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A review by ms_gouldbourne
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
challenging
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.5
I was really excited to read Jack Kerouac's legendary On The Road - I'd heard a lot about it, and I usually enjoy offbeat stories about people who refuse to fit into the place society has created for them. When it was chosen as last month's book club pick, I was diving straight in with high expectations.
Unfortunately, On The Road just didn't meet them. Perhaps unfortunately, my library's edition came with an introduction which I read beforehand, explaining just how autobiographical the book is - in short, very. It seems that Kerouac wrote the story of his mid-twenties adventures with his friends in a three-week drug-fuelled haze, and the only difference between the written narrative and what actually happened is that all the names were changed. The autobiographical nature of the book was a real hindrance to my enjoyment of it, because quite frankly, not everyone's lives are interesting enough to immortalise.
I might feel differently about it if it seemed that Kerouac actually had a point he wanted to make about the way he and his friends lived whilst travelling. If, for example, the book was a deliberate commentary on the transient and hedonistic lifestyle of these young men, eschewing the responsibilities of their homes and families and instead embracing the shallow pleasures of drugs, parties, jazz clubs and sex. It's easy to interpret On The Road as a sort of Bildungsroman, whereby the author reflects on the mistakes of his past or casts himself as a tragic hero - but there's no evidence that Kerouac did anything of the sort. Instead, On The Road comes across as inordinately self-indulgent, an arrogant assumption that readers will find the drunken and selfish exploits of a group of self-absorbed misogynistic young men as interesting as he himself found living them to be.
And my goodness, the misogyny! Yes, the book is of its time, as evidenced by the blatant homophobia, casual racism and leering after underage girls, but it reaches unparalleled heights in its treatment of women. They exist only for the purposes of sex and preferably financial backing, and then abandoned when they get too needy - and needy by this standard means asking for literally any support with the children they've been left with. Dean Moriarty, the Neal Cassady stand-in that protagonist Sal Paradise is definitely not in love with, abandons so many women over the course of the novel that he's not totally certain how many children he has by the end of it. Again, there's a lack of recognition by the author that this kind of behaviour is unacceptable, no sense of growth or development by the end of the book that would make Dean and Sal's repulsive antics more palatable.
Having given such a scathing review, it probably seems strange that I'm giving On The Road a relatively middling score - and the reason I am is simple: Kerouac's writing style is absolutely astounding. Not everyone enjoyed the almost stream-of-consciousness narrative style, but I loved it. It was easy to read and yet felt very rich and compelling. I can certainly understand why it broke literary boundaries at the time it was published. It's an unusual kind of writing, and one that kept me reading until the end in spite of the unsavoury content.
Unfortunately, On The Road just didn't meet them. Perhaps unfortunately, my library's edition came with an introduction which I read beforehand, explaining just how autobiographical the book is - in short, very. It seems that Kerouac wrote the story of his mid-twenties adventures with his friends in a three-week drug-fuelled haze, and the only difference between the written narrative and what actually happened is that all the names were changed. The autobiographical nature of the book was a real hindrance to my enjoyment of it, because quite frankly, not everyone's lives are interesting enough to immortalise.
I might feel differently about it if it seemed that Kerouac actually had a point he wanted to make about the way he and his friends lived whilst travelling. If, for example, the book was a deliberate commentary on the transient and hedonistic lifestyle of these young men, eschewing the responsibilities of their homes and families and instead embracing the shallow pleasures of drugs, parties, jazz clubs and sex. It's easy to interpret On The Road as a sort of Bildungsroman, whereby the author reflects on the mistakes of his past or casts himself as a tragic hero - but there's no evidence that Kerouac did anything of the sort. Instead, On The Road comes across as inordinately self-indulgent, an arrogant assumption that readers will find the drunken and selfish exploits of a group of self-absorbed misogynistic young men as interesting as he himself found living them to be.
And my goodness, the misogyny! Yes, the book is of its time, as evidenced by the blatant homophobia, casual racism and leering after underage girls, but it reaches unparalleled heights in its treatment of women. They exist only for the purposes of sex and preferably financial backing, and then abandoned when they get too needy - and needy by this standard means asking for literally any support with the children they've been left with. Dean Moriarty, the Neal Cassady stand-in that protagonist Sal Paradise is definitely not in love with, abandons so many women over the course of the novel that he's not totally certain how many children he has by the end of it. Again, there's a lack of recognition by the author that this kind of behaviour is unacceptable, no sense of growth or development by the end of the book that would make Dean and Sal's repulsive antics more palatable.
Having given such a scathing review, it probably seems strange that I'm giving On The Road a relatively middling score - and the reason I am is simple: Kerouac's writing style is absolutely astounding. Not everyone enjoyed the almost stream-of-consciousness narrative style, but I loved it. It was easy to read and yet felt very rich and compelling. I can certainly understand why it broke literary boundaries at the time it was published. It's an unusual kind of writing, and one that kept me reading until the end in spite of the unsavoury content.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Misogyny
Moderate: Homophobia and Racism
Minor: Domestic abuse