same people at the end of the book they are in the beginning, and no "goals" or "achievements" are ever realized (primarily because few are ever set). Indeed, there are a few passages where Kerouac almost seems to be needling the beat generation this novel both named and inspired. There are moments where he tips at how pointless and silly the characters' lives are, but never really delves too far into that e psychology behind the book is interesting, to me. There's more than a tip of self-loathing in some of the passages, and the method Sal Paradise self-sabotages his private relationships is kind of sad (particularly his relationship with Teresa in the California farmlands). He is not a suave character, and has a knack for innocently saying exactly the wrong l's idolatry of Dean is fascinating, too. Dean is a free-spirit, yes, but he's also basically a scum-bag: a serial philanderer, he stays with women only long enough to knock them up and begin cheating on them. In one stage he seems particularly okay with the idea of smashing some guy on the head and stealing his money, and there are several parts in the book that display a latent pedophilia, his fascination with girls as young as nine, ten or eleven and his mates warning him not to touch them. Dean is portrayed both as a well-hung lout who can bed a woman in the time it takes most men to utter a pick-up line, but also as a "deep-thinker" fascinated with the mystical and unexplainable. He comes off, intentionally, as a madman, and his psychosis only seems to deepen as the novel progresses. But Sal's narrator-voice continuously paints him in adoring, nearly religious tones, referring to him as a metaphorical seraphim and even, one time, e book is at its finest when it is dealing with people OTHER than the main characters in Sal's life. Passages dealing with the random people Sal encounters on the streets across America are the most brilliant in the book. These mini-portraits of Americana are terrific writing, aided greatly by Kerouac's skill with metaphors which he unrolls in long, unforced, breathless takes. Kerouac's writing style is quite good, and when he's observing the lives of these strangers the novel is a breezy, simple read. Unfortunately, he's far too enthralled with his friends---sad, directionless friends, one-trick-ponies who never change and whose actions become predictable by their very unpredictability---and by the end of the novel you're left wishing everyone would've just sobered up and gone home.
Published in 1957, this autobiographical novel by Jack Kerouac captured the spirit that was seething underneath 1950s conformity. Myth has it that he typed it non-stop for three weeks, using one long continuous sheet of paper. I understand it went through several drafts after that but it still holds the immediacy of that marathon typing session, the staccato rhythm of the words creating improvised rhythm across the page with little, if any e narrator, Sal Paradise, is on an epic quest, one that takes him back and forth across the country with Dean Moriarity who is based on the real-life Neal Cassady. Dean, the reform school escapee who specializes in stealing cars, is Sal's mentor. And it is the automobile that is their chariot, which keeps them constantly in motion. Dean's madness is glorified, as is his ability to do whatever he pleases. There are a lot of drugs in the book, but liquor seems to be their drug of choice. They leave the heroin for a hero loosely based on the true William Burroughs. Women drift in and out of the story, usually as one of Dean's lovers who he treats terribly. Dean treats everyone terribly though, abandoning Sal on several occasions, once while Sal was suffering from dysentery while they were in Mexico. Sal, however, always forgives Dean, seeing him as a god-like hero, no matter what he ere's more to the book than the story though. The book is a trip, in every sense of the word. With the easy force of his writing, Kerouac took me on an adventure. With him I crisscrossed America, hitchhiking, walking, taking buses. With him I sat in a vehicle driven by Dean Moriarity, speeding for hours at 110 miles an hour and not even thinking about a seatbelt. I met the pathetic women who loved Dean and didn't feel a bit sorry for them. I felt the quest in Dean's heart for his hobo father who he constantly searches for. And, I experienced the jazz, felt the heat and smelled the sweat in the a lot of little bars, felt my head reel from the whisky and the sound all around me, stayed awake all night listening to sounds and being alone with the melody in a room full of people. Yes, I felt I was there with the travelers, enjoying vicariously the thrills and the chills and knowing this would be my only entry into that world. Jack Kerouac eventually became an alcoholic and died an early death, but I'm personally grateful for this book he left behind and the experience of reading it. Highly recommended.
I just dont see what the huge deal about this one is. It is incredibly boring. I wanted to like it too. I tried to like it. But a "[email protected]#$%!ch-hike around the U.S., obtain drunk, etc." book just didnt end up doing it for me. And thats all this book really is. Back and forth across the U.S., same parties and stories over and over. I forced myself to obtain 2/3's of the method through before I gave up. There was nothing fresh in this book even when it was first published. Everyone knew about lovable losers and drifters and had for decades before this book was written.
