Finishing On the Road

Last night, I finished reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road.

It's said to be a semi-autobiographical novel in which Kerouac is represented by the narrator, Sal Paradise. Numerous other characters have been identified by scholars as different figures in the Beat movement.

But Kerouac did something that I don't think I've ever seen in another novel. In most novels, the reader knows who is the main character within the first chapter or two. The conventional structure of a novel makes it plain early on who is the focus of the plot. I hadn't realized this until Kerouac presented a different way of structuring his novel.

But On the Road isn't an autobiographical novel -- not in the strictest sense. It's not about Sal Paradise. It's about Dean Moriarty.

This is not plain at the outset of the novel, when Dean is simply one of many people in Sal's life. But as it progresses, Dean increasingly becomes the topic of the bulk of the text. And while one can infer much about Sal's personality, Kerouac describes Dean's nature directly and repeatedly.

Critics think that Dean is based upon Beat icon Neal Cassady, which makes the novel even more interesting. If true, On the Road is, in a way, a hagiography of Cassady. He is a deeply flawed hero. But no matter how irresponsible Dean is -- even when he abandons the dysentery-stricken Sal in Mexico City -- Sal reveres him. Dean is the "Holy Goof" -- whose joy captivates Sal and inspires only devotion.

So On the Road is a tribute by Kerouac to one of his friends. I wonder what Cassady thought of the novel when he read it?

More from On the Road

I have continued to read On the Road by Jack Kerouac, and I am fascinated by the character of Dean Moriarty. He is Sal's primary traveling companion across the highways. Dean is perennially self-destructive, irresponsible, and even criminal. Yet he expresses one truly laudable trait: at every moment of his life, he is trying to squeeze out every last drop of joy. He is a truly happy person who takes delight in everything he sees. Dean spends much of the novel literally whooping with glee at the most ordinary things, envisioning beauty where others would only see ugliness.

Toward the end of the novel, Sal, Dean, and Stan are journeying through Mexico:

"Yes," said Dean and drove right on at five miles an hour. He was knocked out, he didn't have to do the usual things he would have done in America. "There's millions of them all along the road!" he said. Nevertheless he U-turned and came by the girls again. They were headed for work in the fields; they smiled at us. Dean stared at them with rocky eyes. "Damn," he said under his breath. "Oh! This is too great to be true. Gurls, gurls. And particularly right now in my stage and condition, Sal, I am digging the interiors of these homes and we pass them -- those gone doorways and you look inside and see beds of straw and little brown kids sleeping and stirring to wake, their thoughts congealing from the empty mind of sleep, their selves rising, and the mothers cooking up breakfast in iron pots, and dig them shutters they have for windows and the old men, the old men are so cool and grand and not bothered by anything. There's no suspicion here, nothing like that. Everybody's cool, everybody looks at you with such straight brown eyes and they don't say anything, just look, and in that look all of the human qualities are soft and subdued and still there. Dig all the foolish stories you read about Mexico and sleeping gringos and all that crap -- and crap about greasers and so on -- and all it is, people here are straight and kind and don't put down any bull. I'm so amazed by this." Schooled in the raw road night, Dean was come into the world to see it.

More from On the Road

I mentioned yesterday that I've started reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road. It is a fascinating read. Kerouac is a delicious writer. Here's one part that stood out as Sal Paradise continues his journey across America:

I wanted to go and get Rita again and tell her a lot more things, and really make love to her this time, and calm her fears about men. Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk-real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.

I'd say that these words, though written in 1951, are still quite applicable. They inspired this 2007 song called "Stuck Between Stations" by indie rock band The Hold Steady.

Here's another passage from Sal's brief stint working as a police officer (the irony of which does not escape him). He is compelled to go along with other, more dutiful cops, to break up a party:

I sighed. Here we go. We went to the offending room, and Sledge opened the door and told everybody to file out. It was embarrassing. Every single one of us was blushing. This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do. So what if a bunch of men talk in loud voices and drink the night?

Later, as Sal begins working his way back across America toward New York, he ends up working with impoverished Mexican laborers:

Guitars tinkled. Terry and I gazed at the stars together and kissed. "Manana" she said. "Everything'll be all right tomorrow, don't you think, Sal-honey, man?"

"Sure, baby, manana." It was always manana. For the next week that was all I heard-manana, a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.

Before I was born, my parents lived in Venezuela for two years. The dictionary definition of manana was "tomorrow", but they discovered that it was a polite way of saying "no." When a Venezuelan worker was asked to do something and he said "manana," it didn't mean that he was going to do it the next day. It meant that he wasn't going to do it at all. And Sal's life was all about scheduling responsibility for manana.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac

This weekend, as I've run out of Stargate SG-1 episodes to watch online, I've found myself in the mood to tackle some serious literature. So right now I'm reading through Jack Kerouac's On the Road, one of the three essential works of Beat literature. Here's my favorite line so far:

A tall, lanky fellow in a gallon hat stopped his car on the wrong side of the road and came over to us; he looked like a sheriff. We prepared our stories secretly. He took his time coming over. "You boys going to get somewhere, or just going?" We didn't understand his question, and it was a damned good question.

It sure is.