Desolation Angels

The difficulty of having written a novel like “On the Road” is trying to follow up with a book that chronicles all that happens afterward. Kerouac wrote “Big Sur” as a reflection of what happens after a writer receives the fame and fortune that “The Road” brought. Like other writers such as, Joseph Heller, Erica Jong, and Henry Miller, trying to capture the book that made you famous will always fall far short. He is in his forties when he writes this and his Road days have long since past. His narrative style of stream of thought is still active in this book, but it doesn’t have the punch that “On the Road” does. It is an account of staying in a primitive cabin, owned by friend Lorenz Monsanto (Lawrence Ferlinghetti) in the Big Sur region of California. The book is more a reflection than commentary, or scene-by-scene account than his previous books. It has the wonderful Jazz-like style of impromptu narrative that Kerouac is famous for. The poetry at the end of this is some more of Jazz-inspired words, but I really didn’t think Kerouac was much of a poet. The book has meanderings at times, but does give a good account of what the Beats were like, especially after finding acceptance in the public. Not his best work, but the writings are a sense of what a beaten Beat’s life is like after getting everything he worked for.

Desolation Angels (1965) is Jack Kerouac's chronicle of his life in the period between the end of The Dharma Bums, when he takes a job with the forest service in summer 1956 as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak in Washington State, and the publication the following year of On the Road, which brought him fame and (some) fortune.

It starts with a description of a kind of mystical experience Kerouac had while spending three months in isolation up on the mountain, something already touched on in The Dharma Bums and in the "Alone on a Mountaintop" section of his 1960 essay collection The Lonesome Traveler. This is also, frankly, the most tedious part of Desolation Angels, with some passages descending into near gibberish as Kerouac experiments with different styles of communicating his feelings.

Fortunately, the Desolation Peak chapters only take up a fairly short part of the beginning of the book. The rest is more or less straight narrative describing Kerouac's interactions and adventures with his various buddies (all under pseudonyms, so find a "character key": there's a good one in the Wikipedia entry for Desolation Angels) after he comes down from the mountain, most prominently Allen Ginsburg, Gregory Corso, Peter Orlovsky, Neal Cassady and, toward the end, William S. Burroughs.

Part personal journal (Kerouac spends a lot of time sorting out his thoughts on the big questions like the nature of existence and the meaning of life) and part roman a clef, Desolation Angels is very readable account of the Beat Movement and Kerouac's life at this period because he is so honest and straightforward about his thoughts and feelings. For example, at one point he vents his frustration at "Zen" Buddhism as a bastardization of the real thing, and at another laments his role in turning the Beat Movement into a hipster free for all. Ah, fame...

At around 400 pages, Desolation Angels was the longest of Kerouac's works to that point but, because it rarely strains for stylistic overreach (like, say, Dr. Sax) it makes an excellent introduction to this significant American literary figure, or at least a good followup for those who want to get more Kerouac after reading On the Road.

Kerouac's novel "Big Sur" (1962) is a painful, self-lacerating portrayal of the writer's deterioration and nervous breakdown from alcoholism and a look back at the better days and friendships recounted in "On the Road". "The circles close in on the old heroes of the night", the narrator, Jack Duluoz, says as he visits Neal Cassady (Cody). The characters in the novel are thinly-disguised friends of Kerouac's from San Francisco's bohemian literary community of the 1950s.

The book's setting during August -- September, 1960 alternates between a remote cabin in California's Big Sur and the lively streets and bars of San Francisco. Kerouac could never decide where he wanted to be and was unable to be happy either alone or with others for long. Kerouac, exhausted by the publicity he received after "On the Road" and increasingly dependent on alcohol, accepts the offer of a friend to stay at his Big Sur cabin and recover his strength. While Kerouac responds to the wild beauty of the scenery, he also is frightened for himself. He writes the book looking back to the events and often addresses the reader directly about the breakdown that will occur at the book's end.

After three weeks, Kerouac finds he cannot bear the loneliness at Big Sur and tries to hitchhike to Monterrey. When he cannot thumb a ride, he realizes that America has changed from his younger days. Jack has a reunion Cody, who has just been released from two years in jail for possession and with his wife Evelyn when he reaches San Francisco. He is devastated upon learning that his pet cat has died and returns to heavy drinking with his friends. Thoughts and dreams of the death of cats, mice, otters, snakes, fish, and people pervade the narrator's mind. The book zig-zags back to Big Sur, where the narrator comes close to a breakdown and back to San Francisco, where Cody fixes up Jack for what will be a tumultuous relationship with one of Cody's mistresses, Billie, who has a four year old son, Elliott. They are together for a week, before Jack feels hemmed in. Jack, Billie, Elliott and another couple return to Big Sur for the third time where on a chilly September evening, Jack goes mad from delirium tremens in a vividly and frighteningly realistically described scene.

"Big Sur" is written in Kerouac's "spontaneous prose" style with its lengthy stream-of consciousness sentences and paragraphs. With all his difficulties with alcoholism and breakdowns, the writing is convincing and often beautiful. Even the long, rambling poem written at Big Sur that concludes the book effectively shows the author's mental state. The book is also well-organized as its story develops clearly and inexorably. From the opening pages, the reader is left in no doubt of direction of the book and of its catastrophic confusion. The book has many descriptive passages and discussions of literature, Buddhism, nature, and of the narrator's dreams juxtaposed against the harsher reality of alcoholic deterioration. In an early passage, the narrator describes delirium tremens as follows:

"But anybody who's never had delirium tremens even in their early stages may not understand that it's not so much a physical pain but a mental anguish indescribable to those ignorant people who don't drink and accuse drinkers of irresponsibility -- The mental anguish is so intense that you feel you have betrayed your very birth, the efforts nay the birth pangs of your mother when she bore you and delivered you to the world, you've betrayed every effort your father ever made to feed you and raise you and make you strong and my God even educate you for 'life,' you feel a guilt so deep you identify yourself with the devil and God seems far away abandoning you to your sick silliness -- You feel sick in the greatest sense of the word.... "

The narrator shows self-pity as he tells his story, but most of the time he makes a painful attempt to be honest and to describe his life and his failures to live up to his dreams -- particularly his alcoholism, self-centeredness, inability to find peace, and inability to establish a lasting relationship with a woman. The book offers a harsh but moving self-portrayal of the author in his latter years who has lost his way.

"Big Sur" is one of Kerouac's better books and will interest readers who know "On the Road", "The Dharma Bums" or "Tristessa". In 2013, Michael Polish directed and wrote the screenplay for a flim version of "Big Sur" which is worth seeing but does not capture the anguish of the novel. The title of this review, "Kerouac's Book of Interior Chaos" is taken from William Everson's book "Birth of a Poet" as used in Tom Clark's biography of Kerouac.

Robin Friedman

After reading the memoirs of Helen Weaver The Awakener: A Memoir of Kerouac and Joyce Johnson (Glassman) [[ASIN:0140283579 Minor Characters: A Beat Memoirthe Fifties]], I wanted to read Kerouac's novel "Desolation Angels". Kerouac had a short relationship with Weaver in 1956 followed by a longer relationship with Johnson. In "Desolation Angels", Kerouac describes his relationship with these women from his own perspective. There is much more to the book.

"Desolation Angels" is the most literally autobiographical of Kerouac's novels, with the author frequently only slightly changing the names of his friends and supporting characters. The book covers about one year in Kerouac's life, from the summer, 1956, to late 1957, just before the New York Times published a favorable review of "On the Road" which took Kerouac from obscurity to fame. The book is in two large sections (called "books") written at different times and in different styles. Kerouac wrote book one titled "Desolation Angels" in 1956-1957 shortly after the events it describes. The book is written in the spontaneous, associative stream-of-consciousness style that characterizes Kerouac's best-known work. It was rejected for publication in 1957.

In 1961, when Kerouac was in the middle of a long decline, he wrote the second book of what became "Desolation Angels", titled "Passing Through" while living in Mexico. Kerouac's writing in this second book, which includes his relationships with Weaver and Glassman, is more narrative and straighforward in character than in the first book. Kerouac thought of publishing each part as separate works but decided to combine the two together. The result is "Desolation Angels" first published in 1965. The current edition of the book, which dates from 1995, begins with a valuable introduction by Joyce Johnson.

The book is long, rambling, and autobiographical. It lacks a formal plot. The book is held together by themes stated in the opening section "Desolation in Solitude" and developed throughout the book. In the summer of 1956, following the events recounted in his novel "The Dharma Bums" , I wanted to read Kerouac's novel "Desolation Angels". Kerouac had a short relationship with Weaver in 1956 followed by a longer relationship with Johnson. In "Desolation Angels", Kerouac describes his relationship with these women from his own perspective. There is much more to the book.

"Desolation Angels" is the most literally autobiographical of Kerouac's novels, with the author frequently only slightly changing the names of his friends and supporting characters. The book covers about one year in Kerouac's life, from the summer, 1956, to late 1957, just before the New York Times published a favorable review of "On the Road" which took Kerouac from obscurity to fame. The book is in two large sections (called "books") written at different times and in different styles. Kerouac wrote book one titled "Desolation Angels" in 1956-1957 shortly after the events it describes. The book is written in the spontaneous, associative stream-of-consciousness style that characterizes Kerouac's best-known work. It was rejected for publication in 1957.

In 1961, when Kerouac was in the middle of a long decline, he wrote the second book of what became "Desolation Angels", titled "Passing Through" while living in Mexico. Kerouac's writing in this second book, which includes his relationships with Weaver and Glassman, is more narrative and straighforward in character than in the first book. Kerouac thought of publishing each part as separate works but decided to combine the two together. The result is "Desolation Angels" first published in 1965. The current edition of the book, which dates from 1995, begins with a valuable introduction by Joyce Johnson.

The book is long, rambling, and autobiographical. It lacks a formal plot. The book is held together by themes stated in the opening section "Desolation in Solitude" and developed throughout the book. In the summer of 1956, following the events recounted in his novel "The Dharma Bums" The Dharma Bums, Kerouac worked for two months isolated on Desolation Peak in western Washington in a fire tower. He thought he would be able to use this period of isolation for meditation and gaining control of his life. He soon found himself, however, missing friends, companionship and every day activity. Kerouac reflects on his surroundings, on his family, and on his earlier life in short, stream-of-conscious sections before he comes down from the mountain to rejoin the world. A sense of religious and philosophical meditation, which includes a great deal of Buddhism, also pervades Kerouac's discussion of his time on Desolation Peak and the novel as a whole.

The section of the book describing Kerouac's experiences and thoughts on Desolation Peak is overall the strongest in the novel. The remainder of book one describes Kerouac's descent from the mountain and hitchhiking through Portland to San Francisco. He spends a riotous week with his friends in the middle of the San Francisco Poetry renaissance, but the best scenes are of Kerouac and his friends having fun and walking the streets. Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsburg, and Gregory Corso, with slightly changed names, play important roles. The sense of disatsifaction and the need to move on, whether alone on Desolation Peak or with friends, is critical to Kerouac. Unhappy in San Francisco, he sets off for Mexico.

The aptly titled "Passing Through", book two of the work, describes Kerouac's continued restlessnes, spiritual questioning, and dizzying journeys to Mexico, New York City, Tangiers, France, back to New York, California, and New York again. When he wrote "Passing Through" in 1961, Kerouac was famous but in decline. He was seriously troubled by the faddish attention given to the so-called "Beat Movement" which he had not intended to create. In "Passing Through", "On the Road" is accepted for publication, but relatively little is made of this. In many places, Kerouac addresses his readers directly and intimately. Thus, early in book two he cautions his readers:

"And also dont think of me as a simple character-- A lecher, a ship-jumper, a loafer, a conner of older women, even of queers, an idiot, nay a drunken baby Indian when drinking--- Got socked everywhere and never socked back (except when young tough football player)-- In fact, I don't even know what I was-- Some kind of fevered being different as a snowflake....In any case, a wondrous mess of contradictions (good enough, said Whitman) but morefit for the Holy Russia of the 19th Century than for this modern America of crew cuts and sullen faces in Pontiacs--".

The scenes in Mexico City, with Bill Burroughs in Tangiers, and particularly with his mother in a long, disastrous trip to California are as good as the scenes with Weaver and Johnson.

This book captures a great deal of Kerouac and his contradictions. It shows a man who loved and tried to savor the common experiences of life, his friends, lovers, and food, and yet suffered from an inner loneliness and restlessness. Wherever he was, Kerouac felt he had to be somewhere else. Alcoholism and drugs and wandering inexorably took their toll. The story is told in "Desolation Angels" with strong religious overtones. The spirituality in this book is complex and unsystematized. It includes Buddhism, Catholicism and simple living in the here and now but does not reduce to any formula. I found the spiritual quest theme of this book challenging and moving.

"Desolation Angels" is a difficult mixed book, with eloquent writing mixed with portions that are less successful. The work gradually won me over as a read into it. This book will be of greatest interest to readers with a strong passion for Kerouac who have read, for example, "On the Road", "The Dharma Bums" and "Tristessa". These three novels are all available in the Library of America's excellent volume of Kerouac's novels. Jack Kerouac: Road Novels 1957-1960: On the Road / The Dharma Bums / The Subterraneans / Tristessa / Lonesome Traveler / Journal Selections (Library of America)

Robin Friedman

Desolation Angels is heaven and hell and the world and America and the Void and his Mom. Kerouac/Duluoz is a despicable, noble, earnest, loving, whiny, brilliant, loyal, weak, irreplaceable, insane jazz poet. As a preamble, listen to Bob Dylan's Desolation Row and realize how he creates surprisingly linear beauty tangentially, and then crank up the random-o-meter one hundred times for Kerouac. One thousand preliminarily random images turn into a masterful Pointillist painting in prose. Bebop improvisation touching on a particular theme from a million different angles placates those of us requiring a story if we are patient. His prose is so poetic at times that it's exhausting; infinitely compressed like a neutron star. In Desolation Angels he is Dharma Bum, addict, alcoholic, villain, criminal, poet, preacher, seer, mystic and finally Penitente and Bodhisattva having simultaneously reached the gates of Heaven/Nirvana and found himself unforgivable. From Desolation Peak and Seattle to Frisco; to Mexico City and New York; across the Atlantic to Tangiers, Paris and London; from Florida to Berkeley and back again; Desolation Angels is "ontogeny recapitulating phylogeny;" his whole rucksack (lost and found); every work, every poem, every sketch every howl. Ginsberg, Dali, Burroughs are all there, the pantheon of crazy pathetic beat angels.

In a foreword, Jack Kerouac stated that all his work comprises one vast book, each separate novel is a chapter, the whole to be called The Duluoz Legend. One enormous comedy seen through the eyes of poor Ti Jean (Jack Duluoz). A world of raging action and folly, a gentle sweetness seen through eye's keyhole. His eye as a camera, snapping shots of escapades with Ginsberg, Burroughs, Snyder, and McClure among many others, while trying to fight episodes of manic depression and paranoia. He tried to slip into San Francisco quietly, but got drunk, then bounced into the City Lights bookstore at a busy time, his disguise useless, everyone recognizing the King of the Beatniks, and all ready to party with him.
He traveled cross country, hitchhiking a thing of the past, blaming Satan for his immorality, his alcoholism, mental illnesses, and his life. Jack's mind whirl never turned off. It was always restless, surging, recording. A week alone and he muses about bacon hanging from a hook, loon laughter, owls hooting in weird Bodhidharma trees, flowers and redwood logs, fire resembling snowflakes (because both are different every time.
He thinks;"An awful realization that I have been fooling myself all my life thinking there was a next thing to do to keep the show going and actually I'm just a sick clown and so is everybody else.""Life is a gate, a way, a path to Paradise, why not live for fun and joy and love, why not go to your desire and LAUGH?"
Jack questioned his life, the value of each act, the reason for acting, or not. He wrote, "Like a madman I have no pretention and no hope--" He wrote the long poem entitled "Sea,"which concludes the pages of "Big Sur." It would take a genius plus five years to decipher. One line I'll leave as a quote, the rest is better to be breathed in, and interpreted for each heart. "We've had no crack at eternity in a billion years of trying..." This book is like the butterfly Cocina, still alive the shell holds dark secrets, spread out flat, it is beautifully readable.

'Big Sur' is a haunting examination into the lives of Jack Kerouac (alias Jack Duluoz) and his many buddies who know no other occupation but drinking and writing, and then drinking and loving, and then drinking and falling into madness. Yet in the midst of this Beatnik chaos comes some of Kerouac's most tender deliverances. He accounts himself as "bored and jaded" and finds the world's greatest faults residing in HIMSELF.
The torture of his life-style shows on every page, and still he finds solace in his love for his mother, and for his God, and his cherished memories of his dead father and brother. Writers can take a lesson from his honesty, if not his perpetual weakness for never saying 'no' to his selfish, hanger-on friends. A clear picture of the beat days of San Francisco, with a vivid, raw reckoning of loneliness and unsatisfied love.

"But I remember seeing a mess of leaves suddenly go skittering in the wind and into the creek, then floating rapidly down the creek toward the sea, making me feel a nameless horror even then of "Oh my God, we're all being swept away to sea no matter what we know or say or do" -- And a bird who was on a crooked branch is suddenly gone without my even hearing him" Big Sur (7.5). This is one of the quotes from Big Sur by Jack Kerouac that stood out to me as significant since it focused on the characters Jack going through an alcoholic downward spiral and succumbing to his madness regarding his own mortality. One of the elements of California Literature, the creation myth specifically, goes into depth about the diversity of cultures and races that exist throughout the land and how it has grown tom involve a sense of growth and freedom with potential. The novel centers around a character named Jack Duluoz who through the lifestyle in Big Sur and Los Gatos has slowly and gradually begun to lower himself into the depths of anger and despair. Constantly confronted with the questions of mortality which has revolved around his mind for the remainder of the novel. Eventually towards the end of the novel after suffering more than one delirium nightmare he has come to the conclusion to return home to his mother and believes that everything will work itself out. "The road's up there on the wall a thousand feet with a sheer drop sometimes, […] And worst of all is the bridge! I go ambling seaward along the path by the creek and see this awful thin white line of bridge a thousand unbridgeable sighs of height above the little woods." Big Sur (4.1) While spending all his time in the cabin was meant to alleviate his hardships, it has instead sent Jack teetering on the edge as it has him confused and struggling to cope with the delirium nightmares he has suffered through throughout the novel. His madness, in reality, stems from his abuse of alcohol which hinders his grip on reality and leaves little room for him to confront his true problems. In my opinion, it seems as though he is more stable when he is around other people than when he is alone which I understand is a bold statement but nonetheless characterizes him as a troubled individual. It also deals in an explicit and direct manner with the negative effects of the alcoholic binge that Jack subjects himself through which furthers his case as a damaged individual. It is meant to illuminate the real-life alcoholic tendencies suffered by the author Jack Kerouac as he writes to create a free-form style that provides a "realistic rendering" of his real-life problems. As a whole, a theme that seems to prop itself up greatly with his vices is the issue of self-identity, struggling to reconcile his actions with the attributes that make up his character which has slowly begun to lose credibility in strengthening his mind. "That feeling when you wake up with the delirium tremens with the fear of eerie death dripping from your ears like those special heavy cobwebs spiders weave in the hot countries, the feeling of being a bent back mud man monster groaning underground in hot steaming mud pulling a long hot burden nowhere, the feeling of standing ankle-deep in hot boiled pork blood, ugh, of being up to your waist in a giant pan of greasy brown dishwater not a trace of suds left in it... The face of yourself you see in the mirror with its expression of unbearable anguish so haggard and awful with sorrow you can't even cry for a thing so ugly, so lost, no connection whatever with early perfection and therefore nothing to connect with tears or anything." Big Sur (2.1) This passage stands out so firmly and stays entrenched in my mind which leads me to the belief that this text does, in fact, paint a cruel and undermining picture of California but also deserves its place in the state's literature. It supports the theme under the umbrella of California Literature that "all is not what it seems" which is actually true since the state of mind and action by many individuals here in the past have led them to failed attempts at success and happiness, be it on a domestic or public level. It is then my understanding and opinion that this novel is truly underrated and great in capturing the lifestyle and constant hardships felt by the common man here in California as he/she struggles to attain the dream they came here to pursue.

Harrowing, disembodied, visceral. Not pretty. Not admirable. Should have been called Delerium Tremens. My favorite Kerouac novel because it seems to me the most honest (terrifyingly so) about what a bleak, sad person he really was and how much his being a selfish drunk hurt others. That said, the story is sort of a farewell to society. Published in 1962 and focusing on the year 1960, it was his last "road" novel. The Vanity of Duluoz was published in 1968 but it was a backwards looking autobiography, more of a memoir. He was dead of alcoholism a year later. Big Sur is capped off by possibly his greatest and most beautiful poem Sea: Sounds of the Pacific Ocean at Big Sur. To my mind, the poem represents the distillation of his talent, the tears of the muse collected and strewn onto the pages after his horrible ordeal.

Kerouac left his good writing behind in VISIONS OF CODY (written long before it's publication date) and DESOLATION ANGELS (ditto). By the time he wrote BIG SUR, he was burnt out, full of himself, sophomoric and so was the writing. If you don't believe me, read the opening pages in the Kindle version. I've read almost every novel he wrote, but I couldn't get more than 50 pages through this.

Kerouac's Big Sur, written after his mega-success with On The Road, could be argued as a very dark, depressing read. On the contrary, I found it very revealing about one of my favorite writers, and his frame of mind at the time.

Given the opportunity to seclude himself from his friends, fame, and drinking to excess in the cabin of a friend, Kerouac sinks into a sort of paranoia and anxiety, and finally gives in to his impulse to return to 'civilization'....and then proceeds to invite a group back to the cabin, leading him to realize that his most recent affair was with a girl he didn't actually love.

The most fascinating aspect of this novel, to me, is not the horrific volume of drinking Kerouac does at this stage of his life, but in the fact that though he was put off by his fame, and being dubbed 'the King of the Beats', and at being hounded by ardent fans who wanted to merely be in his presence...he couldn't stand the isolation.

Also of interest to me was the 'honesty' he put into his feelings about the actions of his fans...they say 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery', but Kerouac seemed to think just the opposite...and all but told his fans/readers to 'get a life' in several passages of the book. Those in his industry, who rely so heavily on fan-support rarely ever are so vocal about their distaste for those same fans, without a severely negative impact on their sales.

An excellent read, though if you are looking for 'uplifting', spiritually awakening wisdom from the 'king of the beats', look elsewhere. This book is a downward spiral into the darker recesses of Kerouac's alcohol-induced delirium.

Fools! Epochs of fools! I found a battered copy of Desolation Angels on my weekly trip into the city for life drawing. I knew I was better at drawing than most artists alive today and I always liked pretending to be withdrawn so people would leave me alone, also so people wouldn't ask me to get a typical job. But tonight it was three hours of some random naked beatnik girl just looking to make some cash without feeling like a hooker. I had arrived to the basement of the abandoned frame shop early and feeling the need to stretch my legs anyway, I decided to look around for a my drug of choice, the bitter black bean nectar of Avalokitesvara. But the great awakener was unavailable! How could this be? Not a coffee shop in sight, not even a decent gas station. Was I somehow transported to the Stone Age? I must have, because low and behold I stumble upon a beat copy of old Jack’s finest work in the gutter. Who would do such a thing? I wanted to blame it on the Nazis, however there was no scorch marks or boot prints. No, it was plain to see that this was the work of Neanderthals. Were these teeth marks on the spine? I brushed off old Jack best I could and put him in my pack; it was back to the frame shop to begin sketching. Whatever creatures roaming that night were obviously hungry and I didn’t want to end up a can of Hooman-Beans.

Inside was a complete mess; it occurred to me that the regular old men that came to make poorly drawn breasts had been there for quite a while. Empty boxes of pizza scattered among the chairs along with the pride of geezers drunkenly describing a forty-foot painting of a fish. Rubbish. This wasn’t a black coffee crowd. I grabbed a seat in the front to stay away from them and quickly put my headphones on. Block out the madness. Try and get into the creative mood, I thought. Before my peace began, I was interrupted by one of the hipster tattoo crowd. Asking if I had been there before. Nodding I said “Yes! I come here often!” And turned up my music to drown out any future questions. However, she persisted and asked, “Is this model new?” Not realizing I was talking louder, I said, “Yeah, I think she’s the model that wears a merkin.” Just then, the model came from around my left side...had she heard me? No matter, it was ten one-minute warm up poses and we were all scribbling away. Then on to the twenty minute poses. The first pose was what I call the, look-into-the-void-jerk-this-is-not-a-merkin-nested-spread-eagle-with-a-face-of-a-mountain-and-the-eyes-of-some-ancient-long-forgotten-God-staring-into-my-chest-to-rip-out-my-lungs-for-such-disrespect. When I thought I’d be safe on the next pose, it turned into warrior-cannonball-into-the-void. I concluded she heard me and it was better to ditch the place and go home early. My drawings suffered in the end, excuse me for my rut. A peaceful sorrow at home is probably the best I’ll ever be able to offer the world. So I told the pale enslaved fools, and the void that hates them, goodbye.

Jack Kerouac's 'Desolation Angels', written about a period of his life roughly 10 years before his death, acts as a nice bridge between 'On The Road' (which was awaiting publication during the course of events described in "Angels") and a subsequent publication, Big Sur, both of which I've read.

During his two month self-imposed exile to work as a fire ranger on Desolation Peak, Jack Kerouac was forced to confront many of his pre-existing or emerging demons. The location for this period of his life is especially apropos for the 'desolation' surrounding Kerouac, much of which was self-created, as he sank further into depression and alcoholism.

The book covers more of his life than just the two months on Desolation Peak, but as Jack re-emerges into society, you get the sense that this 'loner' was only comfortable being 'alone' amongst others...that while he could see, smell, and wander amongst others, and feel tolerably 'isolated'...he could not stand the true isolation he could achieve, to remove himself from society altogether.

Jack wanders from the American Northwest to Florida, to Mexico, to Tangiers, to California with his mother in tow, and eventually back to Florida, when his mother grows further depressed with their cross-country move after only a month.

Many players from Kerouac's former novels appear in this one as well, albeit with different names...the poet 'Gregory Corso,' to whom Kerouac lost 'Mardou Fox' in "Subterraneans" is called 'Raphael Urso' in "Angels"...'Dean Moriarty,' from "On The Road" is 'Cody' in this incarnation.

Kerouac's detachment from the Beat Generation, his status as their reigning 'king', his fame, and his Buddhist beliefs all come into focus during this novel, one of his finest, in my opinion. If you rode shotgun with Kerouac for On The Road, explore his life further, and you will uncover far more about this dark, troubled, but fascinating author.

This novel marked the close end to Kerouac. Kerouac was controlled by alcohol and depression. He hopes to find peace in a cabin in the Big Sur(Which I went to just a few weeks and is very beautiful). There he is just tortured by his own thoughts from too much alcohol. In this time Kerouac looks back at his outgoing "On The Road" backpacking days and begs for mercy in his own misery. The main reason I love this novel besides Kerouac's honesty and splendid writing is the message it has on contemporey america. 10 years after "On The Road" and as the 60's unfold so does the destruction of friendly america. Kerouac can barley hitchike because of america's new fear of the hitchiker being a criminal. This is a very symbolic point of how friendly america was and now how everyone lives in fear. We also are re-visited with Kerouac's "On the Road" hero "Dean Moritatey", Who is still wild and hyper but with a family. Kerouac slowly starts to crack for a short while in Big Sur and we see some of Kerouac's most haunting writing ever. This novel also includes a poem Kerouac wrote called "Sea" which translates the sound of the ocean into speaking english. It is tedious yet fascinating at the same time. "Big Sur" remains a potrait of a troubled writer who struggles with society and alcohol addiction. This book should be read by all, However it is not a good to start as an intro to Kerouac( Atleast read "On The Road" first). This may be Kerouac's best work since "On The Road".

Essential to understanding Jack Kerouac, one must also understand alcoholism and the d.t.'s. You can take the easy way out and begin a daily regimen of drinking bottles of the sweet port wine he favored or you can take the hard road and read Big Sur. Either way, you'll arrive at the same destination.

After publication of On the Road, Jack Kerouac became somewhat of a celebrity. People he encountered in daily life expected him to be the Dean Moriary of his legendary book On the Road or his equal. This he wasn't. Jack was an introvert and recluse - at least by this stage in his life. People began to interest him less and less and more than ever he masked out his unhappiness increasingly by being in a state of sullen, sordid drunkenness.

Big Sur begins with Lorenzo Monsanto (Lawrence Ferlinghetti), owner of the City Lights Bookstore in North Beach San Francisco, suggesting it might do Jack Duluoz (Jack Kerouac) some good getting away from his daily routine, by staying awhile at his cabin in Bixby Canyon, Big Sur, just off of Hwy. 1. Alone, Duluoz spends the first few nights walking down the canyon to the ocean below. The stars provide little light. The ocean crashes against the rocks below as the fog rolls in. A man who has walked down many highways by himself in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere suddenly finds being alone in nature overwhelming and becomes paranoid and near delusional. In an attempt to sober up, he is without the alcohol lifeline he needs for survival. It is so uncomfortable and depressing to him that he returns to San Francisco where he reunites with old acquaintances and resumes drinking himself to death. After a brief stay in the city, Duluoz returns to the cabin a second time with friends and booze where the interaction with others does him some good. Cody Pomeroy (Neil Cassady), of all people, makes the drive down to the cabin with his wife to the surprise of Jack and then intices Duluoz to come back to the city with him where he'll introduce Duluoz to his girlfriend Billie Dabney (Jackie Gibson Mercer). Pomeroy has always shared everything with Duluoz, including his wives and girlfriends. Duluoz and Billie, who has a little boy, sort of hit it off. Duluoz returns to the cabin for his final stay there accompanied by Billie, her son and another couple. Everything becomes a mess as Jack sorts through his feelings for Billie, as her son deprives Duluoz of the sleep he needs through his restlessness and whining and as the other quirky couple fails to fit in whatsoever. By this time, Duluoz is well into a nervous breakdown and the hallucinations he's experienced are wreaking havoc on his fragile state of mind. The book comes to an end with a poem Jack writes about the experience at the sea. Jack, with brutal honesty, opened his heart and soul and the demons that possessed him for all to see in Big Sur.

There would be no rebounding for Kerouac. He will spend the next eight years, in a self loathing melancholic existence, writing and doing talk shows such as the Steve Allen Show in which he appeared in a drunken state. I think it's worth noting that in the Grateful Dead Movie which captured four nights of concerts they played at the Winterland Ballroom in 1974, there's an excerpt from Kerouac written on the wall of the venue by some young hippie which read - Pass here and go on, you're on the road to heaven. Sadly and with some strange twist in cosmic irony, Kerouac was martyred by a generation of people he despised.

One of Kerouac's best books. The beginning picks up where Dharma Bums left off with him on Desolation Peak. He could have made that part shorter, but he wanted you to know how bored he was up there, along with a serious case of FOMO (fear of missing out). Anyway when he gets down from Desolation Peak is the real beginning of the story, and a great one it is. Get past desolation peak and you're golden, enjoy Desolation Angels, it's a good one.

As I have explained in another entry in this space in a DVD review of the film documentary "The Life And Times Of Allen Ginsberg", recently I have been in a "beat" generation literary frame of mind. I think it helps to set the mood for commenting on Jack Kerouac's lesser work under review here, "Big Sur", that it all started last summer when I happened to be in Lowell, Massachusetts on some personal business. Although I have more than a few old time connections with that now worn out mill town I had not been there for some time. While walking in the downtown area I found myself crossing a small park adjacent to the site of a well-known mill museum and restored textile factory space. Needless to say, at least for any reader with a sense of literary history, at that park I found some very interesting memorial stones inscribed with excerpts from a number of his better known works dedicated to Lowell's `bad boy', the "king of the 1950s beat writers".

And, just as naturally, when one thinks of Kerouac then, "On The Road", his classic modern physical and literary `search' for the meaning of America for his generation which came of age in post-World War II , readily comes to mind. No so well known, however, is the fact that that famous youthful novel was merely part of a much grander project, an essentially autobiographical exposition by Kerouac in many volumes starting from his birth in 1922, to chart and vividly describe his relationship to the events, great and small, of his times. The series, of which the book under review, "Big Sur", bears the general title "The Legend Of Duluoz". So that is why we today, in the year of the forty anniversary of Kerouac's death, are under the sign of "Big Sur".

The action of this novel, a relatively short narrative expression of Kerouac's now famous spontaneous writing style, takes place in San Francisco and along California's central coastline at Big Sur. Kerouac was there as a self-imposed retreat by him after the whirlwind of `success" of his major work "On The Road" in 1957 and the media's subsequent proclamation of him as "King of The Beats". Along the way he talks about the trials and tribulations surrounding his losing fight against alcoholism, his paranoias, his attempts to dry out, and his patterned misadventures, with and without women, mainly as a desperate response to the pressures and other problems associated with his new found, but not necessarily wanted, fame,

I have mentioned, in a DVD review of the excellent film documentary "What Happened To Kerouac?" that part of Kerouac's "fall from grace" was using so much youthful autobiographical material composed, in retrospect, of basically similar experiences that there was only so much that the market could bear, especially the volatile youth market that would make up the mass base of his audience. That factor and the intense media blitz to single out the ONE authentic voice of the "beats", his (because he was articulate, at least in the beginning, and handsome in a very television camera-friendly way unlike some of the other wild boys), for which his whole prior personal history left him ill-equipped. In any case he came crashing down.

"Big Sur" is, to my mind, an almost tragically self-conscious literary expression of that fall. And here the points just made really come into play. Sure, there is plenty of Kerouac introspective, some of it very perceptive as always. Of course, there will be plenty of evocative word play, be-bop feeling and other literary tidbits that add to our stock of literary language (including as an addendum, a poem/ranting/ocean sound bite- "Sea" (Sounds Of The Pacific Ocean At Big Sur). Naturally,as well, the cast of characters include a round-up of the usual suspects like Neal Cassady (here under the name Cody), his wife, his mistress, assorted lumpen-proletarian types and the literary West Coast "beats" that have peopled his previous works. But that is exactly the problem. These are no longer the poster boys of the post-World War II cultural scene. Pranks, misadventures, pratfalls and, oh yes, their Kerouac literary presentation as the voice of the "beats" don't age well as the characters age. Cassady, at least partially, was able to adjust to the new winds blowing in the 1960s. Kerouac could not, or would not. Here is the simplest way I can put it- "On The Road" I NEEDED to read at one long sitting, "Big Sur" I took at small samples over a few days. Jack, I think, knew that was where he was, I now know it and you will too.

By 1962 alcohol had become the combustible propellent of Jack Kerouac's saturated imagination. Like matches to the wick, binges could last weeks. 'Big Sur' brings a much different narrator than the frenetic idealist of 'On The Road'. When that was published, years after it had been written, he was touted as the bard of a new generation, a moniker he grew to deeply resent. Popular culture soon trivialized the 'Beats' into a parody of bongo drums and bad poetry. He became perceived by critics as a passing fad. A wounded Kerouac, his attempts to be recognized as a serious writer in disarray, hoped to dry out in a solitary retreat at Lawrence Ferlinghetti's cabin at Big Sur. It would be his last genuine effort at sobriety, and this book would become his last great novel.

Much of the book was written in the afterglow of hangovers, or the buzz of the day's first drink. There is weariness here, a sedated fatalism. His spirituality struggles with morbidity. Still, Kerouac's sensual, sensitive poetic prose might have reached its most sublime character in 'Big Sur', even in its fevered sparks of delirium tremens. It drifts, as Kerouac was drifting, in the disillusionment of the post-Beat rancor, then swirls into eddies of luminous energy. The flow of consciousness is viewed as if through a prism which gives experience a subjective, surreal semblance of order. It seems so tantalizingly close to grasping some illusive meaning, that talisman Kerouac had followed through friendships, terrestrial and spiritual wandering, hardscrabble existence, inebriation, all his life.

There is a little quip at the start of the book about the copyright problems he was having with previous publishers, regarding the use of the various names he had attributed to the pantheon of his 'beatnik' friends. The group who became the century's most legendary collection of literary iconoclasts. He describes all of his books as a single Proustian comedy of raging action, folly, sweetness. He whimsies spending his old age reinserting a consistent nomenclature. Of course, the old age would never be. A coherent structure, though, might have robbed the books of their intrinsic spontaneity, the root of their innocence. With all this, there is still a persistent, if subdued, cadence (a beat!) and a wry, if exhausted, humour. Lament or comedy, the roaring storm of On The Road, came crashing ashore at Big Sur, leaving the author a crumpled wreck on the beach. But from these bookends you can glean Kerouac's exhilarating, sad odyssey. 'Big Sur' is its most wrenchingly personal and expressive chapter.

A quick, breathless read from the reluctant "King of the Beats." Plot: Jack goes to cabin in Big Sur, spends 3 weeks alone, has brush with insanity, gets bored, goes into town and spends a hundred pages romping with Cody (Neal Cassady) and some of the usual gang, then returns to cabin with Cody's mistress and another couple and goes completely berserk from alcohol delirium tremens. His descriptions of his hallucinations and dreams are unparalleled. The guy just lays everything out on the page. You find yourself wanting to just reach into the book and give poor Jack a big hug, tell him everything's going to be OK, we all love you and want the best for you. The man was completely egoless. It's ironic how the fame he acquired as a "beatnik" prevented him from living a true beat life, which essentially means living as authentically as possible. People confuse it with the clothing, mannerisms, hep talk, which when you read Jack you realize was just a lot of condescending media hype. This book, as with Jack's life, was a constant dance between total bliss and complete despair, and you'll get plenty of book in this superbly written and very readable testament to the human condition.

Big Sur is the most mournful and tragic Jack Kerouac novel that I have yet read, and surprisingly, it is also his most focused. Though it lacks the sheer exhilaration of On the Road or The Dharma Bums, it makes up for it with poignant and beautiful insight into the author's inescapable depression and rejection of everything he once praised. Big Sur is definitely not the place to start reading Kerouac, but if you are already familiar with his earlier works, it is an absolutely necessary chapter in the saga of his life.

Reading Kerouac's bibliography and understanding where each novel fits into the story of his life can be a little tricky, because there are three dates that you need to keep in mind for each work. First is the period that the events in the novel actually took place, second the time that Kerouac wrote these events down, and third the date that his novel was published. Big Sur was published very shortly after it was written, mostly due to the author's recently achieved literary fame. On the Road, on the other hand, was written nearly a decade before it was published, and revised continually in the interim. Desolation Angels contains events before those in Big Sur, but was published (and partially written) several years afterwards. Before reading Big Sur, it is helpful to have first read On the Road, The Dharma Bums, and Desolation Angels (presumably in that order) to have a good understanding of the arc of Kerouac's life. It is probably also rewarding to read smaller works like The Subterraneans and Tristessa somewhere in the middle there, as their events also bear influence on the storytelling cycle as a whole, but I have not yet had the opportunity to do so.

Anyway, getting back to Big Sur itself: it might be a bit off-putting to hear so many people describe it as "heartbreaking" and "tragic." But this should not deter you from reading. The novel isn't one huge downer, but a slow unfolding (almost elegant) descent into madness, written by a man who by any measure should be at the peak of his success. Kerouac is never bitter about the way his life has turned out, but retains a sort of Buddhist calm in his recollection of the whirlwind events. I don't want to give anyway anything that happens in the plot, suffice to say that Kerouac begins the story with a peaceful retreat to a cabin in the Big Sur canyon, and tries every which was he can to escape the crushing weight of his depression and disillusionment.

The only weak part of the novel for me was the appended poem "Sea." It starts out interesting enough, capturing the physical sensations of sitting and watching the surf and the mythic wonderment with the idea of the sea itself. But it meanders a little too long for me---maybe I am just not a fan of Kerouac's poetry. All together, a solid 4.5 star book, and an essential read for Kerouac enthusiasts.

Jack Kerouac is famed as the great romantic of the American road, but that reputation ignores his greatest quality as a writer - his searing honesty. By the mid-60s, Kerouac was barely recognisable as the poet laureate of footloose youth. He was bloated, depressed, and romantically disappointed. He was also an alcoholic. One of the many heartbreaking passages in "Big Sur" records his inability to hitch a ride up the Californian coast. Americans, en route to the summer of love, had annexed "beat" culture into the rising ethic of hippie-dom. Kerouac couldn't relate to it, and nor could the hippies relate to him. This cult hero for many hippies couldn't thumb a ride because - overweight, middle-aged and dressed as a down-at-heel working man - Kerouac looked no part of the hippie dream that, in part, he had helped inspire. Alone, lonely, drinking heavily and in terrible emotional and spiritual pain, Kerouac miraculously (for us) sustained his extraordinary honesty about his condition. This, his most truly personal book, is agonising to read - but it is through this book that we come to know him best, and most deeply feel his tragedy. If you've ever worried about your own drinking, this is the book to keep you sober.

Nobody but Kerouac could describe the horror and suffering of alcoholism in lyrical, fluent prose. The opening pages show Kerouac's true gift as a writer. I often pick this book up at book stores and re-read the mesmerizing beginning where Jack wakes up 'all woe-begone and goopy' as the church bells play a mournful version of "I'll take you home again, Kathleen". He describes the alcoholic's hangover as the worst experience on earth -- like standing in pork blood as a 'mudman backbent monster' pulling 'a long hot burden to nowhere'. Atute readers will see hints of Jack's descent into depression and alcoholism in his earlier works. In "Big Sur" Jack openly acknowledges the nature of his suffering. Sadly, he would go on to drink himself to death. Kerouac's true gift lies in his original voice as an witer and not in being a joyful icon of the open road. "Big Sur" eloquently shows that the man suffered enormously.

For any true fans of Jack Kerouac, this book marks the end of a semi-productive career for this writer. Several years after On The Road, Big Sur provides a dark and twisted reflection of the more jovial and adventurous atmosphere to On The Road. The Duluoz Legend was never so grim, nor so sober as in this installation to the saga that was Jack Kerouac. People from Kerouac's daily life make candid appearances throughout the book through characterized aliases. Ferlinghetti appears as Montrose, yet the City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco is mentioned the same as in real life. In this story, Kerouac comes to terms with himself, and what his life has really meant over the past years. Through the advice of friends, and by a drunken depression, Jack Duluoz(Kerouac) appears as the truly tragic figure he was near the end of his life in St. Petersburg, FL. I feel it safe to say that in this instance, art truly imitates life. I recommend this book to anyone, mostly to those who've read On The Road, and more specifically to those who have become influenced through the writings of this 20th Century legend.

There are usually two types of Kerouac readers. There are the "On the Roaders", as I call them. The ones that enjoy his style, his way of placing his friends' lives into the context of their own troubles, their loneliness their love-- all the while with a literary pace likened to a old pickup speeding across the straightaways of the vacant Montana backroads. And then there are the others, who like the former, enjoy the style-- but they also look for the sadness in Kerouac's writing. His ability to deconstruct people with one look (in Desolation Angels he watches a waitress in a bar and tells her entire life story in snapshot events that underlie the sad look in her eyes), to find the hidden sentiments in people's actions-- whether he's right or wrong we really don't care.

Desolation Angels is the book for the second group of people. It is tortuous at times-- like his solitude atop the mountain staring Hozomeen in the face every morning which reveals Kerouac's own struggle to deal with himself and his past. But I believe among all of his novels it is the most rewarding. The book takes us to all of his major haunts- London, New York, San Fran, Paris, the Mediterranean- with many of his closest friends - Neal, Allen, Williams S. Burroughs, Joyce. There's even a small part where Kerouac is face to face with Salvador Dali.

If you are looking for Kerouac-the-humanist at his best- this is the novel for you. Where the novel lacks in adventure (On the Road) and joyous affirmation (Dharma Bums) it makes up in sheer descriptive character study and sad observation, of a man trying to grapple with what he sees as the emptiness of all things, and the reality of his own personal struggles with life, love, and death.

This book has been described as the journal of Jack losing himself. Some critics state that when he came back down from his time of solitude on Desolation Mountain begins his spiral downward into madness, alcoholism and loss of artistic edge. I disagree - but it is most certainly a showing of a break in his persona - as he describes the beauty and horror of having nothing to do but face one's self when that's all one has. The lies you tell yourself are strong, but give way when you have no one else to reinforce them for months on end...and this may have indeed driven Jack to the edge and beyond.
The pre-eminent voice of the Beat movement, who both gave it its name and disavowed his involvement, is at his most exposed and honest self in this work. This is not a book to read for a relaxing afternoon, in my opinion. This is a book that will burden you - but you'll be better for it.

This book is very sad, yet beautiful. It tells the autobiographical story of Jack Kerouac, who is now forty years old, famous for writing On the Road, and has a problem with alcohol.

Jack in this book, feels he is on the brink of madness. He has a hard time accepting the negative forces in life, such as death, and other people's insanity. He is much too sensitive for the world the way it is. He is a man who loves animals, feels a strong tie to his family, and saves insects. He also loves people very much.

This novel almost seems like a horror novel in the parts where Jack describes his mental anguish. He never wanted to be famous, to be the 'king of the beats' and all he wants is some peace of mind, yet he has people following him around all the time. Even the atmosphere at Big Sur becomes oppressive.

The writing is beautiful and poetic, and hauntingly honest. The book ends with a poem echoing the sounds of the sea at Big Sur.

In this novel Keroauc starts to explore the possibilty
that he had become a victim of the caricature which he
had invented and chosen to portray. Inspired by Jack
London, he invented this personna whose disquise
he proudly modeled, forgetting the Zen imperative of
quiet detachment. He had painted himself into the
proverbal corner and the beautiful anquish laddened
writing exposes the pain this awareness instilled in him.
Let the world remember him for "On the Road", this book
is the one which I would choose to read in order to tap
into the realizations which he had made in his waning years.

I have been reading Kerouac for about twenty years (but still haven't exhausted the canon). After reading Desolation Angels I think it might still be a while.
You have got to love Kerouac to get through much of this book (and I do) and it is ultimately worth the effort, but what an effort! Too much of this book is "we did this, then we did that" and Kerouac's lack of contextualizing all this can get to you.
But there are always small epiphanies that make Kerouac worth reading. There are about six in this book, the best being his brief account of his sea voyage to Tangiers on a Yugoslav freighter in a storm. "It scares a seaman to hear the Kitchen scream in fear." And Kerouac's lamentation on the unfortunate popularization of the 'cool' ethos: "But all I could do was sit on the edge of the bed in despair listening to their awful 'likes' and 'like you know' and 'wow crazy'...All this was about to sprout out all over America even down to High School level and be attributed in part to my doing!"
Much of what makes Kerouac one of the American Big Three is that nobody else could get away with writing like this. It ain't pretty and it's often exasperating, but what a Great Soul.

Jack Kerouac. The very mention of his great cool name that just rolls off the tongue will, at a mere mention generate the most passionate explanation from any book lover, historian, critic, or a "lost," unenlightened victim of an educational system plagued by the three letters which spell Satan; GOP.

This book was written in 1965 while the Beat Generation was minglling with the hippies and Kerouac had distanced himself from his friends Allen Ginsberg and Neal Cassady, sadly.

It's more like a diary of Kerouac's most deep thoughts while he lives by Desolation peak and in that case, it's like the Walden of the twentieth century. It has very beautiful and expertise descriptions which will bore some readers but it is an all around great book that any beat lover will like.

This book was written after all the damage had been done, and you can feel it as you read the book. Jack tried for years to get his writing out and by the time it was published he was well on to the state of mind you read in "BIG SUR".
I really think this is a brilliant book, you get to experience a bit of the torment he put himself through to get away from the critics that called his work childish. You even get to hear about Neal Cassady ten years after "ON THE ROAD".
A book well worth reading, slowly, Jack had a tendency to run paragraphs and sentences together, a technique he uses quite a bit in this book.

I disagree with the 5-star consensus of the previous reviewers - Kerouac's writing is not 'faultless prose', as he characterizes it himself in this novel. But 'Desolation Angels' is another fascinating glimpse into the heart of this daring and nomadic - literally and spiritually - author. One star gets shaved from my review for the unfocused, enigmatic opening section of the book, 'Desolation in Solitude'. A rethinking of 'Alone on a Mountaintop' from 'Lonesome Traveler', this section only thickens the fog in both the reader and in the author, it seems. It's not that it rambles - all Kerouac's writing does, and to point it out as a flaw is like insisting that Bob Dylan's voice sucks. Of course it does, that's the point. But Kerouac characterized the Desolation Peak experience before and did it better in 'Lonesome Traveler'.
However, once Kerouac makes his descent and rejoins the world in the second half of Book One and through all of Book Two, the way that his mountaintop experience informs his perspective in places like New York, Mexico, and Europe is engrossing and surpisingly intelligent. Drawing from a wide variety of influences from St. Paul to Buddha to Hemingway, Kerouac revisits familiar places and people with a broadened and more cynical point of view. Desolation Angels is more candid, forthright, even explicit, than its predecessors about drug use and sex. But it also reveals a more exhaustive spiritual hunger in Kerouac, and leads the reader to conclude that the author, in his quest to meet God, realized he had indeed found Him.
By turns a thoughtful, pensive, funny and risk-taking novel, Desolation Angels is canonical Kerouac.

