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Мэгги Кэссиди
Джек Керуак дал голос целому поколению в литературе, за свою короткую жизнь успел написать около 20 книг прозы и поэзии и стать самым известным и противоречивым автором своего времени. Одни клеймили его как ниспровергателя устоев, другие считали классиком современной культуры, но по его книгам учились писать все битники и хипстеры — писать не что знаешь, а что видишь, свято веря, что мир сам раскроет свою природу. Роман «В дороге» принес Керуаку всемирную славу и стал классикой американской литературы; это был рассказ о судьбе и боли целого поколения, выстроенный, как джазовая импровизация. Несколько лет назад рукопись «В дороге» ушла с аукциона почти за 2,5 миллиона долларов, а сейчас роман обрел наконец и киновоплощение; продюсером проекта выступил Фрэнсис Форд Коппола (права на экранизацию он купил много лет назад), в фильме, который выходит на экраны в 2012 г., снялись Вигго Мортенсен, Стив Бушеми, Кирстен Данст, Эми Адамс. Встроившийся между «Бродягами Дхармы» и «Биг-Суром» роман «Мэгги Кэссиди» — это пронзительное автобиографическое повествование о первой любви, о взрослении подростка из провинциального городка, о превращении мальчика в мужчину и о неизбежных утратах и разочарованиях, ждущих его на этом пути. Перевод публикуется в новой редакции.
224 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1959
199 people are currently reading
4271 people want to read
About the author
Jack Kerouac
269 books11.6k followersJean-Louis Lebris de Kérouac, known as Jack Kerouac, was an American novelist and poet who, alongside William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg, was a pioneer of the Beat Generation.
Of French-Canadian ancestry, Kerouac was raised in a French-speaking home in Lowell, Massachusetts. He "learned English at age six and spoke with a marked accent into his late teens." During World War II, he served in the United States Merchant Marine; he completed his first novel at the time, which was published more than 40 years after his death. His first published book was The Town and the City (1950), and he achieved widespread fame and notoriety with his second, On the Road, in 1957. It made him a beat icon, and he went on to publish 12 more novels and numerous poetry volumes.
Kerouac is recognized for his style of stream of consciousness spontaneous prose. Thematically, his work covers topics such as his Catholic spirituality, jazz, travel, promiscuity, life in New York City, Buddhism, drugs, and poverty. He became an underground celebrity and, with other Beats, a progenitor of the hippie movement, although he remained antagonistic toward some of its politically radical elements. He has a lasting legacy, greatly influencing many of the cultural icons of the 1960s, including Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Jerry Garcia and The Doors.
In 1969, at the age of 47, Kerouac died from an abdominal hemorrhage caused by a lifetime of heavy drinking. Since then, his literary prestige has grown, and several previously unseen works have been published.
Of French-Canadian ancestry, Kerouac was raised in a French-speaking home in Lowell, Massachusetts. He "learned English at age six and spoke with a marked accent into his late teens." During World War II, he served in the United States Merchant Marine; he completed his first novel at the time, which was published more than 40 years after his death. His first published book was The Town and the City (1950), and he achieved widespread fame and notoriety with his second, On the Road, in 1957. It made him a beat icon, and he went on to publish 12 more novels and numerous poetry volumes.
Kerouac is recognized for his style of stream of consciousness spontaneous prose. Thematically, his work covers topics such as his Catholic spirituality, jazz, travel, promiscuity, life in New York City, Buddhism, drugs, and poverty. He became an underground celebrity and, with other Beats, a progenitor of the hippie movement, although he remained antagonistic toward some of its politically radical elements. He has a lasting legacy, greatly influencing many of the cultural icons of the 1960s, including Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Jerry Garcia and The Doors.
In 1969, at the age of 47, Kerouac died from an abdominal hemorrhage caused by a lifetime of heavy drinking. Since then, his literary prestige has grown, and several previously unseen works have been published.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 364 reviews
December 3, 2020
177th book of 2020.
Not my favourite Jacky by a long shot, but an interesting one all the same. Maggie Cassidy is the third book of the Duluoz Legend, according to Kerouac himself, and a damn lot better than the second book, Doctor Sax, which is the closest Kerouac got to actually writing nonsensically. There is a notebook entry marking his planned order, but he wrote a number of novels after writing it, so some books are missing from their place. That means people have been forced to find their own orders, slotting his later works where they think they would have gone, as he didn’t write the Legend in chronological order. This is the order we have from Kerouac:
So, Maggie Cassidy is book three, and I reckon that’s about right. Kerouac is in love for the first time in the novel, and he’s at school. He’s an athlete, a good runner, and got his band of friends. I’m not big into sport and there were fairly long descriptions of Kerouac’s running and relay and other such things. He touches on his relationship with his father, and even mentions Gerard, his older brother, who died when he was 9 years old and Kerouac was 4—the first book in the Duluoz Legend, as listed above by Kerouac, is the book about Gerard and his death.
She was clenching her teeth and fists at me. All the time she never took her eyes of me, she was in love with something, probably me, probably love.
Maggie Cassidy is quite the girl; she is volatile, for one. Their relationship is sweet in an odd way, blowing hot and cold, falling out, getting back together, being jealous, thinking their love is the end of their worlds… It’s something quite relatable about it and that young naïve love most of us have at school. The prose is typical Kerouac, rambling, clunky, almost, but in that way it comes off vulnerable and honest. A lot of people don’t like Kerouac and I can understand it. I don’t have any friends who love him. I believe my university lecturer was or is a fan, for something he said once hinted to that, but I’m yet to ask him. My friend J., actually, a middle-aged woman I befriended on my MA (whom I talk to on the phone for an hour or so infrequently) read On the Road after we discussed Kerouac and I waited for her to come back and tell me she hated it, because I couldn’t imagine her in the demographic of Kerouac loving. She surprised me though; she came back to tell me she adored it and the writing blew her away—so that taught me.
Side by side we stared at the dance, the two of us dumb and darkened. Adult love torn in barely grownup ribs.
Above all, this isn’t a Beat Generation book: there’s no drugs or alcohol, Kerouac isn’t crying about dead animals drunk beyond control, or waking up in strangers’ houses, instead, he’s going home to his parents, he’s talking to Maggie on the phone and having to walk miles in the snow, or take a long bus ride to pacify her. He’s running at school under the eyes of his watching father. He’s worrying about his future. This gives us an odd vision of a man who, in the next instalment of his Legend, is vagabonding across America at 120mph with Dean Moriarty (Neal Cassady).
Not my favourite Jacky by a long shot, but an interesting one all the same. Maggie Cassidy is the third book of the Duluoz Legend, according to Kerouac himself, and a damn lot better than the second book, Doctor Sax, which is the closest Kerouac got to actually writing nonsensically. There is a notebook entry marking his planned order, but he wrote a number of novels after writing it, so some books are missing from their place. That means people have been forced to find their own orders, slotting his later works where they think they would have gone, as he didn’t write the Legend in chronological order. This is the order we have from Kerouac:
So, Maggie Cassidy is book three, and I reckon that’s about right. Kerouac is in love for the first time in the novel, and he’s at school. He’s an athlete, a good runner, and got his band of friends. I’m not big into sport and there were fairly long descriptions of Kerouac’s running and relay and other such things. He touches on his relationship with his father, and even mentions Gerard, his older brother, who died when he was 9 years old and Kerouac was 4—the first book in the Duluoz Legend, as listed above by Kerouac, is the book about Gerard and his death.
She was clenching her teeth and fists at me. All the time she never took her eyes of me, she was in love with something, probably me, probably love.
Maggie Cassidy is quite the girl; she is volatile, for one. Their relationship is sweet in an odd way, blowing hot and cold, falling out, getting back together, being jealous, thinking their love is the end of their worlds… It’s something quite relatable about it and that young naïve love most of us have at school. The prose is typical Kerouac, rambling, clunky, almost, but in that way it comes off vulnerable and honest. A lot of people don’t like Kerouac and I can understand it. I don’t have any friends who love him. I believe my university lecturer was or is a fan, for something he said once hinted to that, but I’m yet to ask him. My friend J., actually, a middle-aged woman I befriended on my MA (whom I talk to on the phone for an hour or so infrequently) read On the Road after we discussed Kerouac and I waited for her to come back and tell me she hated it, because I couldn’t imagine her in the demographic of Kerouac loving. She surprised me though; she came back to tell me she adored it and the writing blew her away—so that taught me.
