Jack Kerouac Books

The haiku poem is a Japanese genre where each poem consists of 17 syllables in a 5-7-5 pattern. Kerouac uses this short form in his own personal way - he also calls these short poems "American Pops". These haikus are simple and often funny and they deal with existential matters, nature and Buddhism (often in a blend). Kerouac at his best. A jazz & poetry reading of some of these poems is included on the CD box-set entitled "The Jack Kerouac Collection".

Who am I to judge another human being's writings objectively? Who am I to declare definitively that what one calls a haiku is in actuality not a haiku at all?

Am I the expert? I don't think I am an expert because I am still learning about the artform -- but perhaps I 'do' have a degree of objectivity about it?

The reason I think I may have some degree of objectivity about it is simply because I have been reading haiku; studying and investigating haiku (especially the original early great Japanese masters); and creating with great flexibility of experimentation my own haiku pretty obsessively for a few years now. I don't think it can be argued that there must be some kind of a genuine "aha" moment (a hidden insight) within the tiny poem; or that there must be at least one "not necessarily quite so obvious on the surface" intuited connection demonstrated existing between the animate and inanimate things in nature. It is in the absence of these things that one runs the risk of ending up with a tiny bit of reporting of what one perceived with his or her five senses and nothing more than that.

Again, I don't know just how much objective discernment I have developed for making determinations of other people's good and bad haiku -- however, I can't imagine that it can be argued that at the very least a so called haiku that possesses an intuited set of connections or relationships between things found in nature will indeed seemingly qualify it as being a "true" and valid haiku.

I believe that we here in the west (even after all this time) are yet to grasp what the true essence of the haiku artform actually is. So many of us here in the western world have not yet gotten beyond composing what are nothing more than these little filler material moments that are mostly just empty reporting of what one sees or hears. Much of the so-called haiku that so many of us create are so "gimmicky" (so "clever" or "contrived") and full of "affectation".

I think that most of Kerouac's so called haiku quite simply are not haiku at all, but are seemingly just reporting what he saw and heard at any given moment; they're images without substance. I am overwhelmed by the sense that he never practiced looking below the surface of these images he reported to see if there was any extra depth therein.

Now, having pretty much condemned most of Mr. Kerouac's tiny creations as being invalid (and I feel bad in my gut having done so) let me just try to prove my point by listing examples.

These are seemingly objectively good to brilliant:

In my medicine cabinet
the winter fly
has died of old age

(It is brilliant; it has substance and the image is rendered perfectly.)

Chief Crazy Horse
looks tearfully north
The first snow flurries

(This is very good; the image is direct and has a substance to it. You notice that there are some almost "inexpressible" connections existing between the elements of the Chief's tears (regret over something, perhaps -- or a ruefulness?) and the snow flurries (Indicating perhaps a feeling that "it's getting late now" or even that "it is already too late"). There could also be a connection to notice contrasting his presumed "warrior's strength" with his tears. This one is very rich in the things that make for a objectively good or great haiku or senryu.)

Missing a kick
at the icebox door
it closed anyway

(This is a good one and seemingly is closer to being a "senryu" than a haiku. Do you see that it has that little "aha" moment in the last line? The setup is in the first line and the payoff is in the last.)

For me those three I just listed represent the best of what he composed in the collections represented in this book. The rest seem anywhere from mediocre to just plain awful. (I get no joy in saying such a thing.)

***
It is unfortunate that the vast majority of his creations are along the lines of the following examples (which for me lack any real substances in their images):

Tuesday -- one more
drop of rain
From my roof

(This one is just some kind of empty reporting of an image isn't it? What does it being Tuesday have anything to do with one more drop of rain falling from my roof? It is confusing if nothing else.)

Seven birds in a tree,
looking
In every direction

(This is just an empty image with no substance. "Seven" draws attention to itself -- but it does so seemingly for no discernable purpose whatsoever. It seems to me that "Birds in a tree" is preferable to "Seven birds in a tree" because in this instance "seven" is serving only to uselessly distract the reader. Seven birds in a tree looking in every direction simply isn't anything but an unremarkable image.)

When the moon sinks
down to the power line,
I'll go in

(What does the moon sinking down to the power line have to do with deciding to go in at that point? If there was a reason for it he didn't say so. Again no substance to it. Is there supposed to be a connection between the moon and power line? If so, I just don't see it. Just random elements put together seemingly for no reason. Confusing to me.)

***
I do not mean to come off as sounding like some kind of high-handed authority on the matter but I think that most of Mr. Kerouac's so-called haiku quite simply aren't -- but I will give him all the credit in the world for trying as best as he knew how to do it.

Maybe I am unduly punishing Mr. Kerouac for composing really bad haiku when I really ought to be making the point that the vast majority of the material in this book is not worthy of publication because of the objectively inferior quality of the content overall.

It occurs to me that any number of others may disagree with my judgments and may "take me to task" over it -- I respect that.

I hope I have been more helpful than irritating with this review.

I wanted to say that I disagree with the comment about the poor production values of this book. Even though the paper could certainly have been of higher quality, the book itself is beautifully designed and printed. I fell in love with it, and already gave a copy to a friend who loves Beat poetry but doesn't know much about Kerouac's verse.

A great little book with a collection of haikus. Visual presentation is not the very best, but to me it is the contents that counts. IMHO there hardly is a better way to reflect the feelings of a moment than in a haiku, so one can get an intimate impression about the authors feelings comparable to a collection of snapshots. This haiku book certainly is a must have for every Jack Kerouac fan.