On the Street is the kind of novel that makes you sorry the author is dead---because you'd like to slay him yourself. It is an endlessly maudlin, corrupt, and amoral tale that spins in tiresome circles with no point, no plot, no progression, and no pity (for the reader, that is). The story chronicles the friendship---no, the morbid affinity---of Sal Paradise, a fatherless, aimless, brainless writer, and Dean Moriarty, a younger but more accomplished reprobate and profligate, as they embark on series of reckless, misdemeanor-laden, cross-country street trips between Fresh York, Fresh Orleans, Denver, Los Angeles, and Mexico City. To hear Kerouac tell it, the entire American heartland is a barren plateau whose best and highest purpose is to be driven over as quickly as possible. Nothing worthwhile to see or appreciate in the entire country or in the cities just named except seamy jazz dives, migrant labor camps, and backwater hovels of every an Moriarty is a remorseless womanizer whose unbridled carnality, successive love affairs, and serial divorces, inspire an inexplicable worship in Sal, who reveres Dean as a saint of private freedom and a visionary of sublime intellect. In truth, Sal is an insipid, undiscerning idiot, and Moriarty is a prodigal, blathering, [email protected]#$%. The admiration Sal repeatedly expresses for Dean is as becoming as an adult gushing over the sagacity and free-spiritedness of a hyperactive two-year-old hellion who hasn't mastered primary language skills and destroys everything he touches.I can think of no novel with so undeserved a literary reputation as this revolting offscouring of Kerouac's drug-addled, booze-soaked mind. The prose itself, in places, is nearly unreadable. As one critic place it, "That's not writing, it's typing." The characters have no capacity for critical self-examination or introspection (except when high) and, thus, are not worthy of serious contemplation by the reader. They are base metals, common shale, chaff, mud. They embody the values of that vast population of incarcerated delinquents that scourge the decent half of society, the spoiled and worthless fruits of an indulgent civilization. What's to appreciate in this sordid acc of an incessantly sweaty, crotch-stroking, thieving, dope-shooting fornicator who hurls stolen automobiles along the highway in complete disregard for his own or others' safety? On the street is where this novel belongs, like the repulsive carrion that it is.
I have browsed through some of the negative reviews of this book and a lot of the people who really hate this book have basically the same complaints so, before I explain why I think this book is eminently worth reading, I wish to quickly give people who have not yet read this book an idea of what to expect, and what not to expect, and clear up what I think are some common misconceptions about the book. That way, potential readers can obtain some idea of whether they are likely to have fun reading the book. The book is not going to appeal to everyone. Our aesthetic judgments are so tied up with our values, our upbringing, our social position, and our general philosophy of life that there are certain people who are probably going to hate this book no matter what. I am convinced that Jack Kerouac was really an perfect writer and his books deserve to be considered amazing literature but that does not mean that everyone is going to love them. So, what are the complaints that people have with the book?A lot of reviewers complain that the novel has no plot. They are right in the sense that the novel does not follow a standard plot structure. There is no central conflict, building slowly to a climax, and ultimate resolution. The novel is told from the standpoint of Sal, who is a seeker, someone who is dissatisfied with mainstream society, and is searching for alternative life-styles and modes of being. However, in this book at least, he never really finds what he is looking for. Sal takes four street trips with his mate Dean Moriarty in find of some kind of epiphanic vision, in find of "it", in find of true living, but they all end in disappointment. So, if you are looking for a standardly plotted novel with a big, clear resolution at the end that wraps up all the loose ends, you are going to be disappointed with this is also clear to me that a lot of people do not like the book because they do not like Dean and they feel that Kerouac is turning a petty criminal into some kind of Messiah figure. There are clearly times when Sal looks up to Dean as a kind of Messiah, a figure who promises to bring the "real living" that he has been searching so desperately for, but I think it is only very superficial readings of the book that can maintain that Dean is being portrayed as a Messiah figure, or as a figure to look up to and emulate. Dean represents a kind of energy that is in marked contrast to the dull, conformist society that Sal is trying to escape, but every trip Sal and Dean take together ends in disillusionment. There are locations where Sal is quite explicit about this. When, for example, Dean abandons Sal and MaryLou in San Francisco Sal says "I lost faith in him that year" (160) Hard to be any clearer than rt of the issue is, I do not think Kerouac was quite as successful as he could have been distinguishing between Sal as the narrator of the tale, who is looking back on things in retrospect, and Sal as he was at the time all these things were happening. Clearly, when Sal was running around with Dean he was in thrall with him, and often did view him as kind of a savior, but there are plenty of locations in the book where Sal the narrator looks back and, in retrospect, realizes he was deluded and misguided. If Sal wanted us to worship Dean he would have presented him as a less complex hero than he did. Dean is actually a very complex hero and there are some very poignant