Jack Kerouac - On The Road
I first heard of this book proper in Haruki Murakami's Sputnik Sweetheart, through Sumire. Sumire, aspiring writer, Kerouac fan. She had no money, but she bought books. At first, a lack of knowledge on my part halted a possible attraction to Kerouac - what the heck is the 'Beat' generation? And On The Road seemed to be yet another travel journal. Nothing against travel journals per se, but hey everyone travels, unless you are Che Guevera then your travel journals are just like everybody else's, right?
Then I stumbled upon Kerouac's quotes.
Then I found out that he actually invented something - spontaneous prose. Much like blogging, only we are talking late 1940s, 1950s.
Plus, I am poor like Sumire. What else better to spend on, then books. Books make life easier to bear.
So what is the book about?
Sal Paradise, Kerouac's protagonist, decides to make across America and back, and he details every high and every shitty encounter (not with people mostly, as far as I have gone so far, more like with himself for taking the wrong route and things like that). On The Road, to me, is not story telling, but truly a revelational writing style. I feel like I am reading someone's diary, only it is more in depth because he is a real writer; and don't we all like reading diaries.
I feel a parallel: I remember watching The Motorcycle Diaries lately, and amidst the comic scenes they had with their trusty Mighty One (the name of their motorcycle), I wept with them in every heart stopping moment of the film. Literally. The camera captured the life and non-lives of the souls who represented South America. I mean, no one cared about displacing the Incas, no one dared touch the lepers, some people were so poor, they could die of something so treatable like asthma. Asthma! It is like drowning on dry ground.
I stood with them at Macchu Picchu, taking it in with the camera, suddenly seeing the history of a people before me, as the boys did. They each took a spot at Macchu Picchu, and comforted in each other's solitude, made a life-changing moment right there in their hearts and journals.
At the end of the film, I wept with each black and white photographic replay of the lives they met - it was almost exactly like the vision I had in the late 1990s, at a Singapore Indoor Stadium event. I saw flashes like black and white photography, of so many displaced people! I knew I had to live for people like them, to restore to them what God has promised them, what is originally theirs. I felt like God placed this slide projector collection of images in me, branding them in my heart. Now, you really must watch The Motorcycle Diaries, don't you? And yes, I will read the books too.
I don't think On The Road will be like that, seeing that Sal and his friends seem to be even more decadent than Che and his chubby friend and their motorcycle. But Sal, and more importantly the man behind this alter ego, the author himself, they are both writers. Kerouac makes me think this: if I can inspire people, and move them through my writings, then - imagine the impact. Kundera spoke of Immortality: through your art, and your writing (letters, books, papers), you are perpetuated through eternity. But more importantly, it is not about you, the writer, but about every reader who reads your words. You may not change the world much, but through your writing, art, music, work, love, inspiration - you might move someone who will change this world. It is worth every tear drop spent at the scraps of collected writing, at the keyboard, in your prayer bed. As I read Kerouac, I want to be moved, so that I can also be one who moves this world too. It is not for me, but for to release away this heavy burden in my heart.
There are times when I feel like I had enough of hearing about all the 'me's. True, our very self is important. But it comes to a point when I don't want a miracle for myself, thanks Pastor, I need a miracle for the people who are dying in floods, in danger of being buried in volcanic mud, for people who have no home to go to today, yesterday, tomorrow, for the kids being trafficked for sexual slavery in Asia. I really don't want a miracle for myself God, I need it for them! Are we really that in need?! We ain't, no matter how much we bitch about it. Every 'through it all', every 'I trust in You', God I want to sing it for them.
Hence we need to be inspired, constantly, constantly. If nothing moves you, you cannot move the hearts of people.
More on Kerouac, when I am done with him. (If you hear nothing, it probably means I have been disappointed).
I was disappointed with On the road, but I read The Dharma bums firs, and loved it. I've read it many times.
ReplyDeleteThe first time I tried to read On the road I didn't finish it. I tried again some years later, and got to the end, but had no read yen to read it again.
Hm oh dear, perhaps I should try DHARMA then. I thought it looked good too but then OTR is the more well known Kerouac so I picked that up first.
ReplyDeleteMaybe you might like Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. It might be similar to Kerouac's style from what I've read from the paragraphs you've put up on your blog. Looks like it's a book I gotta pick up.
ReplyDeleteRoberts' prose is evocative, irresistible, and brings out strong feelings you've never known from inside you, and there are many really good written paragraphs that can be quoted all by themselves in it. The book practically ensnares you in its understated, and occasionally overwrought, reflections on human nature.
Here's an example:
What characterises the human race more, Karla once asked me, cruelty, or the capacity to feel shame for it? I thought the question acutely clever then, when I first heard it, but I'm lonelier and wiser now, and I know it isn't cruelty or shame that makes us what we are. Without forgiveness, our species would've annihilated itself in endless retributions. Without forgiveness, there would be no history. Without that hope, there would be no art, for every work of art is in some way an act of forgiveness. Without that dream, there would be no love, for every act of love is in some way a promise to forgive. We live on, because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.
I like it. Thanks Joseph, for sharing it. I am going to check it out next!
ReplyDeleteI couldn't resist dropping a comment seeing you quote/name so many of my favourites.
ReplyDeleteThe Motorcycle Diaries sent me into an obsession of all things Che Guevera; I now owe the show, the book/diary he wrote, a travel journal written by a journalist who tried re-creating the original journey. I still keep a lookout of anything about Che Guevera - he's that charismatic.
I haven't had the chance to read On The Road by Kerouac just yet, but I grabbed a vintage copy of his first published novel, The Town and the City, and I thought how amazing a movie that'll make. I feel it's a neglected Kerouac novel. I should start on Big Sur soon.
And, oh yes. Murakami and Kundera are my big favourites.
Reading your quotes has convinced me that On The Road might not be a horrible read, as some critics have reviewed so.
Cheers.
Thanks for sharing that, it is nice to know that there are people who like these authors too.
ReplyDelete