After Kerouac’s On the Road, I needed a break – I required something away from all the hedonism, and perhaps something darker.
I found that darkness within The Subterraneans and Pic. The former and latter are two different stories in one book, about 90-100 pages a piece, they are about as contrasting as two tales can be. One: a book of hatred, angst, jealousy and depression. The other: an innocent view of the world seen through the eyes of an eleven year old child.
The introduction in the edition I had purchased was very interesting, and thought provoking. It was also strangely long. I wasn’t quite sure how far I would have to read to reach the end of the introduction (if I begin a book, I choose not to look beyond the page I am reading). Written by a lady called Ann Douglas, she has some history, though I will look into her writings perhaps at a later point.
Her impression of Kerouac and this book is rather harsh, but at the same time it’s impartial. She tries to be objective, and for the most part it works – but at times, I wonder if, as a woman, she felt some empathy for the love of Kerouac, known in the book as Mardou. She makes a valid and fair opinion of why Kerouac may have written the book, and whether or not the love he felt for Mardou was genuine in any way.
The book itself is perhaps one of the most self-centred, self-absorbing, and yet self-deprivating and critical books I have read for a long time. For something that is a rather short tale, Kerouac compresses a short amount of time into these few pages, cramming so much emotion that the book spills and bursts with feeling.
At times I found it difficult to read, as Kerouac’s obsession and, perhaps, his eventual love for Mardou became maniacal and self-destructing. A torment of a man, unsure as to whether he loves her or not, and when he does, his whole world comes tumbling down as he wants, does not want, and then wants again.
How the world around them is changing during a time when drugs are becoming more prominent
I felt Kerouac’s pain, perhaps from experience, but equally his own writing is so clear in its simplicity, like On the Road, that the emotional depth of what he feels becomes a part of the reading. The book becomes what Kerouac writes, and what you hold in your hand are feelings, not just ink on paper. It is also a more difficult read than On The Road, as Kerouac becomes incoherent at times (though logically so), thus, if you find books difficult to read as it is, and are not used to free-form or abstract writing, then elements of the book may put you off.
Kerouac often starts a topic and drifts several pages down about something else, returning to the original topic as though talking to a friend. Beautifully written, it is also very poetic – hence the abstract and sometimes incoherent.
The Subterraneans, as per all his stories, are both autobiographical and fiction melded into one large. The names were changed (including his own) for legal reasons. He wasn’t making any money as it was, and although critically acclaimed, he was unable to be a commercial success until later after his death – legal issues would have destroyed him, and perhaps killed him sooner than he passed away at only 41.
In The Subterraneans he deals with the love between two people. It was written during a time when segregation between people was still a touchy subject. Blacks were accepted, but within certain groups and stereotyped as hustlers and whores. Mardou is aware of this, and treats her relationship with a certain coldness, and through her perception of America’s view of her as a black person (part Cherokee also), hanging around with white guys. Interested in bop music (when bop was just growing); and mixing around with the unknown writers of their time.
She maintains her independence, and presents this image to Leo (Kerouac) as who she is. Kerouac initially tries his hardest to make her notice his existence. She ignores him for the most part, but things eventually change.
Racial prejudice plays a part in Leo’s mind, as he wakes up one morning to find a black woman sleeping in his bed. Calling himself a “monster” for thinking such vile things, Leo criticises himself and continually battles with his conditioning of the difference between black and white.
It’s a sorrowful tale, and at many times depressing. As Mardou and Leo fall for each other, Mardou grows fonder of Leo. Leo rejects this love, and sets out on a journey to destroy a relationship that could have been what he wanted; what he needed. Unable to actually love, but only to impress upon himself the idea of love, and what it entails. Kerouac invites the reader to judge him, and his honest writing. His continual interruption of Mardou’s letter of affection to him, being one example.
Kerouac’s obsession and, perhaps, his eventual love for Mardou became maniacal and self-destructing
Leo reads the letter, while continually interrupting with his own opinion, dissecting each component of the letter – not letting it flow as it was written, but to almost destroy its message. It is up to the reader to decide, whether his crusade in writing what he thinks and feels as honestly as possibly, ends up over-powering his objectivity and clarity in his writing. To what end does he feel the need to destroy and comment on the letter, making justifications and commentary from someone who loves him? Does he even love her?
His treatment of Mardou, his treatment of his friends, and his acquaintances alike flog as he goes through his drinking binges, unable to remember things – unable to contain his rage, his anger and self hatred. And perhaps his hatred, for Mardou. She asks so little of him, and yet she forgives each and every time he embarrasses her. He aware of his actions, wanting forgiveness, knowing he has done wrong – trying to discover, or accept the feelings he has. He wanted something from Mardou, but he perhaps didn’t expect how far he could fall for her.
Leo provides his own opinion and the reflecting opinion of others that he meets, writers and friends a like. How the world around them is changing during a time when drugs are becoming more prominent, where homosexuality is becoming a “trend”, and writers are coming from all over the place – and yet, he too a writer, broke, penniless, and yet acclaimed as an author and earning less than those that he has inspired and seen to achieve greatness during their time.
I haven’t experienced jealousy within a relationship, perhaps because I just haven’t had one where I cared enough – or perhaps it is not within me to care for someone so much as to feel that emotion. Reading Leo’s experience, I felt what he felt – and if this was a feeling of jealously, I never wish to experience it first hand. Leo’s rage, and anger, and hurt is brought out in the open – in front of his love, in front of his friend.
Knowing the direction his relationship is taking, it is almost as though he had staged the whole relationship – this is a girl I could fall in love with, and destroy my relationship with, and write about. It would make a good book. And, indeed it does, but at the expense, no doubt, of his own emotional self-destruction. Writing seemed to be his only avenue for penting his anger and frustration within the world of America he existed.
