And that is that book which has shamed me into feigning an air of ignorance every time I browsed any of the countless 1001-books-to-read-before-you-die lists.Yes Jack Kerouac, you have tormented me for the past 3 years and every day I could n't summon the strength to open another page of 'On the Road' and subject my brain to the all-too-familiar torture of Sal 's sleep-inducing, infuriatingly monotonous narration.
And what a monumental waste of my time.Dear Beat Generation classic, I wil finally state without any fear of being called out on my ignorance that I really loved reading you.
Through the eyes of Salvatore 'Sal' Paradise, a professional bum, we are given an extended peek into the lives of a band of merry have-nots, their hapless trysts with women, booze, drugs, homelessness, destitution, jazz as they hitchhike and motor their way through the heart of America.
Marylou, Camille, Terry, Galatea are all frighteningly one-dimensional- they never come alive for the reader through Sal 's myopic vision.
" The he came out with it: he wanted me to work Marylou. "
So I am very much of a non-American with no ties to a real person who wants the Beat era through the enses of pure nostalgia or maybe I am simply incapable of appreciating the themes of youthful wanderlust and living life with a perverse aimlessness or maybe it 's the flat writing and appalling representation of women.