Side by side we stared at the dance, the two of us dumb and darkened. Adult love torn in barely grownup ribs.
Above all, this isn’t a Beat Generation book: there’s no drugs or alcohol, Kerouac isn’t crying about dead animals drunk beyond control, or waking up in strangers’ houses, instead, he’s going home to his parents, he’s talking to Maggie on the phone and having to walk miles in the snow, or take a long bus ride to pacify her. He’s running at school under the eyes of his watching father. He’s worrying about his future. This gives us an odd vision of a man who, in the next instalment of his Legend, is vagabonding across America at 120mph with Dean Moriarty (Neal Cassady).
January 13, 2014
Fucking hell, Kerouac.
It may be that your semi-intellectual idea of 'spontaneous prose' is the source of some deeply poetic-sounding shit. It may be that On the Road is a great book. It may be grand that you wrote a book about your first love and named it after her.
This all becomes slightly less grand, however, when you then go on to spend half your time "in love" disrespecting and ditching 'that big love in the wild Lowell whirlwinds of black night'.
There's some instant Kerouac for ya. Just made that phrase right up because hey, using loads of adjectives and abhorrent grammar does not equal being a Great Intellectual. Oh, and choosing to express your love only by lavishing all of your Great Intellectual Vocab on her looks..? Really, that's it?
Also, any remnant of my glorification of the Beats has been burned to embers by this book. These dudes with their disturbing dreams of rape and everlasting privilege don't have to be excused because they did something new and exciting and poetic for art and literature. I know one might choose to ignore their blatant sexism because of the times they lived in, but no. I choose not to be so easy on them. This was the fucking sixties.
'that little feminate neatness'
'put em in their place
'loose ugly grin of self-satisfied womanly idiocy-flesh, curl of travesty-cruelty'
'I'd want to rip her mouth out and murder her'
'"Honey," Maggie says, "it's okay, just go on going to school I dont wanta stop you or interfere with your career, you know what to do better than I do'
'I dream of forcing her to some kind of anteroom … I force myself on her and finally surprise her'
'her sweet shape made me want to cry'
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH such a frustrating book. I only finished it because when you slap enough beautiful words together on your little pretentious typewriter you are bound to end up with some gems. I finished it for the gems. And for my book challenge.
Peace out.
It may be that your semi-intellectual idea of 'spontaneous prose' is the source of some deeply poetic-sounding shit. It may be that On the Road is a great book. It may be grand that you wrote a book about your first love and named it after her.
This all becomes slightly less grand, however, when you then go on to spend half your time "in love" disrespecting and ditching 'that big love in the wild Lowell whirlwinds of black night'.
There's some instant Kerouac for ya. Just made that phrase right up because hey, using loads of adjectives and abhorrent grammar does not equal being a Great Intellectual. Oh, and choosing to express your love only by lavishing all of your Great Intellectual Vocab on her looks..? Really, that's it?
Also, any remnant of my glorification of the Beats has been burned to embers by this book. These dudes with their disturbing dreams of rape and everlasting privilege don't have to be excused because they did something new and exciting and poetic for art and literature. I know one might choose to ignore their blatant sexism because of the times they lived in, but no. I choose not to be so easy on them. This was the fucking sixties.
'that little feminate neatness'
'put em in their place
'loose ugly grin of self-satisfied womanly idiocy-flesh, curl of travesty-cruelty'
'I'd want to rip her mouth out and murder her'
'"Honey," Maggie says, "it's okay, just go on going to school I dont wanta stop you or interfere with your career, you know what to do better than I do'
'I dream of forcing her to some kind of anteroom … I force myself on her and finally surprise her'
'her sweet shape made me want to cry'
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH such a frustrating book. I only finished it because when you slap enough beautiful words together on your little pretentious typewriter you are bound to end up with some gems. I finished it for the gems. And for my book challenge.
Peace out.
August 1, 2007
One of my favorite books. Its mostly over looked by your run of the mill Jack Kerouac fans. Nothing like On the Road, its not about being a beatnik. There are no drugs or road trips or crazy jazzmen...Its a sweet love story set in pure Americana in 20's Lowell.
I prefer the stories of his youth like Maggie Cassidy and Visions of Gerard (Dylan's favorite Kerouac book). These books tend to have all the elements of the more beatnik books but without the trendiness of the beats.
The kiss scene is one the bests. I gave it to my wife.
Most people don't realize it but while Ginsburg was having the Be-ins Kerouac was voting for Nixon...
I prefer the stories of his youth like Maggie Cassidy and Visions of Gerard (Dylan's favorite Kerouac book). These books tend to have all the elements of the more beatnik books but without the trendiness of the beats.
The kiss scene is one the bests. I gave it to my wife.
Most people don't realize it but while Ginsburg was having the Be-ins Kerouac was voting for Nixon...
September 28, 2024
First Love
Kerouac's autobiographical novel "Maggie Cassidy" is set in his hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts in 1939. It is the story of a high school romance in all its innocence and sexual frustration. The book includes wonderful descriptive passages of winter in New England, of shabby urban tenements, of grizzled and failed adults, and of hope, love, and loss.
The book captures the yearnings of first love in its confusion and undirected passion. It talks about both how people change and how there are limits to the scope of their change. The perspective of the book is interesting and revealing. Kerouac, the grown writer, is recapturing something of the spirit of the first love of his youth. The story is mostly told in the first person in the voice of the adolescent. Then, abruptly at the end the voice shifts to the third person signalling, I think, the change from the perspective of youth to that of adulthood.
There is something poignant about the book in the description of a memory of pure love which doesn't fade, (think of the Buddy Holly song "Not fade away") and about the shift from innocence to overt sexuality. There is a deep conservatism in Kerouac for the familiar, the commonplace, and the local, something which is often overlooked by his critics and admirers alike. It comes through well in this book.
Many writers tend to become prisoners of their most famous books. In Kerouac's case, people frequently don't get past "On the Road". "Maggie Cassidy" is a book on a smaller, more conventional scale. In its own way, it is precious.
Robin Friedman
Kerouac's autobiographical novel "Maggie Cassidy" is set in his hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts in 1939. It is the story of a high school romance in all its innocence and sexual frustration. The book includes wonderful descriptive passages of winter in New England, of shabby urban tenements, of grizzled and failed adults, and of hope, love, and loss.
The book captures the yearnings of first love in its confusion and undirected passion. It talks about both how people change and how there are limits to the scope of their change. The perspective of the book is interesting and revealing. Kerouac, the grown writer, is recapturing something of the spirit of the first love of his youth. The story is mostly told in the first person in the voice of the adolescent. Then, abruptly at the end the voice shifts to the third person signalling, I think, the change from the perspective of youth to that of adulthood.
There is something poignant about the book in the description of a memory of pure love which doesn't fade, (think of the Buddy Holly song "Not fade away") and about the shift from innocence to overt sexuality. There is a deep conservatism in Kerouac for the familiar, the commonplace, and the local, something which is often overlooked by his critics and admirers alike. It comes through well in this book.
Many writers tend to become prisoners of their most famous books. In Kerouac's case, people frequently don't get past "On the Road". "Maggie Cassidy" is a book on a smaller, more conventional scale. In its own way, it is precious.
Robin Friedman
February 17, 2019
Ο Κέρουακ καταφέρνει να πάρει την εφηβεία του και να τη μετατρέψει σε βιβλίο. Όχι καθαρά αυτοβιογραφικό ωστόσο. Η οποία εφηβεία περιγράφεται όπως η δική σου, η δική μου, όλων. Εντάξει, περισσότερο ποιητικά σε ό,τι έχει να κάνει με τον πρώτο έρωτα του Τζακ αλλά η ουσία δεν αλλάζει. Και εκείνο που τελικά σε μαγεύει είναι το γεγονός ότι παρά το ποιητικό της αφήγησης, οι χαρακτήρες μας δεν χάνουν σε τίποτα από την απλή, ανθρώπινη, τρωτή τους υπόσταση.
