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Below is my first non-photo post and it’s a book review on “The First Third,” the unfinished autobiography of Neal Cassady. To be honest, this and future reviews are entirely selfish. I figure if I make a habit out of it, say maybe once a month, it will force me to chip away at my colossal (and intimidating) to-read collection. Despising long reviews, my goal will be to keep these concise.
Up next will be “On the Lower Frequencies” by Erick Lyle AKA Iggy Scam from SCAM zine. So far, twenty pages deep, it’s too good to be true.
If Neal Cassady is not the single greatest literary character in American history, he’s at least the best since Tom Sawyer. For someone who believes reality trumps fiction, the Beat inspiration is second to none.
Cassady’s influence is chronicled extensively in “On the Road” (well, really most of Kereouac’s work) to “The Electric Kool-aid Acid Test” to references by one of my favorite (relatively) unknown writers, Herbert Huncke. While it’s easy to be mesmerized by others’ accounts of the fast-living western hero, Cassady fails in transforming his own life into an interesting read.
To be fair, this book was never finished. Aside from some miscellaneous writings about his adult years, Cassady only writes about life up to age 9.
Cassady’s greatest (and most idolized) trait – a rambling, full-speed-ahead personality – is his greatest weakness when it comes to writing. He jumps around frequently failing to spend enough time describing the most interesting moments of his life (such as hopping trains at 6 years old with his father) while focusing on the mundane (the route he takes walking to school).
While Cassady was always celebrated for his lustful pursuits (with men and women), to hear them in his amateur self-taught style comes off creepy, especially when you consider his age.
There are moments of brilliance, like the description of his father’s legless bum roommate or some of his lustful adult adventures (which are like moral-less Bukowski tales), but Cassady is best remembered in the descriptions of the 20th century’s top writers.
“The First Third” should not degrade the memory of this fascinating and uniquely American character, but I would recommend passing on the book. Think of it this way: As tempting as it may sound, would you enjoy reading an unfinished autobiography by Tom Sawyer?
