Tuesday, 2 March 2010

eight.

the Town and the City by Jack Kerouac (1946)

Jack Kerouac was the beat generation apparently. Writing about all those people travelling from one place to another never knowing what they're looking for. And for someone who has lived in four different countries in four years, he is certainly appealing. I read On the Road in Montréal, while being on the road not knowing where I ended up, and I loved it so much that I regret giving it away.

The Town and the City was Kerouac's first novel and it is about a family with seven kids and it expands from the children being born in a small town in Massachusetts, follows some of them around the world, moves to New York and ends at the dad's funeral. I love the way it's written, so many beautiful sentences and paragraphs. I wish it would focus more on the girls in the family, but that's just me wishing for too much.

When bookless in Rome, I stumbled into a small used book store with an English section limited to books read for classes, but nevertheless, I ended up buying Pamela by Samuel Richardson. A book some 18th century lit professor once recommended and I hope it is as scandalous as the cover says.

And I just have to show off the beautiful Korean bookmark that arrived in my mail box yesterday. It is my first proper bookmark, no more using postcards I guess.




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