Incoherence and Coherence in Jack Kerouac

I’ve just finished a “double-read” of the audiobook of the Original Scroll of On the Road, read by John Ventimiglia.

 

By “Double-read” I mean this:  After finishing Book 1, I went back and listened to it a second time.  After Book 2, I did the same with it.  And so on.  So when I got to the end of the whole thing, I’d actually listened to the entire novel twice.  And the ending of most of the books impressed me so, I went back and listened to each of the endings multiple times.  This being at least the eighth time I’ve listened to an unabridged recording of either On The Road or the The Original Scroll thereof, I can say that I have now gotten quite deep into Kerouac, the novel, and Kerouac’s story,  approach and style.

I’ve picked up on a lot of details.  There’s a certain seeming incoherence here.  This certainly is why a lot of early critics considered Kerouac a “barbarian with a typewriter.”  And yet—should books be coherent?  Maybe not in all ways!  Because life is not particularly coherent, is it?

So if William Burroughs says “when you’re dead your just dead,” but a page or two later starts talking about communicating with the dead, should we object?

If people are discussing how Carolyn Cassady threw Neal Cassady out, how should we react a page or two later when Helen Hinkle says, “I think it was very wise of Luann to throw you out.”  I thought I had found a real blooper here—and maybe I have.  Or not!  When I noticed this in The Scroll, I ran over to the published novel to check.  The same apparent inconsistency appears there.  Real people do misspeak!

One thing I’ve noticed is that Kerouac really doesn’t talk much about his feelings.  He gives us his ideas, but not so much his feelings.  He gives us his reactions (his response to jazz, for example), but that isn’t the same thing.

I think this is why people often miss the underlying mood of the book.  The recent film concentrated on the sex and jazz; but underlying the entire book is a search for something to make up for the fact that Kerouac’s father is dead and Kerouac’s wife has left him.  Neal Cassady is always trying to connect with his own father and family.  Allen Ginsberg is always asking what the meaning of these travels are.  They all feel pursued by some presence.  And at the end of the book, an old man with long flowing white hair walks past Kerouac and says, “Go moan for man.” 

This is all stated, but not emphasized.  Implications are left for the reader to realize on his own.  Part of Kerouac’s Art is to simply mention these things, then leave us to notice them.  You can debate whether this artistic strategy is good or bad.

Kerouac and Despair

Just now thinking, maybe I like Kerouac because he addresses despair and the search for meaning, like Camus, like Genet.

I’ve just finished listening to the scene in Part 2 of The Original Scroll (of On The Road) where Cassady abandons Kerouac and Luanne on the street in San Francisco, then Luanne abandons him, then he imagines he’s run into his mother from 1800 in England.

Both Part 1 and Part 2 of On the Road end with despair – yet with glances ahead.

Of course despair is also a major theme in Big Sur.  It is an amazing book because it describes Kerouac going to pieces.  How was he able to write so coherently about it?  And at the end he still has hope, or faith—that things will still turn out all right, somehow.

People talk about Kerouac the Alcoholic.  And I do have the impression that Kerouac spent at least the last seven or more years of his life drunk.  Yet he still managed to write Big Sur, Satori in Paris, and Vanity of Duluoz.  Not bad, I think, for being always drunk.  Vanity of Duluoz, in particular, shows a coherence and straight-forward writing approach that goes against the idea that Kerouac by 1967 was a slobbering drunkard.  A drunkard he may have been, but as John Clellon Holmes remarks in the documentary “Kerouac,” he was always interesting to listen to.

So here’s to Jack.  I was surprised, yesterday, in looking at some jazz cuts on YouTube, to see how many people were accessing the music simply because Kerouac had mentioned it in On The Road.  In an essay included with The Original Scroll, someone asks “Why are students still interested in Kerouac?”  Indeed!  Why am I still reading him?  I haven’t figured that out yet!  I just know I find him interesting and sincere and honestly feeling and thinking—which is something I value.

On The Road – After. Short Answers

So nine days ago, I finally saw the film of On The Road.  I had posted a list of things I would be looking for in the film.  I’m ready to talk.  First—my short answers on what I saw.  Second—in another post, my long questions about the film.  Here’s my original list, and the short answers about what I saw.

How much of the film is based on the scroll version rather than the finished book?  Some.  The scroll version is closer to the actual events—and so is the film.

An overall theme.  In the book, Sal and friends sense someone walking towards them.  At the end of the book, an old man with long white hair walks past Kerouac in a parking lot and says, “Go moan for man.”  Is anything like this included in the movie?  No.  The theme of the film seems to be Dean’s irresponsibility.

Is Dean Moriarty presented as a new American saint, an irresponsible sociopath, or…?  In keeping with what I just said, Dean is presented as almost completely irresponsible.  At a poetry reading last Thursday, in the wake of the film, I heard one poet sharply denounce Neal Cassady (ie. Dean).

The relationship between Mary Lou and Camille.  Kristen Stewart has suggested that her character (Mary Lou) is the pivot of the film.  But the novel exists in a tension between the two.  I can see why Kristen Stewart (“Luann”) felt she was the pivotal character; she appeared as Dean’s soul mate while Kirsten Dunst (“Camille”) was relegated to a minor role.

What is the role of Carlo Marx?   One film reviewer has said:  “Lose Carlo!”  Is Carlo a true prophet?  A true poet?  A bore?  Pretentious?  Carlo was portrayed as doting and clingy, following Dean around.  His prophetic voice has been removed.

How do they handle that brothel scene in Mexico…?  Superficially, like much else.

Speaking of Mexico—How does the film portray minorities in general?  More specifically, Mexicans and Blacks?  We seem impersonal, societal references:  A sign on a gas station that says “We serve whites only”—and a sign at a roadside grocery that says “We do not sell alcohol to Indians.”  That’s it.  Neither of those signs are in the book.

What about sexism?  Do men utterly run the show?  Pretty much, although Camille does seems pretty independent.  We see the women scrubbing Bull Lee’s floors.

How are the 1940s presented?  How well does the film represent the 1940s, and does it matter?  Though the book is set in 1947-51, most people associate it with the mid-to-late 1950s, when the book first appeared.   We hear bop and see weird jazz musicians.  We hear passing remarks about President Truman.  That’s it.

How homo- or bi-sexual is the book?  How sexual is the relationship between Sal and Dean?  Not very.  Can’t tell how Dean feels about Carlo.  Dean does try to get money out of a gay man by offering sex (That scene is in the scroll version).

 How does Old Bull Lee and family come across?  Funny??  Disturbing?  Simply weird?  Weird—but not nearly weird enough(!).

Does the film include Sal’s vision, in San Francisco, of reincarnation and nonlinear time?  Nope.

How does the film deal with Sal’s relationship to his mother?  Significant, but not significant enough.  But the family is French-Canadian, as in real life.

How is America presented?  America??

Does Dean care about anything besides sex and kicks?  He cares about his children, apparently.  Maybe.

How many people and events are cut out of the movie??  Oh…lots.  But then, the novel includes a lot of characters in very minor roles.

So.  Those are the short answers.  Stay tuned for the long questions!