Maggie Cassidy by Jack Kerouac (1993)

Had it's moments, but Kerouac's schtick just isn't my cuppa tea. ( )

Rather than trying to write a serious review here, all I'd really like to say is that this is a beautiful novel. I find I'm continually impressed with the genuine warmth of Kerouac's prose, this being the third work of his I've read. I can't believe they wouldn't publish this one till after the success of On The Road. I found it lighter than the previous work, being not so concerned with expressing the intricate, sometimes contradictory thoughts and beliefs running through Kerouac's head in later years. Instead, here he simply tells a story with a welcome sweetness, mostly set amidst a picturesque snowy New England landscape.

Though I hate the comparison, if you feel like reading a Nicholas Sparks book, don't. Read this instead. It'll give you that same dreamy New England setting as if it were engineered to entice, though instead written with Kerouac's passion and real. The perfect remedy to Sparks' fast-food-fiction; this is the good stuff. ( )