Satori A Parigi [Satori in Paris] (utgåvan 1968)

This confirms it for me: I'm not and never will be a fan of Jack Kerouac. Oh my, how this man does ramble. About nothing. On and on and on. And carouses. And drinks. And drinks. And carouses. And drinks.

On the Road. In Paris.

Not much satori at all. ( )

This book is Good. If you have ever ridden a bus or a train, slept in a hostel or even couch surfed, this reading will speak to you. The title speaks for itself. In my opinion, the smartest title to come from any of the writers of the beat generation. I enjoyed the random idiosyncratic overtures Kerouac had to offer in this less proclaimed book of his; Continuity based of course: with a non linear sense of reality, within the depths of the mindscape; and elaborated quite nice I must admit.
If you are looking for something less personally exploitive than 'On the Road', this book is definitely the Jack Kerouac you are looking for. ( )

Jack Kerouac attempting to trace his ancestry in France ( )

While I usually review books in some detail, Satori in Paris, by Jack Kerouac is a slim travelogue written later in the illustrious author’s career. So because of its brevity I will present a review in verse:

Poor old Jack,

Looking for the myth of Family Kerouac.

To compliment his own myth,

The vagabond of On The Road

In finds little of the adventures

That made the legend,

Instead he is a vagabond poet

In a city of vagabond poets.

Drunk and Catholic

The charmer of jazz clubs,

And Beatnik Buddhism

is nowhere

in this relation of

confused enlightenment

Old alchholics tend to find,

And Jack yearns for Neil,

The reader yearns for Jack,

But we do learn the myth,

Of the family Kerouac

http://pissandvinegar.vox.com/library/post/satori-in-paris-by-jack-kerouac.html ( )

I quite enjoyed "On the Road," with the emphasis falling on 'quite.' I managed about a page (and thus one sentence) of "Big Sur" before giving it up as a lost cause. "Satori in Paris" just about falls between the two - stodgy, typically-Kerouac prose that is hard to digest, but at least little enough to make the book finishable.

Here, Kerouac travels through northern France in search of his origins, and therefore a satori, or spiritual awakening. ( )