I stopped again to read the memoirs of Casanova (for those who wanted to know, I still started the second and final volume bloated) to read a classic / legendary / epic and everything else has heard about the novel "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. Well, I stopped after about twenty pages, deeply disappointed and bored. One of the rare (very rare) cases where I dropped a book without finishing it. Perhaps the time is not suitable, maybe my expectations were too great, who knows. The fact is that I came across a type of writing that I naturally judge "superficialotta. I have not found any compelling situation described, I found the spirit deep and extensive that it should be a traveler. How High Jack and his friends are not people really interested to know their country, but try to reproduce their ideal world (starting) wherever they are. And here's premises, drinking, parties, women to tow. That's it. Some spark of poetry / depth there, but lost in what looks like the words of a teenage all-girls party-alcohol. I repeat: I may have picked the wrong time to read this book and I intend to take back a few years, just to see if my opinion will be confirmed today.
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