Wes Phillips

Yeah, yeah, the relentless drumbeating about On the Road is getting annoying. See the manuscript, read the novel, nostalge about the beats, buy the anniversary edition and the Library of America canonization.

I did re-read the novel recently and my reactions were interesting. The same relentless energy and constant motion (without destination) that enchanted me on my first reading now just wore me out. Page after page dragged on in pedestrian writing that validated Capote's criticism. ("That's not writing, it's typing.") Yet, scattered through OTR are scenes that remain vivid and powerful and burn through the murk like tiny suns—such as the one where Sal and Dean find themselves in the roadhouse bar and Sal Achieves satori watching the saxophonist wail.

Still, I couldn't resist linking to Joyce Johnson's memoir about her blind date with Kerouac. "It was a blind date arranged by Allen Ginsberg, who always looked out for his male friends. As Allen no doubt saw it, Jack needed a place in New York to stay for a while until he could take off for Tangier, and I was that rare thing—a girl who had her own apartment."