Customer Reviews

Tristessa

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The first thing that struck me about this book was the way it ends. It ends with an ellipsis. How many books to you read that end like that? Not many would be my guess. As for the story this book is more about the voice of Kerouac. He is exposing more of himself than in any other book. The book is less about a story and more about to be Kerouac in Mexico, without anything to give him comfort. Rather he is lost in himself, drunk and confused. He finds a woman who he wants to be with. Someone he can hold someone her can touch, yet the problems lies in the fact that he can't tell her.

Yet you can read between the lines and see a man who is giving up upon himself. Faced with uncertainty, wavering from his strong Buddhist beliefs. This book is more personal than I ever knew. This book can almost be seen as Kerouac moving against what he believed. Everything comes into question. The fact that Tristessa is addicted to drugs, plays on the point of what is he to do? On the one hand he loves her and on the other he can't bring himself to tell her that.

I have loved this book from the first time I read it when I was a junior in high school. The beauty of this book is amazing can never be stated enough. This is a must read for any Kerouac fan.

. . . recommend three books that you should read, "Tristessa" would be one of them. The other two? McCrae's "Katzenjammer" and Burrough's "Naked Lunch." Are any of them alike? No. But that's the point. All are different, yet all three break new ground. "Tristessa" is one of my favs, though, and I do like other Kerouacs as well. The story of a Mexican prostitute and a little bit of everything else, this is probably Kerouac's most "romantic" effort, and that's a stretch. Not a long book, it is nevertheless an amazing portrait of "ships that pass in the night" missing each other. Not just for those who are into the "beat" generation, "Tristessa" is more from the heart than any other Kerouac novel.

Well, Jack Kerouac does it again with his beautifully melancholic, poetic prose. His descriptions of something as simple as the floor where he stays is enough to draw tears. His wonderfully drug-induced rantings of the beauty of "morphina" and the Virgin Mary Statuette are emotionally charged enough to make anyone a spiritual drug-addicted Buddhist with Catholic images and intense philosophical thought. Definitely worth reading.

The basic story line in this book surrounded a junky Mexican prostitute named Tristessa of whom Jack(Kerouac's "alias") has fallen madly in love with. Jack can't find a way to tell her, and she sends him completely mixed signals, and is constantly too hung up on her drug addiction to care about love. At one point he leaves to go up to California(in which period of time "The Dharma Bums" takes place), and the story picks up a year later when Jack returns with his urgent need to see Tristessa.

Another story line of Tristessa involves Jack sitting in the pad where Tristessa and her friend Cruz live, and his fasination with the animals that live there (a Chihuaua, a cat, a hen, a rooster, and a dove). He meditates and watches them, wondering what they're thinking and trying his best to earn their trust and respect.

This was quite an amazing book, the second best book I've read this year after The Losers' Club by Richard Perez. I find any of Jack Kerouac's works hard to put down, as there is always something new and interesting and fascinating to read and learn from his writing. I would recommend this story to any Beat Generation or Kerouac reader.

The length (short) of this novel causes it to be very efficient and effective. This story puts the MILLIONS of "Romance junk novels" to shame. Without taking off her bra or underwear, or his, Jack Kerouac paints the most beautiful-beatific emotionally wide-ranging "romance" / "life" story imaginable. Absolute mind-candy, the other reviews are right, makes you want to go to Mexico and have a good time-- even moreso if you are a poet or writer yourself.

I have yet to read a perfect Kerouac novel that I can say I unreservedly like. Nonetheless, there is something in his writing that keeps me coming back to book after imperfect book. Maybe it is his ever-present sadness, the all-pervasive melancholy that is there even in his moments of exuberance. Maybe it is the Romanticism at the core of his worldview. Maybe not. In any case, Tristessa is certainly the best of his books I've read thus far, and I've a feeling it is the best of all of them. If so, it means he never did write a perfect novel, but here he came close enough.

Tristessa ("sorrow" in Spanish) is Kerouac's shortest book. Out of all the stories he tells, it is perhaps the one which had the most importance to him. It certainly chronicles a very important point - his disillusionment with Buddhism, and the beginning of his final disillusionment with life. Observe how different the first part of the book is from the second - the first is filled with Buddhist mantras and reaffirmations of Buddhist faith, whereas the second mentions Buddhism only tangentially, and then in very bitter tones. (The year that passes in between the two parts is, I believe, the subject of his novel The Dharma Bums.) After that is his disillusionment with his own beat culture, as represented by Mexico City. Recall how joyously Kerouac enters Mexico in On The Road, his infectious sense of wonder and excitement and seeing something so new and so (he then thought) much closer to his heart. Now compare that with the hellish, rainy, junksick Mexico City of Tristessa, which Kerouac avows pure hatred for...but where he stays, only exacerbating his sadness.