Ο ίδιος ο Κέρουακ βρίσκεται μπροστά μας προσιτός, με όλη την ελαφράδα της εφηβείας και όλη την σοβαρότητα του ερωτευμένου νεαρού άντρα που μιλάει όχι μόνο για την πρώτη του αγάπη αλλά και για την πόλη του που περιγράφεται τόσο ζωντανά ώστε καταφέρνει να δημιουργεί εικόνες.
Το θέμα είναι συνηθισμένο, καμία αντίρρηση επ'αυτού. Ωστόσο, πρέπει να παραδεχτώ ότι ο τρόπος αφήγησης δεν είναι καθόλου συνηθισμένος. Δεν θα περίμενα κάτι τέτοιο από τον Κέρουακ έτσι κι αλλιώς. Που σημαίνει ότι δεν περιορίζεται στο αγόρι γνωρίζει κορίτσι, αγόρι ερωτεύεται κορίτσι και ζήσαμε εμείς καλά κι αυτοί καλύτερα. Αυτό το βιβλίο έχει επίσης να κάνει με την αλλαγή των ανθρώπων. Με το πώς αλλάζουν οι στόχοι τους, οι επιθυμίες τους, ο τρόπος ζωής τους και τελικά βάσει όλων αυτών και οι ίδιοι.
See you around Jack Duluoz.
Ο ίδιος ο Κέρουακ βρίσκεται μπροστά μας προσιτός, με όλη την ελαφράδα της εφηβείας και όλη την σοβαρότητα του ερωτευμένου νεαρού άντρα που μιλάει όχι μόνο για την πρώτη του αγάπη αλλά και για την πόλη του που περιγράφεται τόσο ζωντανά ώστε καταφέρνει να δημιουργεί εικόνες.
Το θέμα είναι συνηθισμένο, καμία αντίρρηση επ'αυτού. Ωστόσο, πρέπει να παραδεχτώ ότι ο τρόπος αφήγησης δεν είναι καθόλου συνηθισμένος. Δεν θα περίμενα κάτι τέτοιο από τον Κέρουακ έτσι κι αλλιώς. Που σημαίνει ότι δεν περιορίζεται στο αγόρι γνωρίζει κορίτσι, αγόρι ερωτεύεται κορίτσι και ζήσαμε εμείς καλά κι αυτοί καλύτερα. Αυτό το βιβλίο έχει επίσης να κάνει με την αλλαγή των ανθρώπων. Με το πώς αλλάζουν οι στόχοι τους, οι επιθυμίες τους, ο τρόπος ζωής τους και τελικά βάσει όλων αυτών και οι ίδιοι.
See you around Jack Duluoz.
January 20, 2014
I've just out this book down and am currently torn. On one hand, Kerouac requires patience, a bit of a run-up, time to settle in to his rhythms. At some points, I didn't give him that, but when I did it was fantastic. When I didn't I was disappointed. Equally, it's a first novel and a little messy - in good ways and in bad - at turns not quite hitting the mark and resulting in delightfully madcap, onomatopoeic run-on sentences. When its good, it's really, really good, and following at its natural pace can feel all too fleeting.
My ultimate issue, though, is with the characterisation of Maggie. She's imperfect and temperamental and it's young love and jealousy and rage and disappointment — but it's the crazy and hotheaded but sweet and sexy girl we've see a million times, even for its time, and that's what really lets it down. I never really knew what Jack likes about her, except her looks, and so the ending brought the whole thing to a whimper of an ending.
Still, though, Kerouac fans should give it a read.
My ultimate issue, though, is with the characterisation of Maggie. She's imperfect and temperamental and it's young love and jealousy and rage and disappointment — but it's the crazy and hotheaded but sweet and sexy girl we've see a million times, even for its time, and that's what really lets it down. I never really knew what Jack likes about her, except her looks, and so the ending brought the whole thing to a whimper of an ending.
Still, though, Kerouac fans should give it a read.
February 6, 2017
او را دوست داشتم، زندگی را هم همینطور. باید آنجا میایستادم و فرض میکردم تمام خطاهای اندوهبار روحم، از انتهای دیگر خطی که زندگیام در آن جریان دارد خارج شده -برای سرنوشتی که از قبل نوشته شده، زاری میکردم- هیچ چیز در وجود من نبود که بتواند خطایم را درست جلوه دهد. دیگر هیچ امیدی به امید نداشتم. چشمانم خسته و قرمز، صداقت را آدمها، اتفاقها و ضعف ارادهی خودم پس رانده بود -پا در هوا-به جان رسیده- ناتوانام.
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February 27, 2024
این رمان روایتگر حوالی ۱۷ سالگی کرواک است؛ زمانی که پر از هیجان برای شناخت جهان جدید بزرگسالیه و چیزهای جدیدی مثل عشق رو تجربه میکنه. داستان اصلی رمان دربارهی ارتباط جک با دختری به نام مگی کسیدیه (احتمالا نام واقعی این دختر این نیست)، کسی که عاشقش میشه و برای بودن باهاش، چالشهای مختلفی رو از سر میگذرونه. رمان پره از حرفهای طولانی و پر تب و تاب نوجوانهای در آستانهی جوانی، بزنبزنها و جهانبینیها و هیجانات اونها. زبان رمان، در مواقع زیادی زبانی شاعرانه و مخصوص به کرواکه، تعبیرها و توصیفهایی شاعرانه از جهانی که توش زندگی میکنه. توصیفهایی شاعرانه از عشقش، احساسش و شیوهای که جهان رو میبینه. توصیفهای کتاب بیشتر سوبژکتیو هستن تا توصیفهایی عینی از مکانها و شهری که توش زندگی میکنه؛ و تا حد زیادی تحت تاثیر تلخیای است که انگار زمان نوشتن کتاب، پشت چشمهای کرواک وجود داشته. جاهای زیادی از کتاب میبینیم که شخصیت این خودزندگینامه، همه چیز رو سیاه میبینه، یا انگار لحن یک دانای کل سیاهبین و اندوهگین روی اتفاقات رو میپوشونه. برای همین به نظر من این سیاهی بیشتر از این که از زبان یک نوجوان باشه، از زبان یک نویسندهی رنجکشیدهاست که حالا داره از پسِ این رنجها کودکی و جوانیش رو روایت میکنه و مثل مرد میانسالیه که وقتی از خاطراتش میگه، بین جملاتش آه میکشه.
یک چیز خیلی جالب رمان، پیشبینیای بود که در انتهای رمان مگی کسیدی از زندگی کرواک میکنه. پیشبینیای که با دونستن سرگذشت کرواک میبینیم خیلی هم دور از واقعیت نبوده. این جالب بود. این که انگار کرواک در جوانی، حدس میزده چی در انتظارشه، افرادی هم بهش هشدارهایی داده بودن، اما باز هم چیزی، یک خوره، یک کشش عجیب و مرموز و تاریک اونو به سمت سرنوشتی پرهیجان و پرخطر میکشه که انتهاش میشه مرگی در انزوا و تجربههایی تلخ و سرگشتگیهایی بیپایان. چیه که این شخصیت رو به این سرگشتگی میکشه؟ انگار رمان قراره روایتگر نقطهی مهم چرخش داستانی زندگی کرواک باشه؛ جایی که باید بین رفتن به سمت دو نوع زندگی تصمیم بگیره. و چه پایانی هم خود رمان داره. تضادی که بیانگر تغییرات این شخصیت در بزرگسالی و جوانیه و حس معصومیتی از دست رفته رو به من منتقل کرد. انگار که کرواک هم داره برای کودکی که خودش بوده، سوگواری میکنه. خیلی هم آخر داستان رو پیچ و تاب نمیده، سریع میگذره، انگار که خودش هم تاب شنیدن این قصه رو نداره. ماموریت، که گفتن این ماجرا بوده، انجام شده.
در کنار این تلخی، شیرینیها و آرزوها و ریتم پرشتاب زندگی یک نوجوان هم در این رمان به تصویر کشیده شده. مثل همیشه رمان با ریتم تندی نوشته شده و از این فکر به اون فکر میپره و گاهی توصیفات غیرقابل درکی داره که بیشتر شبیه به شعرهای مدرن انتزاعی میشه، و در این مورد کرواک، شاید کمی شخصی.
