Customer Reviews

Lonesome Traveler (Kerouac, Jack)

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Though it has been a while since I have read this book, I found it distressing that there were no reviews of it in this area. I know very many of you love Kerouac's works and styles, so I hope that this book will be given it's due attention. Its contents are five short stories or sketches that move around the central theme of travel. A sketch about the "railroad earth" written in spontaneous style is quite riveting, and here you will have a chance to read what seems to be an early sketch of the fire tower section from "Dharma Bums". I hope these suggestions will have you picking up a copy of this wonderful book

"Creative non-fiction" is a come lately term but it fits Jack Kerouac's 1960 account of his real life travels and experiences. The spontaneous, experimental style that marks his fiction is in high use in Lonesome Traveler, particularly in the chapter devoted to the railroad. In that piece, language becomes a mimic of the sounds and rhythms of the environment in which he works, the Southern Pacific runs between San Francisco and San Jose in the early 1950's. Forget words and structure as you know it, but don't worry about getting lost in the prose. If you trust Kerouac, he won't let you get lost, he brings you home in the end. As he visits Mexico, the shipping lanes, the streets of New York, a lone fire look-out on Desolation Peak in Washington State, and Europe, he speaks openly of what drives him. The last chapter is an ode to the vanishing hobo whose ethic he has embraced; as this was written, our changing society was transforming hobos into vagrant criminals and the homeless problem, extinguishing their culture with suspicion and policing. Kerouac is both Thoreau and the hobo, the fine or wide line depending upon how you look at it being his education and pursuit of spirituality.

I recently bought this book as a present for my daughter
to read and that prompted me to fish out my old road worn
copy which I carried around religiously during the days her
mother and I bummed around the western US & Mexico.
Kerouac always had the ability to spiritualize the
experience for me. This book exemplifies his respect
and admiration for those individuals who have forsworn the
luxuries of a normal life for the intrisically demanding
rigors of the spiritual quest. Rereading this book had
me aching to be back on the road once again. Want to do
Mexico again, Angela?

Kerouac's "Lonesome Traveler" (1960)is a collection of eight travel essays, several of which had been published earlier. Kerouac offers insights into the collection in his introduction. He states that he "always considered writing my duty on earth. Also the preachment of universal kindness, which hysterical critics have failed to notice beneath frenetic activity of my true-story novels about the 'beat'generation. -- Am actually not 'beat' but strange solitary crazy Catholic mystic." The essays in "Lonesome Traveler" support Kerouac's comments about his work, which has frequently been misinterpreted or sensationalized. The subject of the collection Kerouac aptly describes as "railroad work, sea work, mysticism, mountain work, lasciviousness, solepsism, self-indulgence, bullfights, drugs, churches, art museums, streets of cities, a mishmosh of life as lived by an independent educated penniless rake going nowhere."

I read much of this book sitting alone in a park on a Saturday afternoon, and it was a fitting companion to my own reflections. There is an intimacy of tone in Kerouac's book that made me feel at times that I was with him and sharing his experiences. Kerouac's spontaneous prose, with its long, strangly, and rhhythmic sentences is an erratic instrument indeed. But when it works, it is moving.

There is a continuity in these essays as Kerouac takes his reader back and forth across the United States, to Mexico, and to North Africa and Europe. Kerouac's vision tends to be highly particularized and specific. He is at his best in describing a lonely room in a San Francisco apartment, a night walk on a pier awaiting a ship, and evening's drinking with a friend and, especially, the sights and places of 'beat' New York City. Many of the scenes in the book show Kerouac sedentary -- in a cheap room or in a fire lookout on Desolation Peak -- while others show a fascination with travel, with ships and the sea and even more with railroads.

The first essay "Piers of the Homeless Night" shows Kerouac wandering on a dock in San Pedro in what becomes a failed effort at securing employment on a ship. "Mexico Fellaheen" describes the trip to Mexico he took immediately thereafter, with scenes in a drug den, a bullfight, and a church. "The Railroad Earth" is a lengthy chapter in which Kerouac details his experience working as a brakeman, and how "railroading gets in yr blood", as a character says at the end. In "Slobs of the Kitchen Sea" Kerouac describes his experience working on a ship -- before he gets fired. "New York Scenes" includes the finest writing in the collection, as Kerouac takes his reader on an intimate tour of the New York City he clearly knows and loves. "Alone on a Mountaintop" is a reflective chapter about the summer Kerouac spent as a watchman on Desolation Peak. The "Big Trip to Europe" includes William Burroughs as a character and describes Kerouac's experiences in Tangiers, with women, in Paris, with art museums, and in England, with hostile police. The final essay, "The Vanishing American Hobo" is a nostalgic tribute to those wanderers, such as Kerouac himself, who once graced the American and the world landscape.

