On the Road (Book 7)

"On the Road" by Jack Kerouac

Listed as one of the "Top 100 novels to read before you die" and listed as one of the classic's of our time, I quickly added it to my reading blitz. 

Fairly chewy book with a "much a do about nothing"

It wasn't that I didn't find the book interesting, but there were times where I grew a little bored of all the kid-like, drunken episodes of car stealing and girl gawking. 

It was written as one continous piece and often times the long run on sentences would rule the day...(must have been a Beat Generation thing...coined by Kerouac himself) here is an example.

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler sims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.

Now...that's a sentence!