Damn. On the Road was a hell of a ride, a true delight, a complete joy. Radiating out of the words and phrases and paragraphs is a frantic energy that propels one forward, without preparing one for what is to come. It really felt like the road, reading this novel that is. The excitement intertwined with a profound sadness – a sense of lost, of alienation, of dislocation, of being beaten down by the harsh realities of life – that is what makes On the Road Kerouac’s Magnus Opus.
I have not much to say. Kerouac truly fulfilled the Beats’ promise of using language as a means to transmute an experience, as a superior way to tell a story. On the Road is terrific. Read it. And then read it twice.
A Writer's Diary 