The other Beat poets generally looked to him as a master, but Jack Kerouac's general reputation will probably always be that of a novelist, albeit a mad one who did little prosaic and much prosodic. Even though he created significant swaths of poetry - within his famous prose and elsewhere, it is a small circle that considers him a poet.

Anyone in that group would like this book.

It shows how far his poems would roam yet stay with a form, the haiku form. This is known to readers of Scattered Poems and Poems All Sizes, and buffs familiar with his recordings with Al Cohn and Zoot Sims - but a better view of the amount of haiku Kerouac had within him is at hand.

A new collectipon of about 700 haikus now appears. Book of Haikus, includes works from several stages in Kerouac's career, and stands well with his other books of poems.

His approach to haiku form, like his approach to blues form, was creative. His first big step was to throw out the syllabic conventions. The classic syllable count of the Japanese form, he reasoned, worked for haiku poems in the Japanese language, but not for English maybe.

For Kerouac, description was key. Encounter with object or experience was key. It is here in Book of Haikus. In haiku bulk.

If you read Kerouac's Pomes All Sizes you can find out what lapis lazuli is....

I first heard most of this poetry on the CD "Kicks Joy Darkness". I was entranced, and went looking for the book. This is some of my favorite modern poetry. It has interesting rhythm, perspective, organization (or lack thereof) and a variety of emotions, ranging from goof ball stuff to poems about death. As usual with Kerouac you are constantly encountering Buddhism and Catholic thought, along with sexual themes. I do wish he would use grammar a bit more, but hey, I'm not a famous poet who represents a generation. Read it out loud for best effect.

A brillant poetry reader

Meant to be read aloud and sung rhythmically.

Kerouac is known for on the road but this books is at least as brillant.

Also read "The Dharma Bums" which is a tremendous book about his belief in Buddhism on a much different road.

A must read for the serious Kerouac fan, Pomes is a "Why bother?" for everyone else. Ann Charters wrote "The quality most pure in Kerouac was his grasp that life is really a dream." Nowhere is this more evident than in the random jottings that has been published as Pomes All Sizes. There are some gems among his silly little haikus, and I truly enjoyed the first sequence of "Poems of the Buddhas of Old." Most of the collection left me scratching my head. Was Jack just having a bit of fun with us, or was he so advanced that I still can not grasp the meaning? "Life is like a dream. / You only believe it's real / Cause you're born a sucker / For that kind of deal;" In Pomes All Sizes the roses are beautiful, but the path to them is unpassable to all but the most devout.

You will not understand Kerouac's writing style by reading "On the Road" or "Dharma Bums." To really dig what he was getting at you have to read his "Belief & Technique in Modern Prose" then read some stuff like "pomes all sizes," "old angel midnight," "visions of cody," "mexico city blues" etc. "Pomes all sizes" is an incredible book, full of astonishing pomes by one of the most important literary innovators of the 20th century, & along with "some of the dharma" it's kerouac's most personal book (but far, far, far more readable than "some of the dharma," which I would only recommend you read after reading everything else kerouac has ever written). Yes, there's lots of silly fragments and intoxicated sketches (where else do you find a kerouac pome written while on morphine or goofballs), but you gotta see Kerouac's style values spontaneity over crafted work, so it is these unpretentious, unselfconscious pomes that are among his greatest accomplishments.

This slim volume is jam-packed with mind blowing pomes: "Mexican Loneliness," "How to Meditate," "The Moon," "Skid Row Wine," "Long Island Chinese Poem Rain," "Silly Goofball Pomes," "God," "Bowery Blues," and dozens of haikus... Yes, the book is inconsistent at times, but after all it is selections from his private notebooks -- and what a rare treat to be invited to spy into a great writer's "secret scribbled notebooks and wild typewritten pages."

If you do not dig this book then you do not dig Kerouac. Nuff said.

Great photos, nice text. This isn't the book for the hardcore fan of Kerouac or the Beats, but for someone like me, who really enjoys spending a few hours with those boys now and then. You can whiff the Beat cigarettes, sexism, and excitment in these pages. But you also learn about the depressive, conservative, and finally alcoholic side of Kerouac. I'm glad I bought this book, and I would recommend it to most.

As a passionate lover of Kerouac and the Beats I highly recommend this book. It is compiled in an artistic manner with a text style that is supposed to be reminiscent of Kerouac's Underwood typewriter where he banged out his infamous tales. The pictures and news clippings that correlate with the text are excellent and are rarely seen elsewhere. The text itself is easily readable and detailed enough to where you get a good feel for the `characters' without being overly bogged down with excruciating detail. By the end of the book you will feel as though you are familiar with the sequence of his life, his works, inspirational sources, and the people who played crucial roles in the shaping of his life.

I happened to dust this book off last night from my bookshelf after rereading Vanity of Dulouz for the first time in about 7 years. It was surprising to find out how much Kerouac bends the events of his life in his novels to make himself come out just a little bit sweeter. They are not as autobiographical as we all like to think. For example, Kerouac mentions in his book that his wife Johnnie (real name Frankie Edith or Edie) was unable to get pregnant due to fertility issues, and that was the reason they never had children. Turner, however, claims in A.H.H. that Edie got an abortion while Kerouac was shipped off to sea. There are a lot of other inconsistencies I found between this biography and the works of Kerouac but I am not going to bore the reader with them in this review and stick to the subject at hand. I highly recommend this book for both a Beat afficinado and a Beat beginner.