Leo rejects this love, and sets out on a journey to destroy a relationship that could have been what he wanted
To take your own experience, something so raw, so deep and touching you deep within your mind, to place it on to paper for hundreds, perhaps thousands or more to read is either brave, or a cry for help. I don’t want to experience jealously, not the way Leo experiences it, not the way it is cut into him like a knife into his heart, piercing; the popping sound as the knife goes in. That’s not jealousy, that’s torture.
As Leo tries to deal with his dilemma of loving Mardou, she herself is finding new life and fun with another writer – one who aspired to be like Leo, to write like him and looked up to him. Leo himself finds the writer interesting, but untrustworthy – his premonitions are perhaps his own wish for how he feels he can escape to get out of the relationship.
It could be argued Leo prompted the whole arrangement, but didn’t realise how it would affect him. Whether Mardou was justified in placing the final nail in their relationship is debateable, but as she maintains, she did in order to remind Leo of who she was, and what she told him at the beginning of their relationship.
Leo/Kerouac is self-critical about his earlier works, and is also a reflection as to how far he had gone with his own alcoholism, and is treatment of others as well as himself. Someone tortured by his own demons, trying to live in world that pays no attention to those in pain. His description of the city life, of how he perceives America and what it has to offer to him, to his friends, and to his current love is poetic and troubling. America is not what it seems, and Leo knows this better than most.
Pic
Pic is the second story in the book. This was a bit of a mystery to me, as I can only assume (perhaps I should research?) Kerouac wrote this as well – but it’s a strange piece of writing. Having read only two of his stories, this is about as contrasting, about as happy as I have read Kerouac write.
The story of Pic is about a young, innocent eleven-year old child living at a time when in the American South, those of colour were still expected to sit in the back of the bus. It’s set during a time when things are changing, but slowly, and not with much movement.
Set in North Carolina, the language is reflective of the times and the place – with a southern twang, and broken, colloquial English mixed with slang and country folk jargon. Pic has no father, no mother (she died), and lives with his dying grandfather and Aunt. Pic’s grandfather is the closest to a family that Pic has. He’s innocent, yet smart. He doesn’t understand rhetoric, nor what slavery is, or was. He has a simple concept of life, and loves to say “Lordy” a lot.
Pic is bullied and verbally abused on a constant basis, add to which his grandfather is dying in a hospital
Unfortunately, Pic doesn’t have long with his grandfather, and so goes to live with his Aunt at her place. Things aren’t so great there, and his grandfather (on his mother’s side) is about as evil as they come. Pic’s father blinded him during a fight, for which he ended up in jail – after serving time he disappeared and never returns. His evil grandfather decides to take out his years of misery and hatred out on innocent, young Pic. Frightening him with curses and wishes of death.
His Aunt’s husband, known to him as Uncle Simeon, is equally reluctant to take in Pic. Pic understands this, and can see the difficulty of a poor family having one more mouth to feed as a burden. He is not only aware, but is told as much. His Aunt tries to protect him from the hostility and anger that exists within the family due to what his father had done, but there isn’t much she can do. Pic is bullied and verbally abused on a constant basis, add to which his grandfather is dying in a hospital and all he wants is to be at his side.
A blessing in disguise comes in the form of Pic’s brother, Slim, appearing out of nowhere in ripped, and raggy clothing, he has returned to pick up the remainder of a family he left behind many years ago. So long ago, Pic doesn’t really know him at all, but does recognise him.
Slim is equally distrusted and hated amongst the family, in particular by the Aunt. Upon confrontation, a truce is called momentarily, and Pic is looking at the possibility of living in a “home” for those without families. Slim has no intention of letting this happen, and Pic doesn’t want to go as it is. He isn’t wanted by his second family, and he sees no choice but to follow his kin’s instructions to sneak put of the house and head off to New York, where Slim promises a better life.
So the journey of Slim and Pic begins to New York. Having never seen a city, we see the world through a child’s eyes – the first time seeing a coach; buildings instead of farmlands; the misery of city folk, depression and distrust reflected in their face. Pic is amazed, bewildered and fascinated by this whole other world. For him, this is not just another place to visit, but an entirely new world, and new experience.
the world through a child’s eyes – the first time seeing a coach; buildings instead of farmlands; the misery of city folk
It’s a reminder of the innocence lost in fascination and awe with what we take for granted, at the same time, it is Kerouac’s obsession with “his America” that comes to the fold. With Pic we are given a new perspective, a less bitter and more honest depiction of what America was at the time, and what it was becoming. In terms of progress it was growing, in terms of social responsibility and social relationships it was desolate from the word go. The misery of New York compared to the simple, yet content life Pic had on the farm is a huge contrast in attitude and in understanding what it means to be happy.
It is also a fair reflection of the way things were for everyone during the American depression, and their insistence in not giving up. Slim for example, broke and penniless, his wife recently losing her job and 6 months pregnant, and now having brought home another mouth to feed; “their new son” Pic, loved and adored by both, but aware that things would be difficult – Slim works his fingers to the bone, and does what he can with the best that he can. He loses two jobs in one day, Pic is not embarrassed but proud of his brother’s achievements, always being happy, even when the chips are down and it seems as though there is no way out.
Pic is a really amazing, and innocent piece of writing. It is both beautiful to behold the wonder and amazement, in which the world is described, and the misery and desolation seen through the eyes of an angelic child who only wishes and hopes for the best for everyone.
Verdict: Two contrasting tales, both beautifully written. A worthy purchase.