Don’t go “On the Road”: Best to not have even seen it!
The novel “On the Road” is a cheap, skip-around glimpse of what the beat movement of the mid-1940s to early 1950s might have been like. I compare reading this work by Jack Kerouac to walking up to a house, peeking in through the mail slot by the front door, and seeing the foul, raunchy house party going on inside. The sight innervates you. It feels incorrect and wrong that you are standing there watching that party at this moment. This may sound melodramatic, but it is how I remember feeling as I read the book. This book and the characters inside it might make pretty much anyone ...