If you are new to the Beats, this is a pretty good overview of them. Things that make this book stand out are the pictures, which are not all the usual ones, and the "where are they now" section in the back of the book. But really, could it hurt to do a bit more editing? I mean, I found several typos, and, according to this book, Jan Kerouac died in 1966, three years before her father....

I have to admit, I'm a beat-freak. And I suppose when we think of Beats, we automatically think of Jack Kerouac (or Ginsberg or Borroughs)--I know I think of Jack. JACK KEROUAC: ANGELHEADED HIPSTER was a great find on my part. It's a rich visual biography of Kerouac. The book houses a montage of beautiful pictures of Jack, et. al, and is designed in a very aesthetic way--the typeface is supposed to remind us that typewriters did exist back then (I guess they still do, but their not as popular). I liked the book best for it's the photographs Kerouac. The text is not that hard to read, but if you're looking for more substance about Jack, I recommend you buy another Kerouac biography. The book does give you a sense, nonetheless, of who this legendary man was. For folks that want to see the man the book calls "The James Dean of the Typewriter," this book is the one for you. I found myself flipping through the book day-dreaming about being with him during such a revolutionary, exciting, and historic period. (I suppose it was just my luck that I was born two decades too late.) This would be a great addition to anyone's collection.

The text of this thin book is dominated with dozens of pictures of Kerouac and his intimates. Don't skip the text! for there is plenty to be gained there, tempting as it may be to dig the photographs first. My favorite of the pictures is one showing a painting--a very Rockwellian one--done by Neal Cassady's wife, Carolyn, depicting all of Neal's railroad gear as he slung it over the back of a desk chair one day. Oh, and one of Jack unfurling one of his teletype rolls of manuscript, letting it reach to the floor. Anyway, if you've read any of Kerouac's books, or any biographical material on the man, and you have always wanted to know about what these people looked like, here they are, most all of them-- walking the streets, cavorting in bars, loving each other--captured forever and included in this wonderful book.

satori is kerouac being kerouac, the end of the Duluoz Legend, almost like he's just writing you letters. i wish there was a bit more to it, something to end it all, but alas it ends not with a bang but a whimper.

pic, his last novel, is great, this is kerouac being mark twain and really shows his talent as a writer, that he can write about something other than himself. and ties into his Duluoz Legend in a cool sort of way too.

Straight from the hip[flask] of Kerouac, a simple tale about the search for his family's history, which means (like every Kerouac novel) it's not REALLY about that at all, but more about life in general. I loved chapter two (which you can read all of through the link, above) because it sums up Kerouac's writing philosophy in an nutshell (a good starting point for anyone diving into his works for the first time). Since we all know booze would kill Kerouac not too long after he wrote this novel, it's tough not to feel sorry for him as you read -- and, at least for me, wish I could go back and smack his drunk ass out of it -- but I guess that's what made him tick. After reading Kerouac's vivid, rambling accounts of the most mundane events, one can't help but to find a greater appreciation for life and everything in it. God bless him.

"Satori in Paris" explores a trip to France by Mr. Kerouac. In it we vist many of the interesting people and places that Jack runs into during his odyssey of sorts of self exploration. If memory serves me right I think this may have been his last novel published. Like many of his other great works "Satori" perfectly captures the vibe and feel of the pre-sixties, pre-Vietnam era beat generation.

There's no Satori here. No Dharma bums or Dharma either. Just the sad druken ramblings of a once great writer. Gone is the energy and excitement of On The Road and The Dharma Bums. And there's no interesting characters like Neal Cassady or Gary Snyder for Kerouac to bounce off of. Its just poor druken Kerouac wandering through France in an inebriated haze. And also this book was written in the mid sixties, the Beat Generation was well past its prime, already eclipsed by its progeny, the flower children. And unlike Allen Ginsburg, Gary Snyder and Neal Cassady, Kerouac was hopelessly out of touch with the times. And it shows. That's not to say that Satori in Paris is without interest, just that it pales in comparison with his earlier work. And Pic is an example of an interesting early experiment. I believe an early draft of On The Road, before he quite got his bearings and figured out how to write that masterpiece.

I've read a lot of Kerouac's stuff and liked most of it. this, however, is truly pathetic, uninteresting and unnecessary. I guess if you for some reason need a portrait of the artist in decline... this is it.

If you've never read him please dont start here. This is only for those who already love and know what jack was capable of- we're better prepared to forgive disappointments like these. If you're new to kerouac do yourself a favor and start with things like the dharma bums, on the road and subterraneans- there's a reason these are as popular as they are.

It's nice and short, though.

I also want to mention that this is my first review- I'm not in the habit of trashing great writers lesser works. I dont need my opinions heard or validated. I just want to steer fledgling beat readers away from what could be an instant kerouac dealbreaker.

Perhaps the most important thing to note for anyone who is considering whether to read or buy this book is that it is not a biography. Although the book's structure is based on the chronology of Kerouac's life, the content is more concerned with analysis than it is with a straightforward, objective account. Miles's concern is primarily to present Kerouac and his works in a more complete and sober context than the average person is likely to have gleaned from the most available cultural sources (Kerouac's own books and his image in various media); and in so doing to correct the common perception of Kerouac as pure genius hero. If the reader is looking for a traditional biography, the best one available is probably Paul Maher's 2004 "Kerouac: A Definitive Biography".

