I’m normally a slow reader, but I read this book in two days. I would normally have no interest in the beat generation, and I’ve never read anything that would fall under the genre of gay literature (no doubt the author would cringe to have it described as such, but there you go), and still I loved it. In the same way that you come away from High Fidelity loving music more, or more like enjoying how much somebody else loves and appreciates it, I felt the same way about Kerouac.
The story is told almost completely through dialogue, making it a fast read, but also putting the reader right in the shoes of the narrator. We hear what he hears, we doubt when he doubts, we feel the same sense of adventure that he feels, and we feel the same pain of a relationship in doubt.
I think what drew me to the story is that it is a search, in all the things a search really means. Finding something that you can search for that’s tangible is such a relief. It’s something that you will either find or not find. In this case, two men are united in their search to get to understand something deeper about Jack Kerouc, something that the passing fan would never think about, something that they know is there to uncover and there to breathe life, not into the text, but into the readers of the text. The joy of the search for that tangible thing, something that you can either find or not find, is only intensified by having somebody with whom to share that passion. It gives us a way to measure ourselves. It gives us a sense of how we can mark our achievements and our successes. And when you care so deeply about it, it all makes sense.
In Beatitude, you can see, so clearly, that while Jay and Harry love the beats, they love so much more the time that it brings them together, that it creates meaningful interactions on which to base a relationship. I once heard that when two women talk they sit facing each other, when two men talk they sit more side by side, and that’s what this felt like, two men admiring something else together for the opportunity to sit side by side without quite acknowledging it, without quite having to. And when you do, it creates difficult choices and things are never quite the same again.
There is a thrill when you read something so real, so true, that you’re never taken out of the moment by a contrived line or joke. You’re there, in that moment with the characters, living that life. That’s why we read in the first place. Books like this should be recognized and celebrated for that.