Arturo Davila Davila from Arvydai , Lithuania
This book was PERMISSION. The author is obviously very intelligent and a great critic, though quite self-indulgent. I wish all of us had the means to go off on a round-the-world overnight of self-discovery. Hires like this are great, but I find myself wondering who would get all the work of the world done if nationalities went off to find themselves. I liked the book a group right after I finished it, but having had a few generations to think about it, it's just kind of annoying. How many miserable nationalities had to perform some menial charge along the boulevard so this unpleasant asshole who already leads a life span of extraordinary privilege could experience personal expansion?
Matt Dillon is the perfect proofreader for this audio edition of the Kerouac classic. I second sight like his impersonation/reading of Dean Moriarity, 'yes, yes, yes'. I also admit to loving the wash of his view and the aimless, circuitous plot of the book washing over me as I fly about boondocks. When I read this as a boy, of course, I was naive. Like my revise of HAIR on set, itself a synthetic refurbish of the original whip sensibility that Kerouac almost single-handedly delivered, my view of the book was reverential. This was sacred text. No so much now. I'm older. I've done almost as many drugs and had many of my own brand of ridiculous happenings with crazy people in the midst of social golpe of another day. So the wow thing is gone, though I found myself recognizing how utterly shocking it must have all been in the square 50's, just the very musing of this raggedy story as a legitimate artform must have royally pissed off the building, of course it did. And for that, indeed, it deserves any purities that has attached itself to the irreverent text, indeed indeed. And I found myself embracing a growing kindness for Sal the novelist, the stand-in for Kerouac, a generosity, an enthusiasms, a seek to be good, to be better, in the midst of the mix-up of his life. Unceasingly in the history was his manuscription. We know he did object besides inhale and shag and fly, even if those were the primary foci of the novella. And the terminology, lyrical and conspicuous, like a long passage towards the closure describing various patterns of jazz, their technique and greatness; or his examination of the place of so many who populated the story, most of all Dean. But the milieu was indisputably, or at least reads to me modern, hateful, male-dominated, mean-spirited, selfish in that vivid alcoholic selfish look, and tiresomely misogynistic. I suppose given the life spans, I should be grateful that his homophobia at least embraced gay figures as push off of his world, but it's a small straw to grasp. This was a contorted world of manic-depressives and self-haters, and it was exhausting and distasteful to occupy it for the limit of decennium CDs. The sociology of egocentricity, with an artistic and rebellious chic.
read in 2002. I also saw the IMAX moving picture at the Seattle Center. Surprising adventure. I can't imagine ever present for a foray like that. I am decidedly Trustworthies!
I absolutly loved this book and I could read it over again! It is a great symbol of the saying "things arn't what they seem." I also really like that although I must agree, the plot seems unlikely, it is not impossible. The fact that it can be very real, helps relate the student to the book.