As analysis, Miles's book is perceptive and worthwhile. It is incredibly refreshing to see honest criticism of Kerouac and his ideas from a source like Barry Miles, who almost certainly drew his conclusions from a reasonably informed standpoint. Miles appears quite intent on not allowing bias, either negative of positive, to interfere with his assesment of Kerouac. He is well-researched and consistently perceptive, and his discussion of his subject is blunt, well-considered and engaging. Similarly, Miles's criticism of Kerouac's writing, though less complete than his examination of the man himself, is realistic and thoughtful. He assesses each book with a balanced eye toward its literary virtues and vices, as well as its content, and his criticism is insightful and well worth reading.

Although Miles's analysis of Kerouac's life often comes off as exceptionally uncharitable, that doesn't necessarily mean that it is inaccurate. Certainly, though, Miles is overly selective in his presentation, and often he withholds or doesn't take seriously elements of Kerouac's life which might do some little bit to salvage a more positive view of the man. In this, he goes too far, not allowing the reader to consider for himself whether Miles's interpretation is entirely correct. If this were a court case, Miles would be a prosecutor.

Nevertheless, it would be incorrect to call this book a hatchet job, as it is unlikely that "King of the Beats" is the reader's introduction to Kerouac. Rather than seeking to impugn Kerouac and destroy his reputation, Miles comes off more as dispassionately giving a severe word of caution to the reader not to get caught up in the myth of Kerouac as a compassionate and inspired genius, a holy fool, or a mystic. Ultimately, he presents a realistic perspective on a man whose legacy has often been in danger of ascending spotless to heaven. Miles's assessment of Kerouac often seems overwhelmingly negative, but this seems to come less from spite than from having a hard case to make, what with the ludicrously positive received opinion. In the end, Miles accurately presents Kerouac: naive, adolescent, passionate, confused, talented, and deeply, tragically troubled. This book is well worth reading for anyone who is making a serious study of Kerouac's life and works.

Miles does an incredible job of putting together the jaded intricate life of an insanely selfish man. Kerouac was an incredible writer, yes, because he scrounged off everyone around him to better his skill. Funny when our heros turn into humans and we begin to feel our own inspiration from it.

With Kerouac an industry these days, it is hard to imagine anything new being offered, particularly from a biographer who never (on the strength of this text) even met him.

Well stick with it. As a review on the back on my copy puts it "this is an excellent portrait of a ghastly man."

Barry Miles does not understate Kerouac's influence. He takes him seriously as a writer and stylist, despite the patchiness of his output. His importance, says Miles, lay in his popularising the break with American post-war conformity (On the Road) and his prophesizing a Zen-infused "world full of rucksack wanderers" (The Dharma Bums), which underpinned the more thoughtful end of hippiedom.

No doubt such things would have happened without Kerouac, or any of the beats, but this odd mother-lovin' alcoholic redneck from the small-town north-east undoubtedly flavoured the 60s and 70s and inspired countless thousands of wanderers and artists.

Barry Miles's contribution is to sort through the myth, delivering a freshness to a now largely stale story of genius, self-obsession, and fatal loathing. The accounts of the cold-water flats of 1940s New York are especially vivid, where the beat ethos - much rougher than its hippie godchild - was formed.

With so much sentimentalising of the Kerouac story, this is one for readers who've been moved by the man but want more than the literary postcard.

I thought this book was a very readable overview of Jack Kerouac's life. It helped me gain some kind of overview which I had found elusive reading Gerald Nicosia's more detailed book. However what marred the book for me was Miles's intrusive and over-bearing judgements. Surely it's better to present the facts and let them speak for themselves? In chapter 8 (just over half way through the book) he launches into a tirade ....'How can a man deny his own child?... Where was Kerouac when he should have been reading his daughter bedtime stories, sharing with her his love for words?...' and so on. Unfortunately once he's in this mode he doesn't let up. I appreciate the sentiment and it's difficult not to judge Kerouac harshly over this - but I felt Miles should have made more of an effort to understand his subject. I almost felt I leant more about Barry Miles than Kerouac in this section of the book and it's commendable that Miles feels so strongly about family loyalties but is that really the issue here?

This biography is part of an unceasing flow of writings about Kerouac and about the Beat movement which he helped to inspire. Miles's book is valuable because it explains why people continue to read Kerouac and the beats and also focuses on the limitations of the movement, I think, through discussion of Kerouac as a person.

Kerouac was first and foremost a writer. Miles' book emphasizes this. It discusses virtually each of Kerouac's major works, and minor works as well, in the context of his life -- when, precisely, they were written, what they are about, and where each book fits, in Miles's usually well-considered opinion, in Kedrouac's work as a whole. Such writing is more the purview of literary criticism than biography but Miles does it well and it is needed in a consideration of Kerouac's life and work. He focuses on the spritual side of the beats, their quarrel with conformity, materialism, and repressed sexuality, and their emphasis on feeling and the expression of feeling. Miles properly places Kerouac in the romantic tradition of literature and within American Romanticism in particular as a follower, most immediately, of Thomas Wolfe.