and moving scenes relating to Dean (when Sal is harsh with him and Dean goes outside to cry, or when he leaves him in Fresh York and sees him walking away alone, or when he reflects on how, as a small kid, Dean had to go to court to bail his father out of jail). Dean is not a Messiah, he is a complex character, who has had a hard life, and is trying his best to figure out how to live in the world, and not doing all that amazing a job. He leaves an emotional wreck behind everywhere he goes. So, I think the notion that Kerouac is turning a petty criminal into a Messiah is misguided, though Kerouac also avoids the kind of smug condemnation that the members of bourgeois society engage in with Dean. Perhaps it is Kerouac's refusal to engage in such smug condemnation that people search offensive? At any rate, Kerouac is presenting a more complex picture than either extreme, as I think all artists , those are the two main complaints people seemed to have (no plot, holding up a petty criminal as an ideal). But enough of that. Why do I think this book is worth reading?First, there are plenty of life lessons scattered throughout the book. For example, before his first trip out West Sal spends months pouring over maps, and he has this Romantic photo of himself following a single highway (a single red line on his map) all the method out West, but, when he actually heads out he finds that reality is quite various from his dreams. Sal constantly has an photo in his head of how things are going to go and they never wind up going the method he expects. The fact is, to live in this globe we need to learn to role with things as they come along, to answer spontaneously in the moment, and not become too attached to our fixed plans, because reality will, time and time again, lay the best laid plans to waste. That is just one example of a solid life lesson that can easily be gleaned from On the cond, as I already mentioned above, the novel is a poignant portrayal of damaged and eventually disillusioned characters, but it never collapses into total despair, nor does it obtain lost in a meaningless hedonism. The novel sometimes gets compared to Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises because they both portray a group of people who decide to live life in their own method outside of the established mores of contemporary society. However, Hemingway's characters, in my opinion, are truly lost, more lost than the characters in this book, because they are not even entirely aware that they are lost or, if they are, they have lost all hope of finding a method out of their lostness. They simply accept that life is always going to be a dull round of getting drunk, eating dinner, having one brief romantic fling after another, going fishing to restore their sanity, rinse and repeat, until the end of time. The characters in Kerouac's novel might be lost but they are still holding out some hope for something more than that. They might be looking in the wrong locations but how else do we learn? One is not, therefore, left feeling sick with despair, even though the novel basically ends in ird, rather than simply presenting the final goal of knowledge the novel is about the very process of learning. It presents the process as a series of mistakes and experimentation. The worst thing to do in life, in my opinion, is to just sit and test to figure everything out. The only method to figure out what works and does not work is to test and experiment. The novel is really a coming of age novel. It is about the find for wisdom and, like I said, a lot of people think that Sal was looking in all the wrong places, and he might have been, but at least he was trying. Excess is the street to wisdom, to paraphrase William Blake. It is only by heading out and making mistakes that we ever learn anything. While the book is technically a kind of coming of age novel, the fact is, we all still have things to learn, so we are always going to be "on the road" so to speak, and this novel is kind of a universal representation of the human condition in its find for urth, the find for alternative ways of life, which is probably the basic theme of the novel, is still a theme that resonates with a lot of people. Think of the popularity of the movie Office Space. The hero in that film is desperately unhappy and is desperately searching for another method to live. The fact that the film was so famous is a sign that a lot of people feel the same way. A lot of people are unhappy with the kind of life that is, supposedly, the life we all should be aspiring towards: a standard nine-to-five, amazing paying job, with chance for promotional advancement, etc.. In the novel these are what Sal calls "white ambitions". The term, and his portrayal of African Americans and other minorities in general, is a bit condescending, however, if we remove any racial overtones from the term, it names something real. A lot of people feel themselves out of touch with the values of mainstream society. It is not simply that they tried and failed, rather, even the chance of success feels hollow and empty. When the best that society has to offer feels hollow and empty that is a problem. That is the kind of thing that leads to despair and even suicide. I am not sure that Kerouac's novel provides any air tight solutions to the problem. That is for individuals to work out for themselves. However, it does grapple seriously with the issue and will be an inspiration to anyone grappling with related fth, Kerouac is a amazing writer and there are a ton of beautiful, and genuinely lyrical passages in the novel. Kerouac's prose is ecstatic, he eschewed the naturalistic, direct prose of Hemingway and that whole line. When he wants to describe Dean, for example, he does not describe him as he actually looked in true life, he describes him as a demon, flying across the country and leaving nothing