جهان و شهری که کرواکِ نوجوان توش زندگی میکرده، بعد از خوندن این رمان خیلی در ذهن من نشسته و انگار شده بخشی از خاطرات خودم، کمی محو و شیریرنگ و پر تب و تاب. شهری پربرف و خانههایی دم رودخونه و نوجوانهایی که به در و دیوار لگد میزنن و به دنبال عشق، چکمههاشونو گلی میکنن.
یک چیز خیلی جالب رمان، پیشبینیای بود که در انتهای رمان مگی کسیدی از زندگی کرواک میکنه. پیشبینیای که با دونستن سرگذشت کرواک میبینیم خیلی هم دور از واقعیت نبوده. این جالب بود. این که انگار کرواک در جوانی، حدس میزده چی در انتظارشه، افرادی هم بهش هشدارهایی داده بودن، اما باز هم چیزی، یک خوره، یک کشش عجیب و مرموز و تاریک اونو به سمت سرنوشتی پرهیجان و پرخطر میکشه که انتهاش میشه مرگی در انزوا و تجربههایی تلخ و سرگشتگیهایی بیپایان. چیه که این شخصیت رو به این سرگشتگی میکشه؟ انگار رمان قراره روایتگر نقطهی مهم چرخش داستانی زندگی کرواک باشه؛ جایی که باید بین رفتن به سمت دو نوع زندگی تصمیم بگیره. و چه پایانی هم خود رمان داره. تضادی که بیانگر تغییرات این شخصیت در بزرگسالی و جوانیه و حس معصومیتی از دست رفته رو به من منتقل کرد. انگار که کرواک هم داره برای کودکی که خودش بوده، سوگواری میکنه. خیلی هم آخر داستان رو پیچ و تاب نمیده، سریع میگذره، انگار که خودش هم تاب شنیدن این قصه رو نداره. ماموریت، که گفتن این ماجرا بوده، انجام شده.
در کنار این تلخی، شیرینیها و آرزوها و ریتم پرشتاب زندگی یک نوجوان هم در این رمان به تصویر کشیده شده. مثل همیشه رمان با ریتم تندی نوشته شده و از این فکر به اون فکر میپره و گاهی توصیفات غیرقابل درکی داره که بیشتر شبیه به شعرهای مدرن انتزاعی میشه، و در این مورد کرواک، شاید کمی شخصی.
جهان و شهری که کرواکِ نوجوان توش زندگی میکرده، بعد از خوندن این رمان خیلی در ذهن من نشسته و انگار شده بخشی از خاطرات خودم، کمی محو و شیریرنگ و پر تب و تاب. شهری پربرف و خانههایی دم رودخونه و نوجوانهایی که به در و دیوار لگد میزنن و به دنبال عشق، چکمههاشونو گلی میکنن.
June 2, 2008
Maybe one of the most approachable of Jack's. Heartbreaking and sincere. There's an upside down kiss in this book that is a thousand times sweeter and sexier than the one in Spider-Man
July 16, 2018
My first Kerouac. As a story, it's very typical; an adolescent love affair of an American high school athlete, set in 60s maybe, a small town story. However, the writing is sweet as honey. It is the poet in Kerouac that won it all over for me, despite the testosterone driven teenage boy talks. The writing was beautiful, very poetic. :)
Recommended.
Recommended.
March 5, 2016
Maggie Cassidy is poetry in motion. Sad smells, candlelight sunsets, and cling-clanging trains rush you along with Jack and Maggie by his side past depots and jazz joints till the black of midnight strikes and you fall asleep clutching your pillow, prose rushing in to sweeten your dreams. When your’e a poet of Kerouac’s skill, every line has its rhythm and they fall together in place like the wonderful impromptu jazz magic that sweetens the darkened fog swept alleys of an inner city night.
November 5, 2013
Jack Kerouac embodies Americana. Plain and simple.
Father-Son relationships. Blue Collar America. Wild, silly friendships. Small(ish) towns. All some of my favorite things.
One of the greatest love stories I've ever read, "Maggie Cassidy" so accurately exemplifies friendship, young love, and adolescence. To fool friends and family for the heart of a woman, as flawed as she may be, while simulatenously battling the confusion of growing up, Kerouac illustrates that our decisions as youngsters really do shape our future as well as the relationships of those closest to us.
Father-Son relationships. Blue Collar America. Wild, silly friendships. Small(ish) towns. All some of my favorite things.
One of the greatest love stories I've ever read, "Maggie Cassidy" so accurately exemplifies friendship, young love, and adolescence. To fool friends and family for the heart of a woman, as flawed as she may be, while simulatenously battling the confusion of growing up, Kerouac illustrates that our decisions as youngsters really do shape our future as well as the relationships of those closest to us.
February 27, 2016
A Heartbreak Hipster Review
With Kerouac being one of my father's favourite authors - (he takes The Dharma Bums with him whenever we travel. He even named our first dog after him, though we kids were unable to pronounce the name, and so just called him “Wacky”) - I have always been encouraged to read some of his work. Along with Hemingway - and several others of this respected, but unvisited, calibre - I have always intended to read something of his, eventually. And so finally, having finished Maggie Cassidy - (one of Kerouac's more unusual stories - they say - as it harkens back to his high schools days, before he became the legendary spokesman of the "Beat Generation") - I can finally tick that box off.
So, was it worth it?
To be honest, I was worried that it wasn't when I started. I was a virgin to this man's writings ...
Fucking it hurt when he punctured my hymen.
And Kerouac has a very distinct way of writing. He has a way of unravelling never-ending sentences - (I swear to God, (not literally, of course), there would sometimes be over three pages before a full-stop, or even a semi-colan, made an appearance) - and considering this, coupled with his sometimes overly-obscure way of describing things that seem (from time to time) a little irrelevant, I did find this book kind of hard going at times. Many a time, I would finish one of his 50-page sentences, look up from the book with a smirk of contentment, and then be like ... "wait, what?" -
I guess it depends on the angle that you read it from.
In some ways, I would sympathise with somebody that stopped me randomly on the street, and told me that they couldn't stand Kerouac's style, because it didn't make any damned sense. I would sympathise with them; I would pat them on the back, buy them a nice cup of coffee, and then gently explain that I understand ... some people just don't like books that actually have creative and original storytelling … “now walk your ass into Dymocks and buy the new James Patterson book (Naughts And Crosses, or Sign Of The Cross, or something with the word “Cross” in it, for fuck’s sake) you fucking idiot - get out, you ... and don't randomly talk to me on the street again!! I’ve got to get to Kmart, where I can stand behind the till for nine hours, thinking of reasons not to kill myself …
“I’m going to go back to college, and suddenly change the way I am, and everyone is going to love me all of a sudden” …
Yeah, that will do.
So yeah, I will admit that it did take a little while for things to get going. But so does masturbation … especially with all the anti-depressants I’ve been taking.
After a long and jumbled introduction to Senior Protagonisto and his high school chums - which, in itself, was unsettling for its long-windedness, and refusal to keep to the point, or make much sense - the story thankfully zones in on the strange but endearing relationship between Jack Duluoz and Maggie Cassidy. Though Kerouac applies a most painstaking effort in conveying the attractiveness of this sad, dark, contradicted girl, his efforts soon become overwhelming (unless, of course, you’re taking note of all his highly colourful and bizarre descriterions … which I’m afraid to say, I was - Oh, for fuck … would you get a load of my Evernote's auto-correct? Des-crit-pions? "Who programmed this crap? I bet he’s a fucking dumbs shit. Why, I shall go have a word with him right now. Now look here, sir. Turn around so I can tell you what a fucking idiot you ...
"Oh. Oh dear. I am so, so sorry".
But as I was saying - (before that redicuolous spelling error pissed me off and prompted me to purposely slam my fingers in the backdoor) - Kerouac’s descritpions of Maggie Cassidy’s youthful perfection is done so profoundly over-the-top … like, pretty damned profound, mate … that the images it evoked in my mind were nothing but obscure suggestions, which my subconscious ... (you know, that word from 50 Shades Of Grey And by the way, I would still have to think twice about seeing that shit, even if I had myself a girlfriend … which I don’t, of course. You can apply for that on www. you’re-the-worst-thing-that-happened-to-me .com) … just kind of fashioned into its own vague image of beauty. I suppose that Maggie Cassidy can just be however you want her to look. She’s pretty, mate. What else do you need? Do you need to be constantly reminded about how her clothes are “hanging off her”, like with Christian Grey?
