I feel like On The Road is a book that people idealize. They read it and think "man, I was born in the wrong generation. If I was around in the fifties I would totally be at the forefront of the beat movement." Well I can say right now without a hint of cynicism that I would most certainly not make a good member of the beat generation. Frankly, I think these guys were assholes. On The Road is the mostly autobiographical story of a few cross-country roadtrips Jack Kerouac took with some friends in the late forties. It's written well enough and kept me interested, sure, but I can't get over how clearly these guys are examples how to NOT live your life. I mean, they're constantly drunk and on drugs, leading them to be assholes to strangers; they mostly get across the country bumming rides and using other people as their own personal resources; what little money they do have they gamble away fairly quickly; and most stunningly, Dean Moriarty, the character who protagonist Sal Paradise looks up to, has like four illegitimate kids by the end of the book, and no one ever calls him out on being a deadbeat dad. Maybe that's why they call it the "beat" movement? Okay, okay, this wasn't nearly as infuriating as Naked Lunch, another major work of beat literature, but I guess I'm just miffed that this became such a cultural icon. It's fun to think of a life spent on constant road trips, but the lesson of the book really felt like "don't care about anyone else but yourself," and that just aint something I can get behind.August 21, 2011
On the Road
I feel like On The Road is a book that people idealize. They read it and think "man, I was born in the wrong generation. If I was around in the fifties I would totally be at the forefront of the beat movement." Well I can say right now without a hint of cynicism that I would most certainly not make a good member of the beat generation. Frankly, I think these guys were assholes. On The Road is the mostly autobiographical story of a few cross-country roadtrips Jack Kerouac took with some friends in the late forties. It's written well enough and kept me interested, sure, but I can't get over how clearly these guys are examples how to NOT live your life. I mean, they're constantly drunk and on drugs, leading them to be assholes to strangers; they mostly get across the country bumming rides and using other people as their own personal resources; what little money they do have they gamble away fairly quickly; and most stunningly, Dean Moriarty, the character who protagonist Sal Paradise looks up to, has like four illegitimate kids by the end of the book, and no one ever calls him out on being a deadbeat dad. Maybe that's why they call it the "beat" movement? Okay, okay, this wasn't nearly as infuriating as Naked Lunch, another major work of beat literature, but I guess I'm just miffed that this became such a cultural icon. It's fun to think of a life spent on constant road trips, but the lesson of the book really felt like "don't care about anyone else but yourself," and that just aint something I can get behind.
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Haha. I love the honest assessment. I think if you were around in the fifties you'd be championing the Interstate system and the Korean War, but then, that sounds like me too. But yeah, the beatniks have never impressed me. They're like the pre-hippie hippies, except instead of at least promoting peace and love they're promoting anti-conformitism for the sake of anti-conformitism. Like, look at what a whiney bitch Holden Caulfield was.
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