Okay, Kerouac is one of those authors I’d never read and kept meaning to get around to, so a few weeks ago, I saw Tristessa sitting there and decided to pick it up.
My only regret is that I didn’t get it at half price books.
I won’t say it was a complete waste of time since it only took me a day and a half to get through, but it didn’t really make me wanna go out and read anything else he’s done.
It’s the story of a drifter who becomes enamored with a junkie named Tristessa, (Hence the title. Get it?)
It really isn’t a cohesive narrative, but I don’t think that was why it didn’t click with me.
Naked Lunch is one of my favorite books after all and it doesn’t even have anything really even resembling a story let alone a plot.
And maybe that was the problem is that I was trying to read Kerouac from start to finish like one would a conventional novel.
Maybe, like Naked Lunch, Tristessa is best when just meandered through.
With Burroughs, the parts are generally greater than the sum and that’s just fine.
Kerouac did seem to have the knack for calling up distinct emotional snapshots in a very few simple words.
“It’s like winning an angel in hell,” and “morphine takes all the sex out of your parts and leaves it somewhere else, in your gut.”
And the page or so when Old Bull eloquently explains to us why morphine is better than love is truly a beautiful and sad passage.
So, I guess I’m not ready to pass judgment just yet.
I’ll probably pick Tristessa up again in a few months and just casually flip through it and we’ll see if, like Burroughs, Kerouac is best enjoyed a bit at a time.