”You’ve had six orgasms so far, and all of them belong to me”.
The story itself isn’t anything too special. It’s a very simple, though somewhat charming, coming-of-age tale, about a boy who grows up in a small milling town in northern Massachusetts. His life up to this point has been focussed on his sporting passions; it’s made clear from the start, that Jack Duluoz isn’t starved for attention or friendship. Lucky bastard already has one girl in love with him before he falls in love with someone else. He’s a burly, athletic young man, with a close and loving family, and though his friends harbour questionable prioties - (DAMN YOU, EVERNOTE!!!) - they are all still there for one another. But school is coming to a close as he begins his budding romance with Maggie Cassidy. And after the main section of the book - which details his on-and-off relationship with the girl, who inflicts a form of emotional torture on him, by being, within moments, a passionate sex pot, a clingy friend who says weird shit like “Oh, fer krissakes, you millin er sumpen” ( … fucken, learn how to talk) … and a total bitch who kicks him out of the house, and tells him to walk home ... three miles through a fucking New England blizzard, you understand?
The story then moves on to what awaits our protagonist after school. But I won’t give away anything more.
What I think really helps this book ... what allows it to transcend the somewhat opaque prose of its author … is (though I contradict myself), the writing itself. For as many times as it may come across as a little weird, and not really make complete sense ... more often than not, it does, in fact, have a peculiar way of streaming into your mind and evoking some fantastic imagery that appeals not just to the visual sense, but on a more emotional level, as well. Sometimes I struggled with interpreting the sentences … but other times, I almost forgot I was reading; it was as if his words had swept me away to the snowy town of Lowell itself.
Such moments included the part when Maggie leans over the chair and kisses Jack, upside down ... the feel of her breats pushing into the back of his neck ... her hair lying tickingly over his face. The part when Jack weighs up the Negro athlete at the tracking marathon. The part when he sits at the kitchen window, watching all his friends trudging through the snow, past his house and up to another where there is to be a surprise birthday party for him.
For a while, I was planning on giving this book three stars. But after reaching the end, I realized that, while there have been many books I enjoyed reading more, none have provided an experience quite like this. There is something powerful in this story, but it’s very understated … almost missable. And in the end, I had to reward it for that.
All things considered, Maggie Cassidy is a nice, simple story about a boy and girl who find a connection in the prime of their youths … it explores the beauty, the heartache, and the confusion of falling in love … and essentially, it encourages us to see that, at the end of our lives, such momentous encounters like this are really not as big and infinitely dominant as they might sometimes seem to be. They are just yet another of life’s great experiences ... something beautiful and natural ... sometimes happy, sometimes painful … and something that we all must come to experience and remember, in whatever shape or form, if we are to call ourselves human.
Except being the frozen coil of unexpressed sorrow, there were a few things I can’t quite get off my chest. Well, not without unblocking my Ex-Girlfriend on Facebook, and telling her to leave her boyfriend, otherwise I’ll do something drastic.
1) When Jack goes to college in New York, and his friend writes to him by letter, he keeps on referring to their hometown as being “down here”. Now, if your brain is normal, then this really shouldn’t bother you. But for me, it caused substantial mental torment. Even my psychiatrist throws his hands up and tells me I’m a nutcase. But I just can’t get my head around why this guy would refer to his hometown as the more southern point, in relation to New York City, when Lowell, Massachusetts, is obviously further north. I literally had to reason with myself here … eventually coming to the desired concsluion that his friend was just a little dumb, and didn’t know the geographical setting of his own country.
2) When I lapse in the throngs of midnight twilight sad dreams owl asleep in dripping tree, I picture life like flower petal opened blooming hopes like new waxed car in sheen of morning glow. The stars are like the speckled ground of litter fires broken dreams small remnants of what once had seemed like more than merely grand ideas. If you found this sentence annoying - fucking, though I doubt anyone is even reading this false hope letters hanged with faded times of better minds, loser in the dread of dark - then think about how I had felt. This book is full of stuff like this. The guy did not like using commas, it seemed. “Spontaneous Prose”? That meant to justify it? My bowels are spontaneous, but I don’t glorify that shit, do I?
3) This book explores the joys and woes of having a high school sweetheart. How come I never got to have a high school sweetheart?
Oh ... That's right.
More of these reviews here:
https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
With Kerouac being one of my father's favourite authors - (he takes The Dharma Bums with him whenever we travel. He even named our first dog after him, though we kids were unable to pronounce the name, and so just called him “Wacky”) - I have always been encouraged to read some of his work. Along with Hemingway - and several others of this respected, but unvisited, calibre - I have always intended to read something of his, eventually. And so finally, having finished Maggie Cassidy - (one of Kerouac's more unusual stories - they say - as it harkens back to his high schools days, before he became the legendary spokesman of the "Beat Generation") - I can finally tick that box off.
So, was it worth it?
To be honest, I was worried that it wasn't when I started. I was a virgin to this man's writings ...
Fucking it hurt when he punctured my hymen.
And Kerouac has a very distinct way of writing. He has a way of unravelling never-ending sentences - (I swear to God, (not literally, of course), there would sometimes be over three pages before a full-stop, or even a semi-colan, made an appearance) - and considering this, coupled with his sometimes overly-obscure way of describing things that seem (from time to time) a little irrelevant, I did find this book kind of hard going at times. Many a time, I would finish one of his 50-page sentences, look up from the book with a smirk of contentment, and then be like ... "wait, what?" -
I guess it depends on the angle that you read it from.
In some ways, I would sympathise with somebody that stopped me randomly on the street, and told me that they couldn't stand Kerouac's style, because it didn't make any damned sense. I would sympathise with them; I would pat them on the back, buy them a nice cup of coffee, and then gently explain that I understand ... some people just don't like books that actually have creative and original storytelling … “now walk your ass into Dymocks and buy the new James Patterson book (Naughts And Crosses, or Sign Of The Cross, or something with the word “Cross” in it, for fuck’s sake) you fucking idiot - get out, you ... and don't randomly talk to me on the street again!! I’ve got to get to Kmart, where I can stand behind the till for nine hours, thinking of reasons not to kill myself …
“I’m going to go back to college, and suddenly change the way I am, and everyone is going to love me all of a sudden” …
Yeah, that will do.
So yeah, I will admit that it did take a little while for things to get going. But so does masturbation … especially with all the anti-depressants I’ve been taking.
After a long and jumbled introduction to Senior Protagonisto and his high school chums - which, in itself, was unsettling for its long-windedness, and refusal to keep to the point, or make much sense - the story thankfully zones in on the strange but endearing relationship between Jack Duluoz and Maggie Cassidy. Though Kerouac applies a most painstaking effort in conveying the attractiveness of this sad, dark, contradicted girl, his efforts soon become overwhelming (unless, of course, you’re taking note of all his highly colourful and bizarre descriterions … which I’m afraid to say, I was - Oh, for fuck … would you get a load of my Evernote's auto-correct? Des-crit-pions? "Who programmed this crap? I bet he’s a fucking dumbs shit. Why, I shall go have a word with him right now. Now look here, sir. Turn around so I can tell you what a fucking idiot you ...
"Oh. Oh dear. I am so, so sorry".
But as I was saying - (before that redicuolous spelling error pissed me off and prompted me to purposely slam my fingers in the backdoor) - Kerouac’s descritpions of Maggie Cassidy’s youthful perfection is done so profoundly over-the-top … like, pretty damned profound, mate … that the images it evoked in my mind were nothing but obscure suggestions, which my subconscious ... (you know, that word from 50 Shades Of Grey And by the way, I would still have to think twice about seeing that shit, even if I had myself a girlfriend … which I don’t, of course. You can apply for that on www. you’re-the-worst-thing-that-happened-to-me .com) … just kind of fashioned into its own vague image of beauty. I suppose that Maggie Cassidy can just be however you want her to look. She’s pretty, mate. What else do you need? Do you need to be constantly reminded about how her clothes are “hanging off her”, like with Christian Grey?
