Whenever I'm feeling down, I turn to four books: A Confederacy of Dunces, A Fan's Notes, Bartleby the Scrivner (OK, it's a short story) and On the Road. Got a bit panicky because I was looking for them this evening and only On the Road seems to have survived my last house move.
But maybe On the Road is the effervescent blast I need just now. It is continually dismissed by critics - Truman Capote's 'it's not writing, it's typing' jibe seems to have stuck. And it is very primitive, the kind of book you read as an adolescent. But at its core it is about restlessness, searching for the essence of life. Something that we lose when we grow out of adolescence (and become pinched, cynical and wizened as Truman Capote). And that is a shame, and perhaps why we should read it into our dotage. We forget to live, don't we, hunkered down in the 9 to 5, even those of us who do something that is on the creative side.
This is great. Jack on the Steve Allen Show. His Massachusetts accent makes me a trifle homesick.
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