Cynical-C Blog

One star Amazon reviews of classic movies, music and literature. Today we take a look at On The Road:

I found my copy of On the Road lying on the side of the rode (irony, I know). At the time I had a female friend that was very enthusiastic about this book, so I decided to give it a try. After reading it I realized that I probably had the luck of finding it where I did because the previous owner had thrown it out the window in anger, frustration and disgust. This book is terrible. The writing is monotonous. It was a struggle for me to keep the pages turning. There is no plot, but rather Kerouac just strings together events. The characters are unlikeable and shallow. The book is entirely undeserving of its reputation. But despite that, I recommend you read it. Why? Because with more voices telling the honest truth about this book (that it stinks), fewer will be pressured into the “Kerouac Cult” by all the wanna-be counter-culture “intellectuals” that fawn over this kind of trash. So read it! It is your duty!

it really sucke

This book gets my nomination for the most overrated book in American Literature. It is trite, saccharine and false. The themes and insights it contains are not even good enough to be third rate. Moreover, as a prose stylist, Kerouac was probably fourth rate. In short, I despise this piece of [garbage] and would advise all of its hipster doofus fans to lose the tie-dye clothes and throw away their bongs. Maybe then they will read something good for a change.

Shave off your goatees all you wannabe beatniks, this book is no bible. It’s 200 dull pages about losers who spend most of their time waiting for something to happen. There’s no plot, no story. Just hipsters who are not all that hip

Grapes of Wrath meets Fear and Loathing (without the drugs). Dated and pointless.

After reading this book twice, I still have no clue as to why it is still being hailed as the “beatnik” generation bible. I mean, puh-leaze….. if I want to read about a bunch of idiotic, hormonal men driving around in a primitive attempt to get laid, I’ll just stop by the fraternity house. This is proof that men who dream of getting laid read about other men who dream about getting laid, and then praise them for being so gosh darn smart. What a waste of money… it does however make good toilet paper.

This is not what I thought it would be. I mean people rave about this book. Maybe it would be a big deal in the 50’s (although I dont see it raising too many eyebrows even back then.) I just dont see it. It’s the same thing over and over. “Lets move on cause I’m restless. Let’s find a ride and get to the other side of the U.S. for awhile. Lets do drugs and get drunk. OK now I’m bored here, lets go back.” There, now you dont have to read it. I’ve just given it all to you.

I read this book in the 80’s, back in the day when I had just discovered reading. I had high expectations. The book was part of a Contemporary Lit class, and I could not believe how boring it was. They would hitchhike, meet interesting characters, tell enough of the story to intrigue, and then they would move on, drinking, riding, and missing the big picture. The repitition, the blandness of what should have been an incredible journey, went on and on. Perhaps at the time it was written there was a little novelty. This book may be one of the most overrated of the 20th century.

all the poetic reviews were a setup. How could you people find this romantic? There are no great stories here. Only boredom. Watch paint dry. Thats as exciting as it gets hear. I hope you dont have to read a dry as dust book like this to tell you that being a drifter is fun. Cause if youre looking for insight, it aint here.

As far as I can tell, this book is about girls, hitchhiking, and partying. After 100 pages and no plot in sight, I put the book down. A total waste of time.

I had heard so much about this book that I felt compelled to read it.Although I’ve read various plotless novels before they always more than compensated with great character development or questioned the readers views.But “On The Road” is plotless, characterless and formless.With 50 pages to go I felt that maybe kerouac could pull the threads together but I was to be disappointed.Perhaps in the 50’s this was new age hapless wondering without any of the social responsibilities of the age but to this 90’s reader it seems very trying.

I just don’t understand it. How is this book a classic? I can sum the whole story up in a couple of sentences…Drove fast to a new town,drank and chased women,drove fast to a new town,drank and chased women…over and over and over again. This is one of the most shallow, hollow books that I have ever read. If You want to read a real classic try The fountainhead by Ayn Rand or The Godfile by an underated ,talented new writer Frank Turner Hollon but please, for your own good, stay away from this.

