FULL REVIEW: On The Road (Jack Kerouac, 1957, 254 pages)

                                
As I embarked on ‘On the Road’ by Jack Kerouac, I must declare that I had high expectations and reservations.  How to describe the reputation of Kerouac as the voice of his generation, the Beat Generation, post WWII of the 1950’s era?  The language of his novel is dated by recognizable with phrases like ‘gone daddy’ and ‘cool cat.’  However the spirit of experimentation (sex, drugs, & jazz music), and that yearning to get on the road no matter where it leads, is familiar one. The novel has a compelling ‘hero,” the struggling writer, with no money, living with his aunt, desperate to experience all that life has to offer. And the prose is magnificent.

What surprised me though were the touching descriptions of passionate relationships within the novel, namely Dean Moriarty, and his initial love interest Terry.  And underneath the endless need to get ‘on the road’ is a deep search for meaning and revelation in life, in short a search for God, in my opinion.  This theme of the ‘Seeker embarking on a journey of self-discovery’ is one we have encountered in other works of Great Literature, namely Gilgamesh (20000 BC), Odysseus (800 BC), Dante (1308), and even K from the ‘Castle’ (1926).

  

Novel Background, Structure & Themes

Jack Kerouac finished writing the largely autobiographical ‘On the Road’ novel in 1951, but it was not published until 1957 by Viking Press. It originally met with mixed reviews due to the subject matter and depiction of Dean (mad eccentric or smart free spirit?).  The novel as consistently gained popularity to new generations concerned with the same themes implied the novel.  Recently it was recognized by Modern Library and Time magazine as one of the best 100 English-language novels of the 20^th century.

The novel contains five Parts (consisting of 14, 11, 11, 4 & 1 chapters respectively), many which describe specific road trips with ‘Sal Paradise,’ Jack’s alter-ego, and ‘Dean Moriarty,’ or Neal Cassady in reality, his high-spirited carefree friend who acts as a catalyst for their road trips.  The novel can be mistaken on the surface a simple buddy road trip story that Hollywood seems to churn out every year.  In addition to the aforementioned sex, drugs, & jazz music, the richness of the novel lies in the honest exploration on the nature of friendship, God’s existence, death, and the absolute joy of being alive and present in the moment.  Pretty heady stuff! 

The Nature of Friendship between Sal and Dean

The novel opens and ends with a line about Dean, and can be on the surface seen as the perfect buddy road trip story.  However with each trip, the main characters change (Jack for better, Dean for worse) and this has an effect on their relationship.  At the beginning, it is Sal who desperately depends on Dean to feel alive and latches on to his wild treks across the US:

 “I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up…With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.” (Part One, Ch. 1 opening paragraph) 

“But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" (Part One, Ch. 1)  NOTE:  This quote was inspiration for Kate Perry’s popular ‘Firework’ song.

By the end of the novel, Sal has settled down with his new girlfriend Laura, and it is Dean who now needs the comfort and stability of his old friend to maintain his sanity and as a respite from his complicated life:

“So Dean couldn't ride uptown with us and the only thing I could do was sit in the back of the Cadillac and wave at him. The bookie at the wheel also wanted nothing to do with Dean. Dean, ragged in a moth-eaten overcoat he brought specially for the freezing temperatures of the East, walked off alone, and the last I saw of him he rounded the corner of Seventh Avenue, eyes on the street ahead, and bent to it again. Poor little Laura, my baby, to whom I'd told everything about Dean, began almost to cry.

"Oh, we shouldn't let him go like this. What'll we do?" Old Dean's gone, I thought, and out loud I said, "He'll be all right." And off we went to the sad and disinclined concert for which I had no stomach whatever and all the time I was thinking of Dean and how he got back on the train and rode over three thousand miles over that awful land and never knew why he had come anyway, except to see me.” (Part Five, third and second last paragraphs)

This is a complicated relationship, but how many of us haven’t in our lives gravitated towards that exciting and wildly free spirit, recognizing that to continue down that path could lead to madness?  We all have met our personal Dean Moriartys and we realize we need to ‘grow up’ and be ‘responsible’ but deep down secretly mourn the passing of that brilliantly burning bright phase of our lives!