”You’ve had six orgasms so far, and all of them belong to me”.
The story itself isn’t anything too special. It’s a very simple, though somewhat charming, coming-of-age tale, about a boy who grows up in a small milling town in northern Massachusetts. His life up to this point has been focussed on his sporting passions; it’s made clear from the start, that Jack Duluoz isn’t starved for attention or friendship. Lucky bastard already has one girl in love with him before he falls in love with someone else. He’s a burly, athletic young man, with a close and loving family, and though his friends harbour questionable prioties - (DAMN YOU, EVERNOTE!!!) - they are all still there for one another. But school is coming to a close as he begins his budding romance with Maggie Cassidy. And after the main section of the book - which details his on-and-off relationship with the girl, who inflicts a form of emotional torture on him, by being, within moments, a passionate sex pot, a clingy friend who says weird shit like “Oh, fer krissakes, you millin er sumpen” ( … fucken, learn how to talk) … and a total bitch who kicks him out of the house, and tells him to walk home ... three miles through a fucking New England blizzard, you understand?
The story then moves on to what awaits our protagonist after school. But I won’t give away anything more.
What I think really helps this book ... what allows it to transcend the somewhat opaque prose of its author … is (though I contradict myself), the writing itself. For as many times as it may come across as a little weird, and not really make complete sense ... more often than not, it does, in fact, have a peculiar way of streaming into your mind and evoking some fantastic imagery that appeals not just to the visual sense, but on a more emotional level, as well. Sometimes I struggled with interpreting the sentences … but other times, I almost forgot I was reading; it was as if his words had swept me away to the snowy town of Lowell itself.
Such moments included the part when Maggie leans over the chair and kisses Jack, upside down ... the feel of her breats pushing into the back of his neck ... her hair lying tickingly over his face. The part when Jack weighs up the Negro athlete at the tracking marathon. The part when he sits at the kitchen window, watching all his friends trudging through the snow, past his house and up to another where there is to be a surprise birthday party for him.
For a while, I was planning on giving this book three stars. But after reaching the end, I realized that, while there have been many books I enjoyed reading more, none have provided an experience quite like this. There is something powerful in this story, but it’s very understated … almost missable. And in the end, I had to reward it for that.
All things considered, Maggie Cassidy is a nice, simple story about a boy and girl who find a connection in the prime of their youths … it explores the beauty, the heartache, and the confusion of falling in love … and essentially, it encourages us to see that, at the end of our lives, such momentous encounters like this are really not as big and infinitely dominant as they might sometimes seem to be. They are just yet another of life’s great experiences ... something beautiful and natural ... sometimes happy, sometimes painful … and something that we all must come to experience and remember, in whatever shape or form, if we are to call ourselves human.
Except being the frozen coil of unexpressed sorrow, there were a few things I can’t quite get off my chest. Well, not without unblocking my Ex-Girlfriend on Facebook, and telling her to leave her boyfriend, otherwise I’ll do something drastic.
1) When Jack goes to college in New York, and his friend writes to him by letter, he keeps on referring to their hometown as being “down here”. Now, if your brain is normal, then this really shouldn’t bother you. But for me, it caused substantial mental torment. Even my psychiatrist throws his hands up and tells me I’m a nutcase. But I just can’t get my head around why this guy would refer to his hometown as the more southern point, in relation to New York City, when Lowell, Massachusetts, is obviously further north. I literally had to reason with myself here … eventually coming to the desired concsluion that his friend was just a little dumb, and didn’t know the geographical setting of his own country.
2) When I lapse in the throngs of midnight twilight sad dreams owl asleep in dripping tree, I picture life like flower petal opened blooming hopes like new waxed car in sheen of morning glow. The stars are like the speckled ground of litter fires broken dreams small remnants of what once had seemed like more than merely grand ideas. If you found this sentence annoying - fucking, though I doubt anyone is even reading this false hope letters hanged with faded times of better minds, loser in the dread of dark - then think about how I had felt. This book is full of stuff like this. The guy did not like using commas, it seemed. “Spontaneous Prose”? That meant to justify it? My bowels are spontaneous, but I don’t glorify that shit, do I?
3) This book explores the joys and woes of having a high school sweetheart. How come I never got to have a high school sweetheart?
Oh ... That's right.
More of these reviews here:
https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
July 16, 2018
Published in 1959, after 'On the Road', this novel covers Jack Duluoz (a thinly disguised young Kerouac) through his final year of High School and his first year of college in 1939-40m and his romance with Maggie. Although the characters have different names, this is a prequel for the Sal Paradise character in 'On the Road" which I read 40 years ago. Written in his 'spontaneous prose' style, some of the writing is quite lyrical and the early scenes of his schoolfriends larking about are great. Overall, you have to concentrate hard to catch the best of the style so not the easiest book to read.
November 4, 2013
Love the passion of Kerouac's prose even if it gets tiresome after a while. I read this book when I was a teen, around 1965, and still have a fond spot for passages like this:
"Can I make you happier with powder on my chest? Do you need a thousand movie shows? Sixteen million people to ride the bus with, hit the stop—I shoulda never let you go away from home—" Rich lips brooded in my deaf ear. “The fog’ll fall all over you, Jacky, you’ll wait in fields—You’ll let me die—you wont come save me—I wont even know where your grave is—remember what you were like, where your house, what your life—you’ll die without knowing what happened to my face—my love—my youth—You’ll burn yourself out like a moth jumping in a locomotive boiler looking for light—Jacky—and you’ll be dead—and lose yourself from yourself—and forget—and sink—and me too—and what is all this then?”
“I dont know—“
“Then come back to our porch of the river the night time the trees and you love stars—I hear the bus on the corner—where you’re getting off—no more, boy, no more—I saw, had visions and idees of you handsome my husband walking across the top of the America with your lantern..."
Out of her eyes I saw smoldering I’d like to rip this damn dress off and never see it again!
September 25, 2016
My lovely husband read me this book over several nights before going to bed and I think that's the only way I can appreciate Jack Kerouac since I have a hard time understanding his prose when I am reading it on my own.
In comparison to my experience reading On the Road, Maggie Cassidy felt real and soulful whereas with On the Road, I never understood what was going on or why the story was written.
One of the things I love about this book is that it really shows how similar teenagers from the 1930s are to millennials. Both stay out late, drink, party and chase love interests. At the end of the book Jack come to Maggie's house and waits for her in her car and once she comes out he says he's not going to go inside to say hello to her parents. This is similar to many things I've read decrying today's youth from not going to the door to pick up their dates. People think dating and romance was better in the past, I think it's always been the same just on different platforms.
In comparison to my experience reading On the Road, Maggie Cassidy felt real and soulful whereas with On the Road, I never understood what was going on or why the story was written.
One of the things I love about this book is that it really shows how similar teenagers from the 1930s are to millennials. Both stay out late, drink, party and chase love interests. At the end of the book Jack come to Maggie's house and waits for her in her car and once she comes out he says he's not going to go inside to say hello to her parents. This is similar to many things I've read decrying today's youth from not going to the door to pick up their dates. People think dating and romance was better in the past, I think it's always been the same just on different platforms.
March 20, 2016
All I can say is that reading this book is good for the soul
( I'm not even kidding )
the Kerouac style sends my heart affluter, in "Maggie Cassidy" he explores a sort of Elusive Flighty Poetry #Love #Freedom #Childhood
( I'm not even kidding )
the Kerouac style sends my heart affluter, in "Maggie Cassidy" he explores a sort of Elusive Flighty Poetry #Love #Freedom #Childhood
April 3, 2018
Good quotes: "The second-hand kisses the minute hand sixty times an hour 24 hours a day and still we swallow in hope of life."
"I can't face my own conculsions."
"I can't face my own conculsions."
July 31, 2020
4* On the Road
4* Maggie Cassidy
TR The Dharma Bums
TR Big Sur
I should read more books written by Kerouac since each one brings always a great surprise to the reader.
4* Maggie Cassidy
TR The Dharma Bums
TR Big Sur
I should read more books written by Kerouac since each one brings always a great surprise to the reader.
November 11, 2013
Set in the close-knit working-class French-Canadian community of Lowell, Massachusetts, Maggie Cassidy is a semi-autobiographical account of Kerouac’s adolescence. The story is recounted through the teenage mind of the author’s alter ego, Jack Duluoz, a high school athletics and American football star.
