Communing with Kerouac

I went to Lowell with a friend this weekend to see Kerouac’s grave and partake in the annual Jack Kerouac Pub crawl. This year is the 50th anniversary of the publication of On The Road. Lowell is Kerouac’s hometown, so every summer the city does something in appreciation.This year, the On The Road scroll is being displayed in Lowell for the summer. I didn’t make it to the scroll this time, but I did make it to Kerouac’s grave and a few of his old haunts.

I was surprised at how modest Kerouac’s marker is. I wasn’t expecting some giant monument with a type writer etched into it, but I wasn’t expecting such a modest marker either. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made, though. There was something very pleasing about the fact that it’s just a flat marker with the phrase “He honored life” inscribed on it. Rest well, Jack.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr

Kurt Vonnegut Jr died two days ago at his home in NYC. I haven’t written about it because, well, what can I say that hasn’t been said already by the author himself?

I first started reading Vonnegut nearly 10 years ago. My introduction to his work, as it probably was for you too, was Slaughterhouse Five. Reading that book was one of my favorite experiences of all time. People always talk about the moments that stick out for them — looking through time, the two humans in a cage on a distant planet, the drawings of boobs — but for me, for some strange reason, it’s a particular part of the fire bombing of Dresden. The whole scene is one of the more memorable moments in my literary history. But there is a throw away line that always sticks with me. The narrator is talking about how the men are stuck in the meat locker underground. The bombing is going on above and the men all have to huddle together for warmth. They had to “make like spoons.” And then later, the narrator injects himself as one of the people spooning next to Billy and simply says, “That was me.”

Completely random part of a great book. But it always stuck with me for some reason. After House I moved on to Breakfast of Champions, Cat’s Cradle, Hocus Pocus — on down the line. My friends and I constantly started asking each other if we were a member of the turtle club.

I became a Bokonist for a while and probably thought Ice-9 would be the greatest invention in the history of the world.

I saw Vonnegut read at the University of Iowa 4 or 5 years ago. I’d been to the Prairie Lights reading events dozens of times, but until then each reading was in the bookstore or some other small place. Not for Vonnegut. There were no tickets, the reading was free and he was booked in Iowa’s main hall. I got there just in time to slip into the auditorium near and had the privilege of standing near the door. The rest of the people weren’t so lucky. Staff had to begin herding the throngs of people into satellite halls and pipe sound in for the reading.

I want to reiterate that. There were so many people who wanted to see this one man stand on a stage and speak for an hour that they were willing to be shepherded into another room and made to stare at a wall while listening to his disembodied voice speak to them from a building away.

I think Kurt Vonnegut Jr the author would find something very ironic about that.

Vonnegut seemed to be getting old at the reading at U of I. He was cranky and churlish — but I would be too at that age. After reading a few passages from the book he was working on and some passages from books he had written, he talked about how to teach writing. I remember a chalk board got wheeled out on stage and Vonnegut began to diagram plot arcs and narrative lines and character development. By the end, the board was covered in chalk, and I’m pretty sure he had lit a cigarette. After his mini lecture, he invited questions.

About 100 people lined up to ask him the question they’d been thinking of all day. He took exactly three. The first two were completely asinine and the last, which I remember was, “What’s your favorite book?” Without pausing too long, Vonnegut answered, “Candide.” He explained why and then threw one hand into the air, turned to the side and walked off the stage. No signing, no thank you. He was just gone.

Since I was standing at the exit, I slipped out before the ushers, made a quick right through a double set of doors and took off down the hallway that seemed to run along the side of the auditorium. I smelled cigarette smoke and saw a wave of gray hair. He turned and looked at me.

“Mr. Vonnegut. I just wanted to thank you for the reading. I thought you were great and it was a pleasure to see you.” He said thanks, I shook his hand then slipped out a side door because U of I security was making its way toward me.

With his death, people have been calling me and asking me what I thought about him. Did I read him? Which was your favorite book?

I can only think of one response that is correct for all of these questions:

You bet your ass I am.

Gomez, Ben Kweller and happy birthday Gabo

Today is a good day. It’s cold in Boston, I’m going to see Gomez at Avalon tonight and Gabriel Garcia Marquez turns 80.

I can’t remember the last time I caught a show at Avalon. It may have been Les Claypool, but that could have been at Axis. I’m pretty sure I’ve been there, but there is the distinct possibility that I was — uh — unable to recall the events of the evening the next morning. It’s been known to happen. Everyone talks about what a great place Avalon is to see a show and this should be a good one.

I’m not really excited to see Ben Kweller. I checked him at Lollapalooza back in August and thought his show was OK. Nothing he did sonically blew my mind or made me stop paying attention to the half dressed dancing hippy girls long enough to think: ‘this guy is pretty good.’ In fairness, I haven’t listened any of his albums since ShaSha so maybe he’s gone new, interesting directions. But I’m always up for a show. Especially at a pretty small venue; and especially when I get to be Iris’s +1 and check out said show for free.

Gomez I am excited to see. I got turned onto these guys a couple of years ago with their debut album, Bring It On. Since then I’ve always kept an ear out for them and checked out their subsequent releases. None of them really grabbed me like How We Operate.

HWE has been making the regular rotations through the CD book in my car — which for me is the ultimate test of an album. If I throw it in the CD book, remember it’s there, can toss it in the player regularly and not get sick of it, it’s all good. Gomez has already survived the great CD Booklet Pogrom of ‘06 and is still working the Siberian ice fields in ‘07.

On a final note, one of the greatest authors of my lifetime turns 80 today. I read Love in the Time of Cholera and was instantly enamored with the luscious mindscapes painted by Marquez. His characters were so real to me. I could hear birds and insects calling out of the forests in his Latin American settings while I was reading. Fermina Daza had to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Florentino was at both times repulsive and sympathetic. The book, if you haven’t read it, is utter genius.

About a year later I picked up 100 Years of Solitude. I didn’t think it would be possible to top Love in the Time of Cholera, but he did it with his the deft touch of an old master. That novel cemented my interest and respect for magical realism as a viable form of literature. (And the short story A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings.) Colonel Aureliano Buendia is my favorite character in the novel. Even though he fights a guerilla war for freedom, he still takes the time to make fish from gold and silver — they are these intricate little ornaments that provide some depth and contrast to his character. Not to mention his father, Jose Arcadio, who died tied to a tree; or the last of the line, born with a pig tail and devoured by ants.
It really is brilliant in everyway. Happy birthday.