The Spirit of being ‘On the Road’

Whenever Sal begins to feel restless, trapped or lonely, he heads on the road, either towards friends or along with them towards a sometimes not very clear destination.  The point is just to get on the move:

“It was drizzling and mysterious at the beginning of our journey. "Whooee!" yelled Dean. "Here we go!" And he hunched over the wheel and gunned her; he was back in his element, everybody could see that. We were all delighted, we all realized we were leaving confusion and nonsense behind and performing our one and noble function of the time, move. And we moved!”  (Part Two, Ch. 6)

One of my favorite descriptions is the joyful moment of the experience of new, unexplored territory, in this case Mexico in the novel:

“I couldn't imagine this trip. It was the most fabulous of all. It was no longer east-west, but magic south. We saw a vision of the entire Western Hemisphere rockribbing clear down to Tierra del Fuego and us flying down the curve of the world into other tropics and otherworlds. "Man, this will finally take us to IT!" said Dean with definite faith. He tapped my arm. "Just wait and see. Hoo! Whee"” (Part Four, Ch. 3)

“Behind us lay the whole of America and everything Dean and I had previously known: about life, and life on the road. We had finally found the magic land at the end of the road and we never dreamed the extent of the magic.” (Part Four, Ch. 5)

“Everybody's cool, everybody looks at you with such straight brown eyes and they don't say anything, just look, and in that look all of the human qualities are soft and subdued and still there. Dig all the foolish stories you read about Mexico and the sleeping gringo and all that crap)-and crap about greasers and so on-and all it is, people here are straight and kind and don't put down any bull. I'm so amazed by this.” (Part Four, Ch. 5)  ***CLICK Here for Full Passage of First Impressions of Mexico***

My Personal ‘Dean Moriarty’

Like all great literature, ‘On the Road’ made me reflect on my life, and it led me to an unexpected place.  That place was across-the-US border shopping trip in 1989 with my soon-to be wife Guylaine, my sister Enza, my cousin Rita and her younger sister Lidia.  

Lidia, to me, was my personal Dean Moriarty.  She had a tremendously free spirit and sense of adventure, in short, the life of the party!  After a full day of shopping for clothing and suitcases for her endless trips abroad, we all spent the night at a local disco.  Lidia had a little too much to drink and did a lot of dancing, and we had to carry her back to our hotel room where she promptly vomited up her Tequilas and Margaritas.  She fell asleep instantly on her bed with her clothes and shoes still on.  The next morning she was good to go, despite being chastised by her common-sense older sister; “Was it worth it to spend all that money on booze, if you can’t keep it down?” 

I never forget that moment.  Secretly we all wished we could be a little more like Lidia.  She had this constant drive to make the most out of life every moment she could.  Some would say that she was exhausting to keep up with.  Like Dean Moriarty.

Lidia Minicucci passed away suddenly in her sleep years later in 1998 of an apparent heart attack at the age of 32 after returning from yet another adventure, this time Aruba.  She lived her life as though she has needed to suck every moment from it.  This lesson has not been lost on us.  I now try to live my life after her example.

What triggered this bittersweet memory from reading ‘On the Road?’  It was the emotional ending, as Sal comes to realize with regret that Dean has exited from his life:

“I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.”  (Part Five, ending line).

For me, the ending that came instantly to my mind was the following;

I think of Lidia Minicucci, I think of the trip she planned to visit us in Turkey we never realized, I think of Lidia Minicucci.




Rating:  10/10.

Memorable PASSAGE: On The Road - Mexico First Impressions

“ Then we turned our faces to Mexico with bashful-ness and wonder as those dozens of Mexican cats watched us from under their secret hatbrims in the night. Beyond were music and all-night restaurants with smoke pouring out of the door. "Whee," whispered Dean very softly.

"Thassall!" A Mexican official grinned. "You boys all set. Go ahead. Welcome Mehico. Have good time. Watch you money. Watch you driving. I say this to you personal, I'm Red, everybody call me Red. Ask for Red. Eat good. Don't worry. Everything fine. Is not hard enjoin yourself in Mehico."

