Book Review
The Sea Is My Brother: The Lost Novel, Jack Kerouac, De Capo Press, 2011
…Jack, Jack of the two-hearted river, Jack of the rushing Merrimack running to Newburyport old time seas evoking cruel Captain Ahabs desperate fights for booty, and fights to keep it. Jack of the two million words to write, of the need, by the asphalt road, by the boat sea (okay, ship, tramp steamer, freighter), by railroad -tied bedrock, by airplane, I guess, if you had the price of the fare, a close time at times, needed to breakout from the nine to five world, needed to address the loneliness of man’s fate, needed to address the big old, sad old karma snake-bitten world of the spiritual needs that were being squeezed out (hell, swept aside like some old perfect wave storm washing everything out in one swoop in keeping with the theme here, alright), and to people that world with ambiguous, very ambiguous, frustrated, sullen, seekers. People (Jack, oops, Wesley/Bill front and center in the cast), surprise, surprise very much like himself and those who he associated with in the sea-going early 1940s when he joined to the merchant marines to see the world, to do his war effort bit, to be alone (strangely true, alone despite the close quarters and guys breathing down your neck at every turn), to think through his place in the sun.
…and hence this long ago lost first novel, portending later asphalt roads taken, whisky drinks ( and reefer smokes) taken, male friendships taken, women love them and leave them taken, divided two hearted-body-mind rivers taken, swooping hell-bent lonelinesses taken, fates taken.
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