Miles does not spare Kerouac the man, in a discussion that should discourage any tendendy to hero-worship or mystification. Kerouac was selfish and inconsiderate of others, adolescent at the core, unduly attached to his mother, on the far fringes of the American right (although he probably deserves to be praised for not adopting the hippie, ultra-left, anti United States attitude of his followers and colleagues), and lead a destructive life, to his own talents and to the lives of people who loved him and had a right to depend upon him, such as his daughter.

As a writer, Kerouac emerges in the book as a person of talent with a vision of American life that is valuable (though hardly unique, I think). He wrote well but too much and too carelessly and too much under the influence of drugs. He also, as Miles suggests was overly dogmatic and rigid in his use of spontaneous prose.

The beats were a unique literary movement and Kerouac was an integral part of it. His books, I think will continue to be read and valued not for the most part as literary masterpieces, but as expressing the mood of a generation. There is much in them that is worthwhile. Miles' portrait of Kerouac and his work is judicious. It also encourages the reader to explore Kerouac's writings for his or herself, which is the goal of any good biography or a writer.

I first read Kerouac's writtings over 30 years ago. The content of this work is firm but is limited in it's scope and focus. The author usually slips into a tanghent that not many of us would comprehend unless we had lived in the 1960's.

Contains the outstanding 'Desolation Blues'. Otherwise unremarkable

this book has so many unique qualities to it, and they all focus so much on Kerouac's unusual lifestyle... the book, with it's so many chouruses is an inspiration!

Book of Blues is an important piece of writing that chronicles an important time in Kerouac's life and works well with Desolation Angels. As I read Desolation Angels, I noticed that Jack Duluoz makes references to various works of poetry as he moves through the book and Book of Blues contains many of those poems. Desolation Blues was written about his time on Desolation Peak and accompanies that section of the book well. You begin to understand Jack's thoughts and anxities better. Later Jack is in Mexico City writing Mexico City Blues but he also wrote Orizabo(I believe) at the same time, at least according to Desolation Angels. Orizabo Blues can be seen as the outakes or the preparaton from Mexico City Blues. Later on in the book, Jack Duluoz is back in Mexico City after his trip to Europe and during these times he wrote Cerrera Medellin blues. Other Blues not included in Book of Blues though mentioned in Desolatioin Angels are Washington, D.C. Blues and Tangier Blues which have yet to be published. Book of Blues is an important book to the Kerouac canon.

Kerouac's Book of Blues is an important book for anyone interested in Kerouac's spontaneous style of writing. For those more familiar with his novels and prose Book of Blues will open a more pure and raw form of verse than even "On the Road". Kerouac was truly a poet at heart. To get the full effect of this book which reaaly needs to be read aloud to full experience I also highly recommend Kerouac's Blues & Haikus CD which contains him reading several of the poems in Book of Blues.

First, let me say that I have read Dharma Bums several times and, of course, found something new and wonderful in each reading. It is, quite simply, a classic American novel, and I feel that the previous two reviews (five stars, naturally) sum up the book's contents, its spiritual impulse, and finally, its dramatic impact on American letters better than I could here.

What I would like to add, then, is that THIS SPECIFIC EDITION (the Penguin Classics Deluxe) is, by far and away, the best out there. In my mind, it is a collector's item, a kind of retro masterwork, and featuring the outstanding if not enigmatic illustrations by the artist known simply as Jason. To be sure: the drawing of Jack Kerouac and Gary Snyder (Japhy Ryder) sitting by the fire high in the mountains, immersed in the moment, is simply a gem.

Finally, if you find this book to your liking, I think you should march right out (metaphorically speaking, I guess, since we are all on-line) and purchase John Suiter's stunning Poets on the Peaks, which is a large, well-designed photo and bio work about Snyder, Kerouac, Philip Whalen and their time spent as fire look outs on Desolation Peak - trust me, the photos in this coffee table book are utterly fascinating.

I found Dharma Bums suprising. I thought On the Road was one of the most rambling, self-indulgent books that I've ever read, but I realized that Dharma Bums is even more so. The book reminded me how the degeneration of American intellectual life began with the Beats who, at least when they were in the '50's, were self-rightous and shallow, not to mention drunk womanizers, an odd trait for devout Buddhists. This book is a cultural artifact from the Beat era, but not a book to add to one's must-read list. Life is short. Read better.

As Kerouac notes in the introductory chapter, he met Gary Snyder, a.k.a. Japhy Ryder in 1955, just before Snyder went off to Japan to immerse himself in Zen Buddhism. What follows is a free-wheeling account of their time together in perhaps Kerouac's most appealling and certainly most postive book. Dharma Bums is a celebration of American Buddhism, which was budding in San Francisco at the time, with a number of Beat poets reading their haikus and free-verse poems at the Six Gallery in San Francisco. Once again, Kerouac revels in changing names, but among the many prominent faces presented in this autobiographical novel are Allen Ginsberg, Kenneth Rexroth and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Snyder was the rising star, a Buddhist scholar and translator of books of Japanese and Chinese poetry while studying at Berkley. Snyder, like Kerouac, had working class roots and the two hit it off from the start, exulting in each other's state of being.