All this disillusionment comes back to the story of the title character - Tristessa. Kerouac loved her intensely. She loved junk intensely. He stayed with her until he had nowhere else to go. Here I won't say too much, except that this is where Kerouac's most beautiful and touching writing ever comes in. There are sentences here which perfectly encapsulate such love as his, such as this: "She would look awful if she wasnt holy Tristessa--" The conclusion, in which Old Bull Gaines (William Burroughs?) gets her instead of Kerouac, is just about the most understated, knuckle-bitingly bitter episode I've ever read, or could have been if not for one thing, which I shall now explain.

I have never been a fan of Kerouac's spontaneous prose, and I think that more often than not it actively damages his gorgeous stories. Even Tristessa often reads like a first draft, probably because it is - Kerouac submitted first drafts straight for publication. The stream-of-consciousness is sometimes effective, but very frequently not, because it allows for utterly incomprehensible diversions. Three examples immediately come to mind:

1. "This woman is crying because you take all their money,--what is this? Russia? Mussia? Matamorapussia?" (27) Uh...what?

2. "You don't know what in a hell you're doing in this eternity bell rope tower swing to the puppeteer of Magadha, Mara the Tempter, insane, ...And all you eagle and you beagle and you buy--All you bingle you baffle and you lie--You poor motherin bloaks pourin through the juice parade of your Main Street Night you don't know that the Lord has arranged everything in sight." (42-43) Uh...what?

3. "Min n Bill n Mamie n Ike n Maronie Maronie Izzy and Bizzy and Dizzy and Bessy Fall-me-my-closer Martarky and Bee, O god their names, their names, I want their names, Amie n Bill, not Amos n Andy, open the mayor (my father did love them) open the crocus the mokus in the closet (this Freudian sloop of the mind) (O slip slop) (slap) this old guy that's always--Molly!--Fibber M'Gee be jesus and Molly--" (92) Uh..._what_?

This sort of impenetrable verbal murk contributes absolutely nothing to either story or mood, and only obscures the very real and very raw emotion underneath. Perhaps a revision or two would not have gone amiss here. Nonetheless, the story, the love, the intensity and the loss all carry this book, and there's so much beautiful writing that I don't have the space to quote it all. If ever you're wondering what the fuss over Kerouac was about, this is the book that will show you.

Jack Kerouac's "Tristessa" is a short novel about an American poet (named, like the author, Jack) and his love for Tristessa, a Mexico City drug addict. The book follows the experiences of Jack, Tristessa, and their circle of friends in the seedy underside of Mexico City.

Kerouac's language in this book is startling: a prose poetry that reminds me of Allen Ginsberg's poem "Howl." The words in "Tristessa" tumble at you in a wild, hypnotic rush. There are lots of apparently made-up words, sort of "Spanglish" flourishes, and pop culture references. Buddhism serves as a frequent subtext to the novel; I would recommend reading this together with Kerouac's "The Scripture of the Golden Eternity."

"Tristessa" is a sad look at the human toll taken by drug abuse, and is full of vivid details of the title character's world. Recommended as a companion text: "Quiet Days in Clichy," by Henry Miller.

Kerouac is at his best when he writes of his adentures amongst
the downtrodden people of misfortune. It is as if these
experiences cleanse away the pores through which his soul
breathes. For those of you who may only of read "On the Road",
this book will awaken you to the depths of this great writer's
being. It is a must read for those of you who are
exloring his writings.

Possibly Kerouac's shortest work, probably one of his greatest. In Tristessa, Kerouac dives deep into the meaning of things, the meaning of life and why we are all born to suffer. Written about his stay in the slums of mexico city, it strikes a very sad note as he spends all his time with very loveable morphine addicts.

This is among the best of Kerouac's works, revealing the competing world views of the beat rebels. Tristessa is a Mexico City junkie whom Kerouac loves; a junkie he sees in the Buddhist light "life is suffering." The book opens in her home - a hovel in disarray populated by chickens, dog, junkies, an altar to Our Lady, and a dove. It ends with the recognition that only fellow junkies can truly understand another junky - that a vagabond, drunk artist may depict and love but never truly understand.

The book's strength is in the passages that reflect most directly the author's mental life - coherent or incoherent - and the role of Buddhism and Catholicism in that mental life. The book also has a secondary strength of providing insight into the beatniks' rebellion - the shape in took in those who, like Kerouac, seem never to have found a peaceful relationship to the world (in conparison to Gary Synder or Phillip Whalen, for example).

Not a book destined to be "top ten of the century", but an interesting read.