I fail to see how anybody can consider this a great novel. What it the point of it? I mean, first of all, it’s boring. But it’s not just dull, it leaves no impresion on the reader at all. I know that “critics” like to turn up their noses as popular writers such as Stephen King and Anne Rice, but I think you will find that the books they have written (at least the better ones) will have a lot more influence than this little fingernail clipping.

I have tried hard, and read several books by Kerouak, but still can not understand anyones fascination with him. In my humblest opinion, he is the worst writer I have ever read. He lacks description and his viniet is nothing but a description of life as a drug attic. i am sad he shot himself without something better to have left behind.

Anybody who considers this “the most important book I’ve read in my life” should be taken outside and strung up by their genitalia for all the world to laugh at. I read it in high school and thought it sucked even then, but I wasn’t confident enough to take that stand. Now, after researching a story on “beats” for a New Orleans-based magazine, I tried it again and, boy, is it awful.

Ginsburg was a good person and a decent poet. Burroughs (older and not techincally a beat) was by far the most talented of the gang and the only real novalist. But Kerouac?!? C’mon. The guy was a washed up mamma’s boy who left a trail of neglected children and ruined lives in his wake, which still ripples on today. Read about his daughter and learn what a great “free spirit” this drunken role-model was to his own broken family. Kerouac said himself in his declining years (what, his mid-30s?) that it was not so much about the writing and the poetry as they were “just some guys who were trying to get laid.” Honest and noble enough, but any person who upholds this bloated proto-fratboy as a champion of American Literature is doing our aspiring writers a great disservice.

Perhaps Kerouac’s greatest achievement was provide a scourge of disaffected white-bred college dropouts and goateed posers with a weak rationalization for their debauched, hedonistic behavior. But here’s at tip for aspiring sybarites: you can’t be truly hedonistic if you are broke. So go on, get your MBA, make a few mill, then let loose the Dogs of Jack. It’s either that, or die like our friend Cassidy did in real life…out in a mexican desert while walking along the tracks at night, freezing and drunk, until finally keeling over like a stray dog and vomiting his last breath into the sand of some foreign land. Hell, at least Burroughs lived into his 80s.

I swear this book was so dumb. I couldn’t bear reading it any more after the first two chapters. The whole thing is written as what seems to me as an unfinished thought. I’ve heard that this was supposed to be a documentary item of an adventure but to me it was more like the ramblings of a doped up poet wannabe.

Jack Kerouac wrote this book, or so I’ve heard, on one continuous roll of paper. It seems to me that there may be some truth in that because there is no end, just run-ons. I forced myself to read the rest of it, hoping that maybe it would get better. But alas, it (was ver bad). What is worse is the ending let me down even more.

The whole story is about Sal Paradise, yes that is really his name, and how Sal hitchhikes back and forth the continental U.S. meeting up with his poet friends. See Sal. See Sal run. Run Sal, run. This is the basic jist of the whole book.

I hope I make you think about reading this book. It’s not for everyone. So, later.

I guess I am not intellectual enough to get into this novel. It reads more like a journal than a novel. How could this garbage be considered one of the most important works of the 20th century? If this is the Bible of the beat generation no wonder the beat generation receives barely a notice in the annals of American History. At least Hayden and Hoffman had an agenda. What was Kerouac’s agenda? Get drunk, do some drugs, make love and groove on the people. What a waste of intellegence.

After having “On the Road” suggested to me by numerous friends and family i finally made time to read it. From Chapter 1 i found this novel boring and predictable. After some time (3/4’s through the book) i realized this novel isn’t written for me. It’s written for anyone who either does not travel, doesn’t have the balls to travel or doesn’t take chances in everyday life. I can sort of see why this novel appeals to so many in my generation but i still have to say, spend a night drinking and bar hopping and your likely to learn more than you will in “On the Road”.