Kerouac devotes Dharma Bums to Snyder in the same way he did On the Road to Neal Cassady. It was one of Kerouac's more happy times, as he was heavy into Buddhism, and sought out Snyder as a soulmate and mentor. Kerouac sets the stage wonderfully, coming across a hobo reading from St. Theresa on a train bound for LA, coming back from Mexico. He then hops the "Zipper" up to San Francisco, which whirled along at 80 miles an hour on the California coastline. Kerouac hangs out at Ginsberg's cabin in the Berkley hills, but it is Snyder's spartan cabin that draws his attention. Snyder had already chosen to live the life of an aesthete, giving up most of his worldly possessions, except for his famous rucksack and orange crates of books, mostly of poetry. Kerouac captures some wonderful moments as they all gathered around drinking wine and engaging in yab yum with a girl who went by the name of Princess.

The heart of the story revolves around Jack's and Gary's hike to the Matterhorn in the Sierra Nevada, in which the two form a strong bond that propells Kerouac on other adventures, including a summer at Desolation Peak in the northern Cascades that would become the subject of his next book, Desolation Angels. Kerouac's writing shines in this book, as he is able to maintain such an ecstatic high throughout the narrative, almost seeming to touch the sky. Of course, having such a positive person like Gary Snyder to wrap the book around gave Kerouac the impelling force he needed, as on his own Kerouac often sank into melancholy and despair, which characterized his later years. One marvels at the free and easy nature of this pair as they search out their respective enlightenment, drawing on nature and their sense of the eternal cosmos.

One doesn't have to be well versed in Buddhism to appreciate this book, although allusions and references are many and may confuse some readers. Just let yourself go and enjoy the free flow of the narrative, which is Kerouac at his best.

Jack Kerouac is one of those artists, musicians, or writers who I get really into for a while, then don't occupy my time with their works, but always come back to them at some point. I read On the Road around 6-7 years ago and afterward quickly read Big Sur and Visions of Girard. Over the past few years though, I thought maybe I had grown out of him. So when my Dad recently gave me a City Lights gift certificate for Christmas, I made a mental note that I'd like to see if I still liked Jack Kerouac or not. I found a neat copy of The Dharma Bums that I had never seen before, so I grabbed it.

Dharma Bums is my favorite Kerouac book so far. As with On the Road, I found his writing to be very evocative; scenery, places, but especially the people Jack comes across in his adventures really come to life. As with his other works, Kerouac calls refers to himself by another name, and in The Dharma Bums he is known as Ray Snyder. The other protagonist is Zen poet Gary Snyder, or Japhy Ryder as he is known here. Dharma Bums starts off "Ray" and "Japhy" and friends hanging out in the Bay Area, and recounts the now-legendary night Allen Ginsburg first recited "Howl" during the heyday of the "San Francisco Renaissance." He also briefly goes over an odd sort of orgy at Japhy's Berkeley house, where all Ray felt comfortable doing was licking some girl's elbows and arms. I have to admit I had just come home from a happy hour when I read the first 30 pages, so that part is kind of fuzzy in my memory.

Following this, the book recalls their trip up the Matterhorn, a large mountain in California's Sierra Nevada mountain range. This was the highlight of the book for me. I felt like I was right there with Ray, Japhy, and their friend Morley who forgot to bring a sleeping bag for the freezing trek, but insisted on bringing an air mattress for him to sleep on. One thing about Kerouac's book is that you can really tell he loves the company of his friends and people he meets on the road. I can't ever recall reading a bad thing about anyone in any of his books. I think a large part of the reason I like reading his books so much is that I appreciate his sincere joy he finds from people and nature. Others might call it naïveté, but bullocks to them.

Following the Matterhorn expedition, Ray leaves to visit his Mom in North Carolina. He hops trains, takes the bus, and hitchhikes across the country. There's the guy from Ohio he meets near the Mexican border, and the fun they have when they make an excursion across the border. In North Carolina one gets the sense that Ray isn't appreciated by his family that much. He tries to explain Buddhism and they laugh him off. I couldn't help but feel bad for him. His mom seems nice, but she is never really developed that well.
Every day he went into the woods to meditate and cavort with the animals. I think that's probably what I would be doing too.

After his return to CA, he is about to take a summer job as a fire lookout in Washington State's Desolation Peak, on Japhy's recommendation. Likewise, Japhy is about to head to Japan to live at a Buddhist monastery. Being Ray and Japhy however, you know there has to be some serious partying before they leave. They are staying in Corte Madera, and there are wild parties every night, usually involving copious amounts of alcohol and people dancing naked. Japhy and Ray sneak out a few days before Japhy is scheduled to leave, and go on a final trek through Marin County wilderness. Japhy leaves and everyone is sad.

The final part of TDB is Ray making his way up to Washington. The strangers he meets are usually nice, with the exception of the Oregon cowboy who purposely runs over Ray's hat on the road. He briefly covers his time as a fire lookout, but I'm sure Desolation Angels goes into much more detail. That will be the next Kerouac book I read. There are a lot of Buddhist themes, prayers, and sayings throughout the book (hence the title.) While that might turn some readers off, I enjoyed it. Buddhism is something that has interested me for quite some time. It's sad that Jack didn't find what he was looking for. The bottle turned out to be his salvation - and demise.

Following the success of "On the Road", Kerouac's publishers initially rejected his manuscripts such as "The Subterraneans" and "Tristessa." But his publisher asked him to write an accessible, popular novel continuing with the themes of "On the Road." Kerouac responded with "The Dharma Bums" which was published late in 1958. "The Dharma Bums" is more conventionally written that most of Kerouac's other books, with short, generally clear sentences and a story line that is optimistic on the whole. The book was critiqued by Allen Ginsberg and others close to Kerouac as a "travelogue" and as over-sentimentalized. But with the exception of "On the Road", "The Dharma Bums" remains Kerouac's most widely read work. I had the opportunity to reread "The Dharma Bums" and came away from the book deeply moved.

