The biggest problem came in the first one-hundred pages or so, thrown straight into the deep end with some egocentric text that I struggled to fathom. Even William Carlos Williams gets a brief appearance later on. This was such a mixed bag for me, from the stream of his semi-conscious jazz-like rhythm fuzzy beatnik mind, to the more clearer and poignant writing later on that chronicles the travelling lives of himself, his friends, including Irwin Garden (Allen Ginsberg) and Bull Hubbard (William Burroughs), Cody Pomeray (Neal Cassady) and towards the end, an emotive journey with his own mother.

You know when you've just finished reading something utterly wonderful, and you feel all pretentiously gob-smacked that your brain has been irrevocably changed? My poor brain! There's no going back.ĭescribed by some as Kerouac's best work, Desolation Angels contains everything you would come to expect from a key writer of the Beat Generation, with an abundance of Jack's sometimes difficult to grasp Spontaneous Prose. Oh, and the temptation to hop on a train and disappear into the unknown, is a force to contend with once finished. I still don't believe in God, but Kerouac has given me the best reasons why belief is still important, and can still be beautiful. But through it all there is a shocking sweetness and sometimes earnest naivety from Kerouac himself, which endears so much about the world to - I'm certain - anyone who reads it. The things he sees and thinks and writes, they're gorgeous, uplifting, insane, horrific, and sometimes bleak beyond belief. Of course, from somewhere and someone there will be, but with the same kind of sincerity and authenticity that Kerouac delivers? I seriously doubt it.

That is, if there can be any other piece of writing that could even come close to being comparable with Desolation Angels. This is not On the Road, and On the Road is nothing by comparison. Can you be in love with someone who died years before you were even a twinkle in the eye of the universe? I think so. I've spent most of it with my mouth - metaphorically - hanging open, and my heart perpetually glowing and breaking along with Kerouac's various and numerous highs and lows.

This book is the best reason I can think of for anyone ever learning to read.

Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac