Kerouac and Coffee

I’m reading Kerouac this morning, drinking (yes, actually drinking) an espresso at 1842. Figured it was about time I got back into reading “Maggie Cassidy,” especially since every time R sees the book, she makes fun of me for not being able to get through it. And she’s right — it’s the first book by Kerouac that’s been difficult for me. Normally, his books are full of energy — philosophical vibrant, dreamy, full of action and travel. Normally, I breeze right through them, hungry for more, and disappointed when there’s no more to read. “Maggie Cassidy” is slow and atmospheric. It’s romantic childhood yearnings by a highschool boy in a frozen town on the east coast. K jumps all over from chapter to chapter, but he works a little harder, taking it slow — painfully slow, as with an old man straining to remember his childhood, anxious to get all the details correct, and romanticizing everything. It makes for good reading, but I have to forget it’s Kerouac writing, and just take it like it is. He makes an appropriate statement about it too: “You have to put up with life.” He says this after describing in great, dreamy detail, how his tedious morning routine went when he was a kid.
OK, that was kind of weird, dissecting Kerouac, while drinking espresso in a coffee house — and then blogging about it, on a Blackberry. I’d like to apologize to everyone who was hurt by this. Especially the children.

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