Maggie Cassidy is a meditation of love, of being in love and youthful innocence. A memoir of the fantasy-filled memories of adolescent years spent male bonding with his ‘corner boys’, recollecting on his mother’s expectations and time spent with his father, it is above all an account of his first love, high-school sweetheart, Maggie Cassidy.
The romantic relationship is adeptly portrayed as a pure, passionate, exuberant love, narrated with deep and profound insights. Towards the end of the book Jack moves to a school in New York on a sports scholarship, leaving Maggie behind in Lowell. The culmination of the story comes three years later when Jack, now a man, visits her there. With the passage of time and the resulting altered motives and desires, the innocence has been lost and the resulting liaison is unfulfilled. Perhaps the ending is illustrative of the nature of Kerouac’s own adulthood relationships.
Though one of the author’s less well known books, Maggie Cassidy is a captivating work that utilises long sentences and a fluid narrative style - the hallmark of the experimental, spontaneous writing form, pioneered by Kerouac, the reluctant leader of The Beat Generation.
Maggie Cassidy is a meditation of love, of being in love and youthful innocence. A memoir of the fantasy-filled memories of adolescent years spent male bonding with his ‘corner boys’, recollecting on his mother’s expectations and time spent with his father, it is above all an account of his first love, high-school sweetheart, Maggie Cassidy.
The romantic relationship is adeptly portrayed as a pure, passionate, exuberant love, narrated with deep and profound insights. Towards the end of the book Jack moves to a school in New York on a sports scholarship, leaving Maggie behind in Lowell. The culmination of the story comes three years later when Jack, now a man, visits her there. With the passage of time and the resulting altered motives and desires, the innocence has been lost and the resulting liaison is unfulfilled. Perhaps the ending is illustrative of the nature of Kerouac’s own adulthood relationships.
Though one of the author’s less well known books, Maggie Cassidy is a captivating work that utilises long sentences and a fluid narrative style - the hallmark of the experimental, spontaneous writing form, pioneered by Kerouac, the reluctant leader of The Beat Generation.
September 11, 2009
It's always interesting reading Kerouac because his style is so unusual, even in the this pre-On The Road book published after he became famous. Since all of his books seem to be semi-autobiographical, it was fun to read a story about young Jack Kerouac, how he relates to his friends, what he thinks about his home town Lowell, MA, what he thinks of girls, his star athleticism, and a little about his family's dynamics. Ultimately though, I'd give this book two and half stars because it's main story is not very captivating. Jack's relationship with Maggie Cassidy is not well fleshed out. He never divulges too much about how he really feels about her or much else about his inner thoughts. It's more of a story about a kid in transition from high school to college, giddy with excitement about the future, than it is a story about lost love or lack of love or whatever kind of love was supposed to be between Maggie and Jack. The book might be more appropriately titled "My Senior Year."
January 2, 2013
I found Kerouac's style in this book to be truly phenomenal. It was some of the most beautiful writing of his. What made it an odd contrast was how it portrayed the life of a high school jock, a little shy and inexperienced, compared to the poor alcoholic of later books. The subject matter was an honest look at the frustration of high school relationships. I felt sorry for Maggie, stuck in what appeared to be a fairly small town, trying to decide at 17 if she should get married or not, more out of boredom more than anything else. The book was an odd contrast between idolisation and disappointment. Nobody seemed to know what they really wanted. It did a good job of capturing the frustration of youth. While I prefer Kerouac going on a bender with because his cat died, or failing at relationships because of his alcoholism, it was a sweet touching story and really really well written. Probably the 2nd best of the Dulouz stories I read. (The first being Visions of Gerard).
November 28, 2017
A frustrating book to read. The writing at times is elegant but also clunky. I really wondered what he saw in Maggie as she seemed moody and temperament. Pauline seemed a much better match. What I did like was his description of the town, landscape and that three mile walk home in winter from Maggie’s house with the porch and swing.
The description of his foot races was also excellent and giving his all. There are also some great lines such as ‘I sneaked off to the lazy unresponsive girl three miles across town by the tragic-flowing dark sad Concord’. This line pretty much summed up Maggie.
The description of his foot races was also excellent and giving his all. There are also some great lines such as ‘I sneaked off to the lazy unresponsive girl three miles across town by the tragic-flowing dark sad Concord’. This line pretty much summed up Maggie.
October 17, 2017
An exhilarating, lively novel about the ambitious teenage Jack Duluoz and his love for Maggie Cassidy. Occasionally a victim of its time as far as attitudes are concerned this still ranks near to the top of Kerouac's novels for me, so far. Great poetic prose, a memorable group of characters getting to grips with what life has to offer them; all you could want from a writer doing what he does best.
July 7, 2020
An ordinary story but the way Kerouac tells it makes it something wonderful.There's something in this book I can't describe the feeling of being a teenager and in love,growing up, the sadness of first love and knowing that you can't have a future with your first love but not accepting it. Sad,sweet and inoccent.
August 12, 2025
took me ages to get through for a reason. for 60% of the time i was wowed by kerouac’s lyricism; something about the rhythm of his sentences really makes sense to me. soz im about to copy-and-paste a massive extract from a substack post by rayne fisher-quann, who has a knack for articulating every emotion ive felt in clear english. it sticks in my mind to this day and sums up why i actually like and feel engaged by prose that’s a bit out-there:
‘The problem with cliches isn’t that they aren’t true, it’s that when you hear something enough times you stop being able to actually hear it. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night.” It’s like that game we’d play in elementary school where you’d say a normal word again and again until no one could remember what it meant. Your brain can’t handle actually, really internalizing what it means to “need someone to breathe” every time you read it in a novel so you stop really reading it at all — it becomes decoration, a vernacular shorthand that indicates a nebulous ‘love’ to the reader instead of a sentence that someone said once for the first time because they didn’t know how they could have possibly said anything else’
so basically ig i appreciate how this sort of writing can avoid cliche and get down to the BONEZ of emotion. kerouac writes How you perceive things in the moment, which makes reading all his descriptions of setting (p. 62: lowell at dusk as our jacky walks home to track practice) and first love a genuinely sensory/ visceral experience
i’m also realising i am a sucker for any book with an old-timey, metropolitan US setting so this really worked on me
as for the other 40%, i was sat brow furrowed to fuck as i endeavoured to interpret all the ‘30s - ‘40s slang; regrettably this meant that large segments of the book went over my head. i’m not gonna criticise maggie cassidy by pointing out that it’s not super plot-driven cos i feel like that’s an invalid point to raise; yes, she is a book of Vibes so take it or LEAVE IT. but i WILL say that i hate when i’m reading an old book and the male protagonist just says something super rapey out of nowhere (happened at least 2 or 3 times in this)
anyway i can’t be bothered writing anymore. 3.5 stars
‘The problem with cliches isn’t that they aren’t true, it’s that when you hear something enough times you stop being able to actually hear it. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night.” It’s like that game we’d play in elementary school where you’d say a normal word again and again until no one could remember what it meant. Your brain can’t handle actually, really internalizing what it means to “need someone to breathe” every time you read it in a novel so you stop really reading it at all — it becomes decoration, a vernacular shorthand that indicates a nebulous ‘love’ to the reader instead of a sentence that someone said once for the first time because they didn’t know how they could have possibly said anything else’
so basically ig i appreciate how this sort of writing can avoid cliche and get down to the BONEZ of emotion. kerouac writes How you perceive things in the moment, which makes reading all his descriptions of setting (p. 62: lowell at dusk as our jacky walks home to track practice) and first love a genuinely sensory/ visceral experience
i’m also realising i am a sucker for any book with an old-timey, metropolitan US setting so this really worked on me
as for the other 40%, i was sat brow furrowed to fuck as i endeavoured to interpret all the ‘30s - ‘40s slang; regrettably this meant that large segments of the book went over my head. i’m not gonna criticise maggie cassidy by pointing out that it’s not super plot-driven cos i feel like that’s an invalid point to raise; yes, she is a book of Vibes so take it or LEAVE IT. but i WILL say that i hate when i’m reading an old book and the male protagonist just says something super rapey out of nowhere (happened at least 2 or 3 times in this)
anyway i can’t be bothered writing anymore. 3.5 stars
December 27, 2024
Es esta una novela de iniciación, auto ficción casi pura en la que Kerouac nos relata su adolescencia en Lowell, de por sí un personaje más, a sí mismo, a veces, como César, en tercera persona, a sus amigos y su enamoramiento inesperado de la irlandesa Mary Carney, (Maggie Cassidy en la novela, imposible no pensar en Neal Cassady). Con agilidad, libertad expresiva, incontinente prosa, florituras poéticas que en mor a la espontaneidad beat a veces se interrumpe de forma abrupta sin acabar de romper esa cascada de palabras, turbulenta que no turbia, con la que el autor nos hace partícipes de todo el anhelo, insatisfacción, estallidos de absurda alegría, derroche de energía, pero también esas simas de melancolía, frustración -sexual sobre todo-, miedo y audacia que supone el paso a la edad adulta, y aún así... la brillantez que he encontrado en esta novela es que siendo ya un hombre formado, escribe esta historia en la que es capaz de burlarse de sí mismo en ese muchacho vencido por una faja. La nostalgia no es ese joven sino Lowell y Lowell es Maggie y Jack Duluoz ya no tiene a ninguno de los dos.