but scorched earth in his wake (that is a paraphrase, and a poor one, Kerouac's description is much more lyrical, but I am too lazy to find through the book to search it). I will provide one actual example of Kerouac's lyrical prose just to give a taste. This is Sal describing an ecstatic vision he has on the roads of San Francisco, after Dean has abandoned him, and he is essentially starving, "And for just a moment I had reached a point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness" (162). There is more but I will stop there. It is the part about the angels diving off into emptiness that I ly, the latest and final reason this novel is worth reading, is the same reason that all amazing novels are worth reading, it presents an interesting story, full of interesting characters, and gives attractive expression to the human condition. Late in the book Sal encounters a tall old man with flowing white hair who tells him to "Go moan for man". That is essentially what this book is: a moan for man. It expresses all the pain, suffering, uncertainty, and ultimately joy of living, in one giant moan, from end to fore I end I wish to quickly mention a few critiques I have of the book. I already mentioned Kerouac's somewhat condescending portrayal of minorities. He romanticizes the lives of the oppressed and does not seem to have a whole lot of understanding of their actual condition. Besides that, I also feel like Kerouac lacks a true feel for nature. He often presents nature ecstatically, but it feels like he is presenting an idea he has of nature, as opposed to simply presenting nature directly (as in his descriptions, admittedly attractive and moving, of the Mississippi river). He compares unfavorably, for example, with Henry David Thoreau who was a genuine and patient naturalist. Thoreau watched nature closely and could describe it in its tiniest info as it really was. Thoreau talks about how he would sometimes spend half a day standing in a river observing the behavior of a particular kind of fish. You could never imagine Kerouac doing anything like that. He is too frantic, and he is too in love with his idea of nature. Even in The Dharma Bums, which I am reading now, and which has a lot more to do with nature, you obtain the feeling that the narrator (I forget his name off the top of my head) is more interested in Japhy than nature. Which is fine. Kerouac, I think, was probably more interested in people than nature, but his descriptions of nature do not always ring real to me. They feel like the descriptions of nature that a city-dweller would give (which, by the way, is what I am). Nature is an photo representing escape from the town but there is no true knowledge or feel for nature in the descriptions. Nature is a mere antithesis to the e latest little critique I have is with the frantic pace. The writing is very frantically paced and, as one negative reviewer place it, it sometimes feels like listening to a kid narrate a story, a kid who is too excited to take the time to explain how everything fits together and just starts throwing out fragments. Now, on one hand, the frantic pace is part of the appeal. Kerouac's style mirrors his subject. Dean is really the topic of the book and Dean is a frantic human being. So, I am not saying that Kerouac should have chosen to write this book in a less frantic style. He created the right artistic choice. However, I think the frantic style is really the expression of a kind of despair. Sal and Dean always seem to be chasing something, an ideal that remains forever out of reach, however, I think, in reality, they are probably both running away from something. There is a very strange stage in the book where Sal is in a film theater and he falls asleep and imagines what it would be like if the usher swept him up with the rest of the garbage and he spent the rest of his life in a dump. Then Sal tells a story about a time he drank too much at a bar and fell asleep around the toilet while all the sailors came and urinated and spit on him.I have a feeling that Sal's desperate find for an identity is really motivated by self-hatred and the feeling that he is garbage. It is hard to imagine a more disgusting scenario than Sal wrapped around a toilet caked in spit and urine or a more strong photo of self-loathing. I think the frantic pace gets in the method of that kind of self-reflection and psychological insight. Sal and Dean are too busy frantically searching for "it" to reflect on themselves or what they are doing or how they really feel. In some ways it is a very extroverted novel. The solution is always "out there" somewhere on the road, never within. We obtain a lot of idealized photos of the characters, ecstatic descriptions, etc., but not a ton of psychological insight. Sal does not seem all that interested in the true motives driving behavior. He is much more interested in the archetypal pattern that each hero supposedly embodies. We wind up losing the reality of the characters to a certain degree. Dean becomes a force of nature rather than a true person at times. There are some exceptions, which I have already pointed out, some tips of Dean's history, and some poignant moments expressing his humanity, but we learn very small about Sal's history, or what has led to his desperate find for an identity. I think detailed psychological analyses would probably have been out of put in this novel, they would have slowed the pace, and subtracted from the overall effect. As a piece of art On the Street is probably as it should be. However, in terms of life, and the find for wisdom, I think his characters need to spend a small less time "leaning forward" and a small more time examining the ground beneath their feet. Perhaps Kerouac does more of that in his later spite those minor critiques this is still an perfect book that I would not hesitate to recommend to any and all.