Besides the descriptive writing, there is a sense of mystical pantheism in this book. Kerouac's thought is notoriously difficult to describe. The book is replete with religious metaphor, both Buddhist and Christian. For all the vagaries of his life, Kerouac the writer has something to teach. The book teaches of the need to accept and love one's experiences and to let go --- expanding upon what Kerouac himself says in his introduction. Life is to be loved and cherished, regardless of one's circumstances.

Thus, at the end of "Mexico Fellaheen", following a visit to a church, Kerouac observes: "I bow to all this, kneel at my pew entryway, and go out, taking one last look at St. Antoine de Padue (St. Anthony) Santo Antonio de Padua. -- Everything is perfect on the street again, the world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream."

Kerouac offers a great deal of reflection in the essay "Alone on a Mountaintop." Sitting in the fire observation tower, he comes to realize that "no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it's all in my mind. There's no need for solitude. So love life for what it is, and form no preconceptions whatever in your mind." As he leaves his summer in the fire tower, Kerouac states that he "turned and blessed Desolation Peak and the little pagoda on top and thanked them for the shelter and the lesson I'd been taught."

There is much in journeying with Kerouac in this book that can inspire still.

Robin Friedman

This book is a mixed bag. Unlike "Desolation Angels," where the true Kerouac mixes it up with the bop prosodist to the point where you really need to read all of it, "Lonesome Traveler" has distinct bop prosodist chapters and distinct, what I consider to be, great writing sections. I'd like to go into why I don't like bop prosody, but then the review might disappear. (The bop prosodist police.) Let's just say that Kerouac's great writing is very fluid and lucid, unlike something else we won't talk, and know nothing, about.

The first chapter has a Mickey Spillane quality about it and the narrator's guru has a thugish charm that is lacking in Neal Cassidy and Gary Snyder. Other than that, I can't remember anything about it, which is good.

The second chapter on Mexico is also a winner, though, if you can't handle cruelty to animals, please don't read the section on the bull fight, as Kerouac's journalistic virtuosity is much too ruthlessly evocative here for soft stomachs. The Aztecs are supposed to be the bad guys, ripping out hearts and whatnot. Then the civilized Spaniards come along with Christianity and mariachi bands and everything is supposed to be bueno... except for this thing called the bull fight. Kerouac doesn't make subtle points like Conrad does regarding civilized vs. uncivilized man. But, he scares the pants off you in ways that Conrad doesn't (can't?).

The long bop prosodist chapters on the railroad experience do nothing for me, either stylistically or thematically, so I didn't read much of them. Basically, he's drunk and talking bop gibberish to a bunch of brakemen and winos, except of course for the subtleties I'm obviously missing. I'll live without them. (I k-now no-th-in-g.)

Back to the good stuff. The chapters on Desolation Peak, New York and Europe are all excellent and the latter gives you, in Kerouac's discussion of France, a glimpse of two noteworthy qualities: he was a Renaissance man, who knew his art and literature just enough to avoid being overbearing, and he was blunt, as in his observation that the French, with whom he closely identifies, are "dishonest." The more I read about him, the more he comes off as part of the problem. But, what might his commentary be on the current state of affairs. His view of Obama? Unprintable. But, then I would need to throw him off the mountain with the rest of the Beat schnooks. His insights don't jive with much of his personality and if any of the Beats was queer it was him. He certainly has one foot in the Pont-Aven school and I can see him getting all worked up about Gauguin. But, then he smells Chinese food and it's all over. The contradiction with Kerouac is that his milieu required him to stay urban in the superficial American sense of the word, while his nature called for more of the 19th century salon alliances.

