Jack Kerouac
On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
I am probably the last human being on the planet to read this book. It’s been on my “list” for years. It’s a really long list. But I’m sticking to my commitment to get through them all and then add more. No more books for me until I read what I already have!
Anyway, I grew up with a mother obsessed with all things Kerouac. We even had a dog named Cody because she always wanted to name a dog Cody after the title character in Visions of Cody. Perhaps it was a way of rebellion to not read Kerouac, the same way I refused to read Mark Twain because he had strong ties to my hometown and I heard way too much about him growing up.
My thoughts on this book are mixed. Kerouac is undeniably a gifted writer and his style remains modern even 60-plus years later. I keep thinking that if Kerouac were alive and writing today, On the Road would be a blog and not a book. Or perhaps, a blog turned into a book. It would translate quite well to the format.
But I find it difficult relating to the story. I’ve never done a drug stronger than alcohol and have no desire to change my status on that. I really have no desire to be a migrant worker, sleep in bus stations or be generally dirty and icky for weeks at a time while hitchhiking across the country.
Yes, I want to travel. Yes, I get sick of being tied down to a job and a place. Yes, I’m sure such a journey would give me great material for writing. But reading about it isn’t making it sound any more glamorous than I already think it isn’t.
I’m only about a third of the way into the book, but I’m thinking that it isn’t going to change much. It’s about Kerouac’s journey, and what I described above is the journey he had to embark upon and complete.
But I’m disappointed. I’ve heard so much about this book, about how inspiring it is, from so many people for so many years that reading it now for myself is a bit of a letdown. I may change my mind by the time I finish reading. I won’t know until I do.
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