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"Roads weave into a tapestry� Roads interlace into a labyrinth� There is no end to them� One can’t reach a finish� One can only stop� Or to be stopped."
Nicely put, Vit.
Your musings on Kerouac's roads made me think of Robert Frost's "The Road not taken"...

I thought that I’ve never read anything by Robert Frost. But when I looked this poem up I was surprised to find out that I know it pretty well.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both�

I think I didn't read this at the right time. I should revisit this book someday. Very nice review.

Thank you, Florencia. The beat generation was a generation of self-destruction.

I so want to love Kerouac but I cannot get ten pages into any one of his books. Ken Kessey and Tom Wolf though, love them. Have you read Electric Kool aid acid Test?

If I remember right, I have had a couple of false starts in reading On the Road but a third time I coerced myself to read further and in the end, I enjoyed the book. Tom Wolf is a poseur; I hate his novels and his fake new journalism. I have no clue who Ken Kessey is but if you mean Ken Kesey then One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is one of my favourite books.

It's interesting how people have different experiences with Kerouac. I was taken on the first read right away, probably read it at the right moment, at my rebellious age eager to get on the free-spirited road of life. And I have to credit On the Road and The Catcher in the Rye for affirming how I (and a few of my friends with whom I read them together) felt at the time. I love and agree with your concluding lines though.

Thank you, Vesna, for sharing your impressions. Beatniks were like moths circling around a candle flame.

Beautiful review, Vit!

Thank you, Hanneke.