"Yes!" shuddered Dean and off we went across the street into Mexico on soft feet. We left the car parked, and all three of us abreast went down the Spanish street into the middle of the dull brown lights. Old men sat on chairs in the night and looked like Oriental junkies and oracles. No one was actually looking at us, yet everybody was aware of everything we did. We turned sharp left into the smoky lunchroom and went in to music of campo guitars on an American 'thirties jukebox. Shirt-sleeved Mexican cabdrivers and straw-hatted Mexican hipsters sat at stools, devouring shapeless messes of tortillas, beans, tacos, whatnot. We bought three bottles of cold beer-cerveza was the name of beer-for about thirty Mexican cents"; or ten American cents each. We bought packs of Mexican cigarettes for six cents each. We gazed and gazed at our wonderful Mexican money that went so far, and played with it and looked around and smiled at everyone. Behind us lay the whole of America and everything Dean and I had previously known: about life, and life on the road. We had finally found the magic land at the end of the road and we never dreamed the extent of the magic. "Think of these cats staying up all hours of the night," whispered Dean. "And think of this big continent ahead of us with those enormous Sierra Madre mountains we saw in the movies, and the jungles all the way down and a whole desert plateau as big as ours and reaching clear down to Guatemala and God knows where, whoo! What'll we do? What'll we do? Let's move!" We got out and went back to the car. One last glimpse of America across the hot lights of the Rio Grande bridge, and we turned our back and fender to it and roared off.

Instantly we were out in the desert and there wasn't light or a car for fifty miles across the flats. And just the dawn was coming over the Gulf of Mexico and we began see the ghostly shapes of yucca cactus and organpipe on all sides. "What a wild country!" I yelped. Dean and I were completely awake. In Laredo we'd been half dead. Stan, who'd been to foreign countries before, just calmly slept in back seat. Dean and I had the whole of Mexico before us.

"Now, Sal, we're leaving everything behind us and entering a new and unknown phase of things. All the years and troubles! and kicks-and now this! so that we can safely think of nothing else and just go on ahead with our faces stuck out like this you see, and understand the world as, really and genuine! speaking, other Americans haven't done before us-they were here, weren't they? The Mexican war. Cutting across here with cannon."

"This road," I told him, "is also the route of old American 1 outlaws who used to skip over the border and go down to old Monterrey, so if you'll look out on that graying desert and picture the ghost of an old Tombstone hellcat making lonely exile gallop into the unknown, you'll see further . . ." "It's the world," said Dean. "My God!" he cried, slapping the wheel. "It's the world! We can go right on to South America if the road goes. Think of it! Son-of-z-bitch! Gawd-damm!" We rushed on. The dawn spread immediately and we began to see the white sand of the desert and occasional huts in the distance off the road. Dean slowed down to peer at them. "Real beat huts, man, the kind you only find in Death Valley and much worse. These people don't bother with appearances." The first town ahead that had any consequence on the map was called Sabinas Hidalgo. We looked forward to it -eagerly. "And the road don't look any different than the American road," cried Dean, "except one mad thing and if you'll notice, right here, the mileposts are written in kilometers and they click off the distance to Mexico City. See, it's the only city in the entire land, everything points to it." There were only 767 more miles to that metropolis; in kilometers the figure was over a thousand. "Damn! I gotta go!" cried Dean. For a while I closed my eyes in utter exhaustion and kept hearing Dean pound the wheel with his fists and say, "Damn," and "What kicks!" and "Oh, what a land!" and "Yes!" We arrived at Sabinas Hidalgo, across the desert, at about seven o'clock in the morning. We slowed down completely to see this. We woke up Stan in the back seat. We sat up straight to dig. The main street was muddy and full of holes. On each side were dirty broken-down adobe fronts. Burros walked in the street with packs. Barefoot women watched us from dark doorways. The street was completely crowded with people on foot beginning a new day in the Mexican countryside. Old men with handlebar mustaches stared at us. The sight of three bearded, bedraggled American youths instead of the usual well-dressed tourists was of unusual interest to them. We bounced along over Main Street at ten miles an hour, taking everything in. A group of girls walked directly in front of us. As we bounced by, one of them said, "Where you going, man?"

I turned to Dean, amazed. "Did you hear what she said?" Dean was so astounded he kept on driving slowly and saying, "Yes, I heard what she said, I certainly damn well did, oh me, oh my, I don't know what to do I'm so excited and sweetened in this morning world. We've finally got to heaven. It-couldn't be cooler, it couldn't be grander, it couldn't be any-thing."

"Well, let's go back and pick em up!" I said.

"Yes," said Dean and drove right on at five miles an hour. He was knocked out, he didn't have to do the usual things he-would have done in America. "There's millions of them all along the road!" he said. Nevertheless he U-turned and came by the girls again. They were headed for work in the fields;, they smiled at us. Dean stared at them with rocky eyes. "Damn," he said under his breath. "Oh! This is too great to be true. Gurls, gurls. And particularly right now in my stage and condition, Sal, I am digging the interiors of these homes as we pass them-these gone doorways and you look inside and see beds of straw and little brown kids sleeping and stirring to wake, their thoughts congealing from the empty mind of sleep, their selves rising, and the mothers cooking up breakfast in iron pots, and dig them shutters they have for windows and the old men, the old men are so cool and grand and not bothered by anything. There's no suspicion here, nothing like that. Everybody's cool, everybody looks at you with such straight brown eyes and they don't say anything, just look, and in that look all of the human qualities are soft and subdued and still there. Dig all the foolish stories you read about Mexico and the sleeping gringo and all that crap)-and crap about greasers and so on-and all it is, people here are straight and kind and don't put down any bull. I'm so amazed by this." Schooled in the raw road night, Dean was come into the world to see it. He bent over the wheel and looked both ways and rolled along slowly. We stopped for gas the other side of Sabinas Hidalgo. Here a congregation of local straw-hatted ranchers with handlebar mustaches growled and joked in front of antique gas-pumps. Across the fields an old man plodded with a burro in front of his switch stick. The sun rose pure on pure and ancient activities of human life. “

(Part Four, Ch. 5)

QUICK HITS - 2012 January-March Books Read

January 2012

#93  The Help – Kathryn Stockett, 2009                         RATING:  6.5

The media hype of this book and subsequent movie was intense.  Comparisons were made to ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ and it was a New York Books #1 Bestseller for too many weeks to remember.  In the end, I was disappointed.  The story was a common one, with a different perspective, that of the servants.  The langague however was plain and the storyline thin.  The plot details for me were forgettable, with only scene that I recall is the infamous ‘pie.’  In my opinion, ‘Book of Negroes’ by Canadian write Lawrence Hill does a better job of vividly capturing the time, place and pain of a similar topic.

#94  Heloise – Anne Hebert, 1980                                   RATING:  6.0

This short novel started with an intriguing presence. An engaged man meets a mysterious woman in subway, is smitten and desperately seeks to find her.  What I thought would be a psychological thriller turns out to be a ….. horror story, specifically a vampire story.  I realize this was 1980, and we were not then inundated with everything Vampire, but come on, the ending is gruesome, as in bloody and with body counts. Oh well, another one bites the dust, so to speak!!

#95  Giovanni’s Room – James Baldwin, 1956                RATING:  8.0

Tenderly written account of the protagonist’s life in Paris and struggles with accepting his homosexuality.  This novel was written during a time of intolerance and inequality for homosexuality in general.  David on the one hand is contemplating marriage to his girlfriend who is off to Spain, and but then has an affair with Giovanni and moves into his room for a period of time.  David eventually leaves Giovanni to resume his ‘normal’ life, to grave consequences. Novel paints a complex dynamic whereby Dave can help Giovanni, but only by revealing the nature of their relationship. I was enthralled with the moral dilemma and eventual outcome. Fascinating writing!

#96  The Castle – Franz Kafka, 1926                             RATING:  9.0

Kafka’s great last unfinished novel is another staggering and surreal exploration on the themes of alienation, bureaucracy and helplessness.  The main character is simply named K., a land surveyor who attempts to get to the elusive Castle to fulfill his job.  Well, nothing is that obvious in Kafka’s nightmare vision.  The theme of this novel has been widely debated and discussed.  To me, it revisits the searching for God theme and never leads to a definitive answer (perhaps because it is unknowable or perhaps because we are unworthy).  Thought provoking with images that linger.

February 2012

#97  Ficciones – Jorge Luis Borges, 1962                       RATING:   8.5

This was my only book read in the month of February due to a hectic work schedule, but what a book!!!   Ficciones (Fictions in English) is a collection of wildly surreal short stories by Argentine writer/poet Borges.  He is considered the father of ‘magic realism’ or rather “irreality’ and his stories have elements of science fiction, fantasy, and and existentialism. His works have been highly influential on the Latin American writing Boom of the 1960s, including 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' The stories are written in an erudite fashion, are innovative with sophisticated use of language. Some stories resonate, while others fall flat, but many of the plots are unusual and highly original.  Stories must be read slowly to savour the complexity of the writing.  Standouts include 'Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote,' 'Library of Babel,' 'The Secret Miracle,' and 'Three Versions of Judas.'

March 2012

#98  One the Road - Jack Kerouac, 1957                      RATING:   10.0

This book has been described as life-changing, so I must say I had reservations when I began to read this classic account of the post-war US Beat Generation. Upon finishing it, I now wish I had read this novel as a young man!!  It captures vividly the youthful yearning to move, get on the road and explore the world. Perhaps with all the travel at my age and stage, I am trying to make up for lost time?  This novel is not just a buddy road trip story we see too often depicted in the movies.  In addition to the spirit of experimentation (sex, drugs, & jazz music) that predates the Hippie movement, the novel further explores the nature of friendship, God’s existence, and death.  In the end, it reminds us of the absolute joy of being alive and present in the moment. (LINK to FULL REVIEW)

#99  The Book Thief  - Markus Zusak, 2005                   RATING:   10.0

This Australian novel was a recent selection by my wife Guylaine for our ‘Four Chicks & a John’ Book Club.  For me it was a re-reading of the novel that I purchased while on work in Sydney in 2008.  The second time around allowed me to focus on the structure and literary techniques utilized to deliver such an emotional wallop by the final pages.  The setting is a common one, Nazi Germany just before the wartime atrocities. What is different is that the Narrator is Death, and the main characters are Germans in a small town, many of whom do not agree with Hitler’s policies.  The title refers to a young orphaned girl and her relationship with her foster parents and neighbors.  Death is portrayed as a sympathetic figure and is touched by the various encounters with Liesel, the Book Thief.  A stranger come to Liesel’s home, and disrupts their lives forever.  

The author uses foreshadowing very well, repetition to drive home important points, colors to define particularly important moments, and pet names to relieve the gravity of the situation.  But the most effective technique is the use of pacing of plotline – just the right tempo, building to the big finish in the last 50 or so pages.  I must say, I knew what was coming, but had an even larger emotional response the second time.  Favorite scenes by the group were Rudy’s kiss, the first as well as final march of Jewish prisoners to the death camps.  We debated extensively whether this book should be classified as a ‘Young Adult’ fiction, because it is a highly sophisticated and original writing.  This is the highest rated book club selection (9.8 average rating amongst five members) since we began 2 ½ years.  A MUST READ! 

LIFE-ALTERING QUOTES: Quotes that have Influenced My Life

The unexamined life is not worth living. (attributed to Socrates, Plato’s Apology, 400 BC)

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. (Thoreau, Walden, 1854)

I sped through heaven and saw god at work.  I suffered holy pains.  I dropped all my defences and was afraid of nothing in the world.     I accepted all things and to all things I gave up my heart. (Hesse, Steppenwolf, 1927)

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!". (Kerouac, On The Road, 1957)

He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.   (Camus, The Stranger, 1942)

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. (Frost, Road Not Taken, 1916)

She watched Remedios the Beauty waving good-bye in the midst of the flapping sheets that rose up with her, abandoning with her the environment of beetles and dahlias and passing through the air with her as four o'clock in the afternoon came to an end, and they were lost forever with her in the upper atmosphere where not even the highest-flying birds of memory could reach her. (Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude, 1967)

How it happened he did not know. But all at once something seemed to seize him and fling him at her feet. He wept and threw his arms round her knees. For the first instant she was terribly frightened and she turned pale. She jumped up and looked at him trembling. But at the same moment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into her eyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything and that at last the moment had come... (Dostoevsky, Crime & Punishment, 1866)

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. (Thoreau, Walden, 1854)

"How, O how could I stay silent, how, O how could I keep quiet?
My friend whom I love has turned to clay:
Enkidu my friend whom I love has turned to clay.
Am I not like him? Must I lie down too, never to rise again?"  (Anonymous, Epic of Gilgamesh, 1800 BC)

As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.  (Old Testament, Proverbs 23:17, 900 BC)

Vengeance is mine; I will repay. (Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, 1877)

Six feet of land was all that he needed. (Tolstoy, How Much Land Does a Man Need?, 1886)    

4C&J Book Club: Variety of Books and Differences of Opinion

The '4C&J' (Four Chicks and a John) Book Club has established in the Fall of 2010 by my wife Guylaine as a means to stay connected with her sister Nadine, and friends Cindy and Tammy.  I was the sole guy (the 'John') included to this interesting group. We meet every six weeks, on average, in different members homes for wine, lovely finger foods and vibrant book discussions. It is a fun social setting which allows for a relaxed but thorough discussion on a particular book.

The book selection process is such that everyone, in rotation, has the opportunity to bring to the group a book of specific interest to review in detail, usually with the aid of Book Club/Study Group Questions.  The variety of books selected is, in my opinion, an important element of the Book Club.  We are exposed to genres that they would generally not consider, with our limited time to complete even those well-intentioned Must Read books gathering dust stacked on the bedroom night stand.  The Club has covered popular Best-Sellers, Historical Novels, Modern Fiction (including several Canadian authors), a few Oprah selections and several Literary Classics.

After an hour or two of discussing a particular book, each one of us rates it on a scale of 1 (worst) to 10 (masterpiece).  Below I have included the 16 books with the group as well as John rating for each of them.  Generally, we are in agreement with the overall rating of the majority of the books, but there are several fascinating exceptions.

Wuthering Heights - the first selection of the Book Club was made by Guylaine (GP) based on a reference in the Twilight book series as a favourite Gothic book by Bella.  Guylaine and I found it fascinating, while others found the emotional intensity overblown and childish.

One Hundred Years of Solitude - WOW, did this book stir up a visceral reaction from Cindy and the rest.  Guylaine selected this one too, thinking it was a 'family romance' and figured she couldn't go wrong with an Oprah seal of approval.  Well, all four chicks hated this work of 'magic realism,' and as much as I tried, I could not convince them of the beauty of the blood from a dead character meandering through the streets to finally arrive at his mothers home and his bedroom.  And what was with Remedios the Beauty levitating alive into the heavens?  I rated it a Masterpiece, much to the disbelief of the 4Cs!

Man in a Uniform  - This time I was the dissenter within the group. This Historical Political novel just did nothing for me.  But I did complete it and the 4Cs rather enjoyed this story centered on the Dreyfus affair.  Again one of the aims of the book Club is to expose one to a genre he/she ordinarilly would not consider.

Note: Guylaine recently selected big winners within the group with Book of Negroes and The Book Thief!  It is possible to recover from misguided information from so-called book 'experts!' Although to me Wuthering Heights & One Hundred Years of Solitude were two of the most enduring books in which I regularly reflect.

P.S.  The next selection is Ruth by Elizabeth Gaskell, about a woman down on her luck in Victorian England. Stay tuned - I will post a summary of the Book Club's reaction to it in an upcoming post!


Book / Author (member selection)    Club (John) rating

Wuthering Heights By Emily Brontë (GP)	6.0   (9.5)
Stonehenge By Bernard Cornwell (NP)	6.9   (6.5)
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle By David Wroblewski (--)	7.4   (7.5)
Girl with the Dragon Tattoo By Stieg Larsson (JM)	7.9   (7.0)
The Gargoyle By Andrew Davidson (CC)	9.1   (9.0)
One Hundred years of Solitude By Gabriel García Márquez (GP)	4.2   (10)
A Man in Uniform By Kate Taylor (NP)	6.0   (3)
Pamela By Samuel Richardson (JM)	6.5   (7.5)
The Historian By Elisabeth Kostova (CC)	7.7   (7.0)

Secret Daughter By Shilpi Somaya Gowada (TS)	7.4   (6.0)
The Book of Negroes By Lawrence Hill (GP)	8.3  (8.5)
Sea of Poppies By Amitav Ghosh (NP)	6.5   (7.0)
Tale of Two Cities By Charles Dickens (JM)	9.3   (10.0)
The Shadow of the Wind  By Carlos Zafon (CC)	7.7   (8.0)
The Help By Kathryn Stockett (TS)	7.5   (6.5)
The Book Thief By Markus Zusak (GP)	9.8   (10.0)