I am a melody lover, but hardly qualified to critique Pat Metheny's group on this album. It simply resonants with me and makes me feel good. Lyle Mays, Pat Metheny and their fine drummer create melody that vibrates with body & soul. What more can I say. If you love fusion jazz and the synthesizer sound, amazing piano, nice rhythm and a beat that have you tapping your fingers, this one will give you goosebumps!
I search the story in the show fascinating. Sadly there's a lot of jarring with every other chapter pushing u back in time and the following chapter not indicating what time period they are in. After skipping over the old time period I could finally have fun the show time period story. It's like the author wanted to merge bother the past and the show together but it felt more like reading 2 books side by side. Looked Moore like chapter 1 show then chapter 1 past then chapter 3 was really chapter 2 show chapter 4 was chapter 2 past. To me I could have enjoyed the story better had there been a prequel of the past chapters and then the show chapters created more in-depth of the show characters Kimberly and Amanda. The swapping back and forth was really confusing. Other then that was an ok begin but left a cliff hanger at the end.
Compelling storyline, this book is rich with interesting characters that I am looking forward to getting to know better in the second book. The amazing thing about this book is that it has plenty of romance, but doesn't allow it overshadow the main plot or place it in the center of the main plot, allowing the story to have its own purpose, with a amazing side dish of family and love. I like the flashbacks, even though I'm not a huge fan of historical literature, the flashbacks provided some interesting backstory about the characters, I love the method it was incorporated into the modern day story. Likewise, I trust the writer to take the story where it needs to go, and have found that my questions regarding certain decisions were answered as I went along. Looking forward to the sequel!
THIS BOOK DESERVES A 5 STAR Rating. It MOVES along smoothly intertwining all the characters in a love story so deep you can't quit reading till the end didn't see the latest surprise coming loves the characters Immortal,human,witch and vampires. Yes it has them all. But I'm not a spoiler.Looking forward to starting book two as soon as I finish this review.☺
Note: I received this book from the author and I voluntarily give this review, it is my honest ernity Street is an interesting read that had love and the supernatural at its center. This is the first book in the series that has plenty of e story is told from a dual timeline, the past and the present. The happenings of the past are what leads readers to figure out what is event in the present. While there was no major plot twist the book did have a couple of surprises in the direction that the story went. I was a small surprised that the author, Lana, went one direction when she could have easily gone another, it's not a poor thing just a various path.I did have a small problem with the dialogue, sometimes the wording seemed a small off and the wording was wrong in other areas. The characters were also a small frustrating, Amanda is the main hero and I didn't really feel that much of a connection to her, she was just an average person but one issue I had with her was that Hanna is supposedly one of her best mates and some of the comments she created I didn't care for. Samson is another frustration point, he is the leader but wouldn't admit what needs to be done about a certain issue until it was too late. I wished that the characters went a small deeper than we got but it's just the first book in the series.While the book does need a small more work, the overall story was interesting, a family of immortals hunting evil supernaturals. I would have loved more supernaturals and more interactions with the hunters and the supernaturals but I think that Lana was more focused on the relationships between everyone that the supernatural. The family dynamic was very amazing and I loved also getting the clues from the past to figure out what was event in the ernity Street was an interesting read that has a lot of promise, the cliffhanger at the end so has me hooked. I wish the next book, I have a few questions I wish answers to and I am hoping I obtain them in the next book.