As are all of Kerouac's novels, "The Dharma Bums" is autobiographical. It is based upon Kerouac's life between 1956--1957 -- before "On the Road" appeared and made Kerouac famous. The book focuses upon the relationship between Kerouac, who in the book is called Ray Smith and his friend, the poet Gary Snyder, called Japhy Ryder, ten years Kerouac's junior. Kerouac died in 1969, while Snyder is still alive and a highly regarded poet. Allen Ginsberg (Alvah Goldbrook) and Neal Cassady (Cody Pomeray), among others, also are characters in the book. Most of the book is set in San Francisco and its environs, but there are scenes of Kerouac's restless and extensive travelling by hitchiking, walking, jumping freight trains, and taking buses, as he visits Mexico, and his mother's home in Rocky Mount, North Carolina during the course of the book.

The strenght of "The Dharma Bums" lies in its scenes of spiritual seriousness and meditation. During the period described in the book, Kerouac had become greatly interested in Buddhism. He describes himself as a "bhikku" -- a Buddhist monk -- and had been celibate for a year when the book begins. I have been studying Buddhism myself for many years, and it is easy to underestimate Kerouac's understanding of Buddhism. As with many authors, he was wiser in his writing that he was in his life. There is a sense of the sadness and changeable character of existence and of the value of compassion for all beings that comes through eloquently in "The Dharma Bums." Smith and Ryder have many discussions about Buddhism -- at various levels of seriousness -- during the course of the novel. Ryder tends to use Buddhism to be critical of and alienated from American society and its excessive materialism and devotion to frivolity such as television. Smith has the broader vision and sees compassion and understanding as a necessary part of the lives of everyone. Smith tends to be more meditative and quiet in his Buddhist practice -- he spends a great deal of time in the book sitting and "doing nothing" while Ryder is generally active and on the go, hiking, chopping wood, studying, or womanizing. At the end of the book, he leaves for an extended trip to Japan. (He and Kerouac would never see each other again.)

"The Dharma Bums" offers a picture of a portion of American Buddhism during the 1950s. It also offers a portrayal of what has been called the "rucksack revolution" as Smith and Ryder take to the outdoors, and, in a lengthy and famous section of the book, climb the "Matterhorn" in California's Sierra Mountains. In the final chapters of the book, Kerouac spends eight isolated weeks on Desolation Peak in the Cascades as a fire watchman. He comes back yearning for human company.

Sexuality plays an important role in the book, against the backdrop of what is described as the repressed 1950's, as young girls are drawn to Ryder and he willingly shares them with an initially reluctant Smith. The book includes scenes of wild parties tinged, for Smith, with sadness, in which people of both sexes dance naked, get physically involved, and drink heavily. Near the end of the book, Ryder offers Smith a prophetic warning the alcoholism which would shortly thereafter ruin Kerouac's life.

"The Dharma Bums" is a fundamentally American book and it is full of love for the places of America, for the opportunity it offers for spiritual exploration, and for its people. Kerouac's compassion was hard earned. In his introduction to a later book, "The Lonesome Traveller" he
aptly described his books as involving the "preachment of universal kindness, which hysterial critics have failed to notice beneath frenetic activity of my true-story novels about the 'beat' generation. -- Am actually not 'beat' but strange solitary crazy Catholic mystic." I found a feeling of spirituality, of love of life in the face of vicissitudes, and of America in "The Dharma Bums." The work was indeed a popularization. But Kerouac's vision may ultimately have been broad.

Robin Friedman

While in college, I had to do a paper on "On The Road" and after reading it, I became absolutely fascinated with Jack Kerouac. I got this book out of the library one day. I think it is excellent. It documents Kerouac's whole life from birth to death and gives the reader a wonderul insight into the "real" Jack Kerouac. I literally could not put this down.

Definitely a commendable effort by Ms. Charters... I could invision myself as an observer of Kerouac's life experiences...heck...I thought I was standing right beside him...I would recommend this book for anyone interested about Kerouac...after all...he taught us ..."the joy of life is on the road and that we'll all be the same in the end...."

Although Kerouac was quite an interesting character, Charters gives little justice to this literary genius. She gives merely a string of events, adding no story to his life at all. In addition to that, Mrs. Charters does not describe some situations at all. The reader is left to wonder what truly happened in some instances, and this gives little justice to Jack's life. There were a few sentences were the author attempted to write in Jack's style, and fails miserably. I'm sorry to detract so much from Mrs. Charters, but she is no Jack Kerouac. Overall, the book isn't bad, and if you're really interested in Kerouac, it's not a bad place to start, but if you really want to dive into Kerouac's psyche and true genius, this is not the place to do it.

Next to Greg Nicosia's book, this is probably the best biography we have on Kerouac. I'd recommend that you read both Charter's and Nicosia's.

Ms. Charters did a commenable job putting together
this book. I would rate it right up there with
Nicosia's bio. The author certainly provided a lot
of background info and did a compelling job of
helping me get a better understanding of the social
climate which Kerouac & friends had to contend with
and conquer. My only complaint is that her writing style
sometimes lapses into a style a little too closely allied
with that of her subject, but given the subject matter, that is

understandable. I would recommend this book for those of
you who have found Kerouac's writings to be enjoyable.

