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Kerouac and Burroughs are overplayed jokers-the latter all the more tragically so, but their insipid production amounts to little.
K should have stayed at Columbia and seen an Ivy League education through or stayed the course during WWII, perhaps his psyche
was too fragile, and I do not necessarily fault him for this lapse; rather he seems deformed in mind and spirit. Immature but talented,
skewered in perspective. On The Road is clearly a man in search of self but puerile overall.
Burroughs' Naked Lunch was cannibalized for Junkie, and to its credit affords an historical snapshot of Mexico and addiction.
A sorry son-of-a-bitch born with a silver spoon in his hand and another shoved up his ass.
Ginz and Ferli are credible, but the entire chapter remains a frayed soul....
sorry for the rant
Don't hold back! LOL
In reality I am a fair fan of most Burroughs writings. There toward the end he did start to get a little repetitive. Just playing to his audience, I suppose (that, or the heroin had finally caught up with him).
I also am a big fan of Hemingway, Vonnegut, and Tolkien.
Hands down, far and above all the rest, though, my all time favorite is Flannery O'Connor. Perhaps growing up in the rural south lends to my appreciation of her depictions of the ****ed-uppedness of it all.
Among contemporary authors, I enjoy Harry Crews, Cormac McCarthy, John Waters, and Peter Guralnick.