The last chapter on the demise of the hobo speaks to this point: no whole grain, New Age idea of renewable life would have saved Kerouac from the horror of his apple pie/benezedrine non-renewable nightmare. From rucksacks to self-poisoning in less than 10 years: straight lines, not circles. He's no Herbert Huncke, but he set a certain standard that too many other Ricky Nelsons followed into the bucket. He is the quintissential American, a hairy icon whose talent draws heavily on an incresingly superficial, addicted clientele, who follow him around like blind pigeons. Now it's Hollywood actors: their great talent in no way evident to me but fully eulogized by other great actors, who melodramatically mourn their sudden demises. To quote a fellow Arizonan, Edward Abbey, "the party's over [boys]." Yes, Eddy, but they have no where else to go.

If I could read only two Kerouac books, and I haven't read them all by any means, this one and "Desolation Angels" would fit the bill. "The Dharma Bums" is also worth reading, but, if the anachronisms aren't regularly hitting you in the noggen, then maybe you're prime material for some of his more schizo-affective, down-in-the-dirt stuff, of which there seems to be volumes. He's no Jack Kennedy and he's no Wordsworth, but where would we be without him?

i have just finished the book for the second time managing to hold together the now loose leafed pages of my 30 year old copy while trying to read most of the book outdoors.it just intrigues me that this book can be so devoid of true literal gems right through his railroad and seamen days as though a real working life just shuts out his natural reaction to his waking dream that he finds himself in. However after a fun but claustrophobic period back in his native and tireless New York the section of his isolation in the mountain shack really soars and this is where the beauty of his style, with references to the void and his own belief that he has the answers to its formeless form. You feel the strength of his journey and the honesty of his emotion and just know he is free enough to write at his best now.A wonderful book for dreamers.

Jack's not for everyone but reading Lonesome Traveler I was teleported right into his shoes-- if you're familiar with Kerouac you know this is his style. His "I" is the one you're with but this "I" is really experiencing every moment-- the minor details of being a train brakeman for instance-- doesn't sound glamorous but it breathes life. It's a bit claustrophobic and frusturasting with his page long sentences but if you forget all the rules of writing and literature you'll surf through a day with him and it's real even if his stories aren't.

On the Road instantly became my favorite book after reading it a short time ago, and of course it prompted me to read more of Kerouac in hopes of attaining that same free spirted prose he is known for. Lonesome Traveler delivers a much different experience to the reader than does On the Road, but is equally as moving. The flow of this book can be hard to follow at first, but I found the more I read, the more I began to "be" Kerouac. Many times I found myself reading a passage over and over again in an attempt to completely and fully understand the feelings and emotions Kerouac is trying to convey. The end result is a longer read than the number of pages may suggest, but a priceless experience that is rarely found in modern literature.

i have just finished the book for the second time managing to hold together the now loose leafed pages of my 30 year old copy while trying to read most of the book outdoors.it just intrigues me that this book can be so devoid of true literal gems right through his railroad and seamen days as though a real working life just shuts out his natural reaction to his waking dream that he finds himself in. However after a fun but claustrophobic period back in his native and tireless New York the section of his isolation in the mountain shack really soars and this is where the beauty of his style, with references to the void and his own belief that he has the answers to its formeless form. You feel the strength of his journey and the honesty of his emotion and just know he is free enough to write at his best now.A wonderful book for dreamers.

As with most Kerouac books, Lonesome Traveler lacks cohesion. This is naturally the essence of spontaneous prose. What this book offers, however, is a good sampling of the types of scenarios Kerouac liked to explore: 1) The Road, 2) Holing up in Isolation, 3) New York, 4) Relationship between the past and present.

While some readers may never fully appreciate Kerouac's descriptions of life as a hobo, riding railcars throughout California, most must at least admire the experience. It serves as a solid juxtaposition to the New York Scenes and the Big Trip to Europe. These sections are held together by the Desolation Peak section which, along with the New York Scenes Kerouac excelled at writing, proves to be the best writing in the book. The final piece--The Vanishing American Hobo--seems to be Kerouac's attempt to explain why he never fully embraced the wanderer's life.

This book is a fairly good introduction to Kerouac's work, especially considering its autobiographical style which later become Kerouac's forte. As always, Kerouac does a masterful job of capturing the mood of the time and placing his reader in the middle of it all. Still, I would probably save this one for later and read one of his fictionalized bios first, such as On the Road or Subterraneans.