Although Kerouac is most famous for authoring the book that launched a generation of beatniks, I consider "Big Sur" to be his greatest accomplishment. Stylistically, it exceeds his other works - which makes sense since it is one of the last books he wrote during a prolific, yet short, career. It was also the last time Kerouac ever turned the microscope on himself (ala Hemingway). Perhaps you will see in this book how Kerouac's struggles with his constant demon companions - alcohol, religion, and a self-effacing manner that never quite fit with the exterior self he created - finally come to a climax of his collected works. I've read about half of Kerouac's books and this is by far my favorite. I feel a sense of relief for him in that I feel he was able, in a small way, to find the peace he had so longed for by the end of this book. All the while, a saddness remains that this peace has come through his own self-destruction.

Written with a true perspective of how alcoholism progresses into a dark mental disorder that feeds on fear, paranoia, emotional pain and self doubt. Told in an honest and intellectual way, that highlights the fact that no one from any culture or background is immune to this decease.

This book is very intriguing. Not only is it wonderfully written like his other work, but it brings out the demons that haunted him in his later days. It brings out some familiar characters from his past work, and shows how they've all changed, or grown out of their wilder youth. It is a deeply depressing book, because you want good things to happen to Jack, but he can't quite get it together and be happy. His description of his depression and alcoholism is haunting. Also the fact that he resents the "beat" label that is put upon him by society seems to torment him to the point to where he feels public shame. I would recommend this book to anyone, but if you haven't read any of his earlier work, you should read that first to get an understanding of it all. This is a great book and worth every bit of the praise that it has gotten and ever will get.

it takes me only two sentences to completely fall in love with kerouac whenever i read him...desolation angels is poetry...lonesome...and inspiring...vivid faces of his friends and his desolation...thirsty for life, i am completely parched for it after reading this (again)...hear him talk to himself and reel in his unseen emotion and uneasiness... mad and honest, but what would you expect...i am fortunate to have read it, and now i need a drink.

Jack Kerouac was one of the most dynamic figures in literary history. He was also one of America's greatest authors--he gave us two of the finest books written, _On the Road_ and _The Dharma Bums_, but _Big Sur_ shows that even he could write poorly. Big Sur is a stream of consciousness novel ... that deals with his alcoholism--though looking at the way Kerouac died, writing it taught him nothing. It doesn't contain the energy or the story that we find in On the Road of Dharma Bums. It's Kerouac's attempt at postmodernism and at showing us what his alcoholism was like. Kerouac is successful in that the confusion and nonlinear narrative does effectively show the confusion (...) of his alcoholism, but as a work of literature, it just fell short. I suppose the book is important in its portrayal of alcoholism and as a piece of Kerouac's work, but it just wasn't that enjoyable, and I was happy when it ended.
A final note, Kerouac closes the novel with his (too) long poem "Sea" which was written when the events of this novel took place. It's a bad poem...
On the back cover Ginsberg says some wonderful, and true things about Kerouac's writing. But Big Sur doesn't seem to fit the bill.

This is my favourite Kerouac book. It's written with a real love for life and America's nature. Kerouac is a master in showing life is full of opportunities waiting for you, although the whole of society is created to teach a man not to see those opportunities. The end is surprisingly claustrophobic. Very, very good stuff.

Like all the Kerouac novels, the overriding point of this book is to show the beauty that lies within the tragedy of human life. Though Kerouac is "depressed" through most of the book, sickened by the people and places and travel which he once found so necessary, he finds mental respite in his mother and her unconditionally warm spirit, among other things. Another point which Kerouac strives to raise is religion. Though he and his friends more oft than not live a wild and consumptive life, Jack still remains devoted to the idea of God and the genuine goodness of people. This book, just as all Kerouac novels, describes life with a wide-eyed vivacity unlike anything I've ever read, if only in a less sunny way.

generation in Desolation Angels. Kerouacs frank accounts and
vivid style draw you into the heart of a man both idealistic
and cinical, naive and experienced, proud and downtrodden,
as well as buddist and Catholic, living the life of a
"Dharma Bum" as he travels to Mexico. From the fire lookout
high on Desolaion Peak, to the junk steets of Mexico, Kerouac
shares with his readers every experience and emotion, carring
the reader deep into the lifestyle of the Beats as few authors
ever accomplished. Its no wonder Kerouac became the
symbol of the Beat generation for millions of kats in the 50's,
for even today his writing is hep, and inciteful. He could
very easily be an icon for generations to come.

i've found myself somewhat "adicted" to Kerouac since i began reading his work and this book definetly calmed my cravings. I've recomended it over and over to friends of mine because kerouac has such a unique way with words and beautiful ways of expressing himself.

"Cliches are cliches because they are truisms and truisms and truisms because they are true.....". Paraphrasing maybe but the essence of Kerouacs self-fulfilling prophecy is elementary and perhaps helps us to pause and think of the basics. Millions have read it and millions will try and tell you that 'they' know what it means, but these are hero-worshipers and vain in the extreme. Take time to write that letter to the friend you haven't heard from in years, visit the old haunts and sit down and read that book again. This time it seemed to whisper in MY ear a lesson in how not to live. He sure could write though!

Wonderful novel by Jack Kerouac. We sense his deep loneliness and reevaluation of his life during his 63-day stay atop Desolation Peak in Mt. Baker National Forest in Washington State. Once down from the mountain, he sees how much life has changed once his novel "On the Road" is published. For those of you who loved "On the Road," "Desolation Angels" is a book you definitely must read--it's by far Kerouac's best and most personal novel.

For some readers who found this book after reading some of Kerouac's more conventional literary works, this novel may come off as a bit tedious. Kerouac wasn't that great an experimental novelist, or at least not as graceful with spontaneous prose and extra-sensory perceptive description as his pier William S. Burroughs, as exemplified by the book's more incoherent and often undermanaged meanderings. As a piece of creative autobiography, however, the novel is a symbolic giant of originality, fearlessly defying traditional literary convention and organization. For those seeking out Kerouac for more traditional entertainment, however, the novel proves far more complex than a single reading may warrant.

I fell upon this book having never heard the title before. In the beginning it was hard to get into and long-that lasted not two days before I could not put it down-their was so much feeling and meaning behind the discriptive nature of Kerouac's words that it literally made you laugh and cry out loud. It's a novel that changes your life when you come to the realization that what youve known to be true up until this point represents such a small portion of the possibilities. IT SCREAMS LIFE-EXPERIECE ALL-SEEK TRUTH. My personal favorite river of the Kerouac ocean.

i really liked this book after the second reading. for some reason i read this before "on the road". once i came back to it after reading nearly every other kerouac book i liked it much more, and thought that it was really more of a realization to "on the road" and filled in a bunch of the gaps.

I read this book while travelling in India. I was amazed and touched. I haven't thought that Kerouac could write any better or even at the level of Onthe Road and The Subterraneans, I was wrong. If you like Keorouac, not to say a fan, buy this book.

In an era where taking your backpack and your self out onto the open road is a non-existant practice Kerouac brings us right back there with this novel. Starting at the top of a mountain with just himself and the Void to San Francisco and the hipsters to his mother to Neal Cassady and back full circle we truly taste the life of the epitome of the term "beat" in Desolation Angels. Why did this era ever have to end...and why don't we all spend some time with ourself and the Void......