August 30, 2017
Proprio come quando feci la mia prima confessione, ero un angioletto di puro futuro.
Non di facile lettura, si rimane come incantati di fronte all'amore innocente e adolescenziale povato
dall'autore per Maggie Cassidy (Mary Carney).
Scritto nel 1953, quando ormai aveva quarantun'anni, ritroviamo fra le pagine di questo breve, ma
intenso racconto, tutta la struggente malinconia per la Lowell della sua infanzia, una nostalgia e un
rimpianto che non lo abbandoneranno mai, che lo terranno per sempre legato alle sue radici.
Ci sono i ricordi del calore familiare, dei gatti, degli amici, dei primi sogni di gloria per un futuro da
atleta e, per finire, del primissimo impatto con la New York che cambierà il suo destino.
Questa M.C. non era poi un granchè, anzi, una vera stronza, se solo avesse smesso di
rimpiangerla e di idealizzarla, avrebbe anche potuto instaurare rapporti migliori e più edificanti con
le successive donne della sua vita.
Ragazzo e ragazza, le braccia allacciate, Maggie e Jack, nella triste sala da ballo della vita, già
a testa bassa, gli angoli della bocca all'ingiù, le spalle cadenti, accigliati, già avvisati di ciò che li
attendeva - l'amore è amaro, la morte è dolce.
I suoi stati d'animo misteriosi e contorti, filosofici, profondi, lievemente animaleschi come la tortura di teschi e di mammelle di gatti, come l'affogare di idioti che è quello che siamo giunti ad aspettarci adesso dalla nostra primavera, la mano abbandonata dubbiosa sul fianco in sintonia con il capo che scrolla solo una lieve incredulità attenuata o meglio una vaga espressione sgradevolmente incredula di follia carnale di femmina indulgente, ricciolo di crudeltà paradistica, avrei voluto squarciare la sua bocca e ucciderla, l'improvviso sgorgare interiore di una tenerezza profonda, dolorosa, oscura, che faceva aggrottare le ciglia sulla fronte lattea, nascere lune con una congiura delle mani alzate dal fondo di quel pozzo che è il ventre, la natura, la zolla, il tempo, la morte, la nascita.
A quattro chilometri da casa cammino ancora nella mezzanotte di metà inverno, questa volta non
a passo svelto, o gioioso, ma scoraggiato, nessun luogo dove andare e niente alle spalle - tutto
quello che la notte fa alla fine di una strada è aumentare la distanza.
- sono a letto nella notte nera emanando fumetti di dialogo bianchi per i miei sogni scolpiti d'oro -
- Da bambino mi aveva già portato a New York a vedere la metropolitana, Coney Island, il Roxy -
All'età di cinque anni avevo domito nella tragica metropolitana traballante di gente sepolta nell'aria
nera della notte.
Non di facile lettura, si rimane come incantati di fronte all'amore innocente e adolescenziale povato
dall'autore per Maggie Cassidy (Mary Carney).
Scritto nel 1953, quando ormai aveva quarantun'anni, ritroviamo fra le pagine di questo breve, ma
intenso racconto, tutta la struggente malinconia per la Lowell della sua infanzia, una nostalgia e un
rimpianto che non lo abbandoneranno mai, che lo terranno per sempre legato alle sue radici.
Ci sono i ricordi del calore familiare, dei gatti, degli amici, dei primi sogni di gloria per un futuro da
atleta e, per finire, del primissimo impatto con la New York che cambierà il suo destino.
Questa M.C. non era poi un granchè, anzi, una vera stronza, se solo avesse smesso di
rimpiangerla e di idealizzarla, avrebbe anche potuto instaurare rapporti migliori e più edificanti con
le successive donne della sua vita.
Ragazzo e ragazza, le braccia allacciate, Maggie e Jack, nella triste sala da ballo della vita, già
a testa bassa, gli angoli della bocca all'ingiù, le spalle cadenti, accigliati, già avvisati di ciò che li
attendeva - l'amore è amaro, la morte è dolce.
I suoi stati d'animo misteriosi e contorti, filosofici, profondi, lievemente animaleschi come la tortura di teschi e di mammelle di gatti, come l'affogare di idioti che è quello che siamo giunti ad aspettarci adesso dalla nostra primavera, la mano abbandonata dubbiosa sul fianco in sintonia con il capo che scrolla solo una lieve incredulità attenuata o meglio una vaga espressione sgradevolmente incredula di follia carnale di femmina indulgente, ricciolo di crudeltà paradistica, avrei voluto squarciare la sua bocca e ucciderla, l'improvviso sgorgare interiore di una tenerezza profonda, dolorosa, oscura, che faceva aggrottare le ciglia sulla fronte lattea, nascere lune con una congiura delle mani alzate dal fondo di quel pozzo che è il ventre, la natura, la zolla, il tempo, la morte, la nascita.
A quattro chilometri da casa cammino ancora nella mezzanotte di metà inverno, questa volta non
a passo svelto, o gioioso, ma scoraggiato, nessun luogo dove andare e niente alle spalle - tutto
quello che la notte fa alla fine di una strada è aumentare la distanza.
- sono a letto nella notte nera emanando fumetti di dialogo bianchi per i miei sogni scolpiti d'oro -
- Da bambino mi aveva già portato a New York a vedere la metropolitana, Coney Island, il Roxy -
All'età di cinque anni avevo domito nella tragica metropolitana traballante di gente sepolta nell'aria
nera della notte.
July 15, 2012
It was good. About half-way through, I consciously realized how two-dimensional the characters were. (And that's not exactly a GOOD thing.) But the writing is beautiful, lyrical. The plot is strong, and it kept me turning pages. "Maggie Cassidy" probably doesn't get the attention it deserves in the Kerouac lexicon, to be honest. And the last two chapters are, in my opinion, among the finest commentary on the so-called "American Dream" that I've read in years.
*SPOILER:*
This novel's ending is nothing short of brilliant. If the first 180 pages breathe air into the balloon, the novel's last 9 pages see it fly maniacally around the room as that air escapes. I'm not much of a romantic--though I was rooting for Jack & Maggie--but the ending seemed absolutely perfect.
*SPOILER:*
This novel's ending is nothing short of brilliant. If the first 180 pages breathe air into the balloon, the novel's last 9 pages see it fly maniacally around the room as that air escapes. I'm not much of a romantic--though I was rooting for Jack & Maggie--but the ending seemed absolutely perfect.
August 30, 2018
Here, I think, Jack leaves plain where his life diverted from someone who could have a traditional life, faithful in his religion and devout in a monogamous marriage, to someone who brags about sleeping with a prostitute, even to his school crush. I enjoyed Kerouac’s messy prose still, and I think sometimes the misogyny is more a product of his time— but I do think Kerouac was at the same time aware of it, but would do nothing about it. Maybe add it to his guilt list. But the ending is so abrupt and honest, and doesn’t put him in a good light at all, and I feel like that is deliberate. He couldn’t see her beyond more than a goal or object, and by that point there was no turning back.
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