Why I Hate Keroac

Yep. that's right. i said it. and i'll say it again: I hate Keroac. This will come as no surprise to Miss B-London, as she and I attended the same damned class that made us read it (the one beautiful thing coming out of that class was my friendship with Miss B). She thought I was cross-eyed for some time because, well, Keroac made me cross my eyes a lot in disgust...

I digress.

So Keroac. I was reshelving books today and my hand lit upon my Beat Reader. Now, I know what I'm about to say may apply to many of the Beats, but for some reason, my rage is focused upon Keroac. And I feel okay about that. Keroac romanticizes and enforces the Otherness of all minorities--and he's a mysoginist to boot. In his weird idol-worship of black musicians, he strips them of their humanity; I suppose it's the same sense I get when I hear people speaking of "the wonderful people of Africa"--as though the people of this huge continent are a homogeneous, smiling bunch of gracious souls. Watching Oprah the other day (you have your hobbies, I have mine), I saw Oprah and several rich white people discussing the beautiful spirit of the "African people." "They have so little, but they're so happy with life." Wow. First problem: "They". Second problem: so they don't have much but they're happy--why should we work to improve "their" economic condition, then? Shouldn't we preserve their "primitive" ways and conditions so that they'll not be tainted by the materialism of the West? ARGGGH!

It's always seemed strange to me that positive stereotypes are so readily accepted, while negative ones make us cringe. They should both make you cringe. Or cross your eyes, at the very least.