Monday, September 15, 2008

Goddamn, Kerouac.

Am I blasphemizing here (is that a word?)?

But seriously, Kerouac's writing is killing me. There's only so much of a super stream-of-consciousness, beat style you can take before you want to stab yourself in the eye.

My first impression (130 pages in) is that this novel is an example of a selfish piece of work. Clearly not written for an audience, but simply for the author. In which case, I wonder, what's the point of getting this published?

Am I missing something here? I know it's a great American novel and all (she says with sarcasm), and props to Kerouac because he's clearly not a stupid guy, but ARGHHHHH why? I suppose it's just a style thing, and his writing is just not my cup of tea. I guess it's better to be radical than boring. Better to make people hate you or love you than to remain indifferent.

But good god, I'm ripping my hair out, and I still have 270 pages left to read before my class on Wednesday.

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