I happened upon this book after reading a passage from the book "Jack Kerouac's American Journey" by Paul Maher. My mother (deceased 2007) was first cousin to Bill and Fred Cannastra. I only knew slight facts of Bill's death from an old clipping in my mother's memory books. I never heard of Joan Haverty, nor knew anything about the personal life of Jack Kerouac. Nor did I know that Bill hung with this group of people before he died. I thoroughly enjoyed the story from Joan's perspective and it was a sad and challenging life she created for herself. Great picture into a small fraction of the Beat Generation members.

As a spirited but naive young woman, the author endured a brief and frustrating marriage to Jack Kerouac. This is a memoir of that time in her life, written when she was a middle aged woman struggling with terminal cancer. Joan Haverty wanted more out of life than women were expected to have: ideas, adventures, answers to the Big Questions. Her marriage to Kerouac was a misguided attempt to find those things through a relationship with a man who appeared to have them all. Appearances, she quickly learned, were not to be trusted.

She left Kerouac (and his mother) sadder, wiser, and pregnant with a daughter whom he refused to acknowledge.

I am not a fan of Kerouac, and don't really understand why he - or his writing - has been so admired. However, I read this book to find out more about the real man behind the legend. I did learn a little about Kerouac, but I was more moved by the story of Hagerty's struggle to retain her independence of mind.

I wish she had lived to write more books.

I picked this book up expecting to skim a few pages and instead read the whole story in one day. An honest look at the way Kerouac and his crowd viewed women. Sad that these men caused irreparable harm under the guise of creating a new way to write. They thought too much of themselves and their desires and imploded in the destruction they left for others. Had they not been so self centered they might have done some good for the many who were duped into believing that Jack and his boys were on to something.

With a preface by Jack Kerouac's only daughter, Jan Kerouac, this memoir by his second wife, author Joan Haverty Kerouac, and a forward by seminal Kerouac biographer Ann Charters, makes it a must-read book on a very sad segment of Kerouac history. The short-lived marriage was loveless and tempestuous and Haverty was disgusted by Jack's total lack of intimacy and his unsuccessfully pressuring her to have three-way sex with his sidekick Neal Cassady. When Jack learned Joan was pregnant, he tried to make Joan abort Jan, then walked out on her. He refused to ever acknowledge Jan as his daughter despite positive paternity tests, and they met only twice before her untimely death, her only legacy from him a cork from a bottle of sherry Kerouac dashed out to buy during a visit. Kerouac left Joan and Jan absolutely nothing from his estate, now worth millions and being peddled off by the the greedy mitts of John Sampas, nephew of his deceased third wife, Stella Sampas, despite Kerouac's missive just before his death that he did not want to leave "the Greeks" anything. Gerald Nicosia, author of the definitive Kerouac biography "Memory Babe", unsuccesfully fought for years to help Jan Kerouac recover from the estate. While not as erudite and informative as Carolyn Cassady's "Off the Road", this is another example of how badly Kerouac treated and disposed of his women as a sociopathological part of his confused sexuality.

Free Beer offers insight into Jack Kerouac's Jekyll and Hyde personality as well as many great examples of Anderson's ability as a writer of both short stories and tall tales.

Years ago,I had read a magazine article about Jack Kerouac which basically portrayed Kerouac as a falling down drunk and worst of all, a totally unsympathetic character. This writer, a young man with no life experience and nothing risked as yet, passing judgment on an American classic author! I had read DHARMA BUMS in high school and was fascinated by Kerouac's stream of consciousness monologues. It spoke to my wandering youth and left me with a deep respect for his easy, off the cuff writing style. Needless to say, the magazine article left me feeling a bit empty-another hero bites the dust.
It was such a joy and relief, to pick up FREE BEER and hear a much more hopeful story regarding Kerouac's last years. The author,Cliff Anderson, was a close fiend, drinking buddy and budding author in Tampa, FL in the sixties, spending many years in his company and his acquaintance. Free Beer, the title short story is a revved up,laughing kick which gives great insight into Kerouac's intelligence and wit. It left me with the impression that Kerouac was even more of a genius than I had imagined. One hysterical event in the story not to be missed is Cliff and Jack's visit to Mike Fowler, a sportswriter for the ST. PETERSBURG INDEPENDENT. In an effort to hasten their departure to beach bar partying, Kerouac bangs out a column for Fowler in minutes. Anderson's telling of the tale leaves you chuckling and realizing Kerouac was magic in person as well as on the printed page.
The other short stories in the volume show that some of Kerouac's style, wit and directness was absorbed by Anderson. There's even a joint effort by both authors, an obvious effort by Kerouac to encourage Anderson's writing spirit.
Worth the price, especially to restore a tarnished image to its proper shine and light. Kerouac lives and there still are a few heroes.

Cliff Anderson was a close pal of Jack Kerouac during his final years in Florida and in a very pragmatic sense relates this experience during an interview with (my good buddy, great guy!) Rod Anstee of Ottawa, Ontario (author of a well-known Kerouac bootleg bibliography) -- very interesting to say the least and given my interest in Jack K., the highlight of the book.

But it also contains a nice collage of Mr. Anderson's own works which are quite entertaining in their own right.