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When I first read on the road I was very interested in the women in the story. I was interested in what kind of woman would be able to leave the standard domestic life of the 50s and be part of something different. To me one of the best things about that book was that I could read through it and see myself and my friends reflected in a different time. In a way it was reassuring. When I read this book however I didn't find myself identifying with the main character at all.
I think part of the problem with it was that I didn't feel much sympathy for Joyce. She came across as wanting to be terribly normal, and not really seeming to enjoy her time with bohemians or the beats very much. She seemed only obsessed with the men, and wanting to get married and settle down. There were no wild stories of drunkenness or drug use or just general craziness. She seemed completely unable to understand or accept any of the open lifestyles that were going on around her. She worked as a secretary by day and seemed to fall into the interesting crowd almost by accident. And most importantly, unlike the other people in the story she never left New York, not even for a holiday. The point of the book seemed to be that Kerouac lived with her for 6 weeks and she was never able to get over that. Even her friend who was a lesbian was portrayed only in her inability to get over her love affair with Allan Ginsberg. Johnson seemed to indicate that the entire reason she was sleeping with women was to seem more queer like Allan.
I also felt that her style was lacking, in what I think was a poor choice of hers, she kept putting in quotes from other writers, which really made her writing seem to pale. There were a few parts that flowed well and were enjoyable, the discussion of her abortion and the death of her friend, but even these seemed to be lacking in emotion. There was none of the raw energy that can be found in Kerouac's stories. Just what seemed like the life of a rather uncomfortable woman. Perhaps the distance in her writing about the events and living them took the edge off. But I would have been very much interested to know what a young college girl thought of all that homosexuality and what it was like to have been seen as an outcast for being sexually active.
I don't regret reading it, there were some good moments but on the whole it was rather disappointing. Next I shall read Carolyn Cassady's book. Hopefully that will be a little more engaging.
I think part of the problem with it was that I didn't feel much sympathy for Joyce. She came across as wanting to be terribly normal, and not really seeming to enjoy her time with bohemians or the beats very much. She seemed only obsessed with the men, and wanting to get married and settle down. There were no wild stories of drunkenness or drug use or just general craziness. She seemed completely unable to understand or accept any of the open lifestyles that were going on around her. She worked as a secretary by day and seemed to fall into the interesting crowd almost by accident. And most importantly, unlike the other people in the story she never left New York, not even for a holiday. The point of the book seemed to be that Kerouac lived with her for 6 weeks and she was never able to get over that. Even her friend who was a lesbian was portrayed only in her inability to get over her love affair with Allan Ginsberg. Johnson seemed to indicate that the entire reason she was sleeping with women was to seem more queer like Allan.
I also felt that her style was lacking, in what I think was a poor choice of hers, she kept putting in quotes from other writers, which really made her writing seem to pale. There were a few parts that flowed well and were enjoyable, the discussion of her abortion and the death of her friend, but even these seemed to be lacking in emotion. There was none of the raw energy that can be found in Kerouac's stories. Just what seemed like the life of a rather uncomfortable woman. Perhaps the distance in her writing about the events and living them took the edge off. But I would have been very much interested to know what a young college girl thought of all that homosexuality and what it was like to have been seen as an outcast for being sexually active.
I don't regret reading it, there were some good moments but on the whole it was rather disappointing. Next I shall read Carolyn Cassady's book. Hopefully that will be a little more engaging.