STMcNeil

...dispatches from the open road

Wednesday
Mar 10th
Text size
  • Increase font size
  • Default font size
  • Decrease font size
Home Book Reviews Sometimes A Great Notion

Sometimes A Great Notion

E-mail Print PDF
I nearly made a grave mistake. Ken Kesey was taking his time, and I didn’t want to wade through crap to find the pony. Life is too short for bad books, and I almost stopped reading Somtimes A Great Notion. Kesey can weave many threads together, but he is a crazy bastard, and like all madmen, hard to know.

At the beginning of Sometimes A Great Notion, the dance of Kesey's puzzle pieces is unrecognizable, like a foreign language, but in time a pattern emerges as your own system develops to grapple with the storm. Maybe this initial intensity was a caveat to the beat generation’s electric Kool-aid. Knowing other Kesey literary descendants like Chuck Palahniuk made the wading easier.

The story starts as a violent waterfall, but after the plunge the reading levels out into a river. Here, among the eddies and floating logs, Kesey’s universal techniques as a storyteller emerge. Past the acid detritus lays a methodically planned, gorgeous creation. The descriptions of the Pacific Northwest alone canonized it. But the ideas represented here, Kesey’s ability to let us use other people's eyes to watch the world, are universal.

I once listened to author Clyde Ford describe his research into the earliest human stories in South Africa. He found in these proto-tales plots and archetypes still employed today: universals inherited through culture and maybe blood.
Deft employment of archetypes relates all stories and characters to a reader. We become the protagonist, we see our fathers in the patriarch, our lovers’ become the faces of the heroines and heroes. My dad once told me something similar: there are only three stories; Man v. Nature, Man v. Man, and Man v. Himself.

I was emotionally connected more to this story of Hank, Joe-Ben, Viv and Lee because I am abroad. My home in Puget Sound was reflected in the Wakonda. The scent of cedars, the salty dock air, driftwood and wool sweaters. The worn pages, the forest floors, rusted rails and green ferns. The eagle, the Skagit, dark beer and pink fish. Maybe it’s Kesey’s doing, but my return has never looked so good.
 

Recent Articles

Brother Ben's Blog

BMac Abroad
  • Funemployed
    It has been far too long since my last post but not having a computer makes updating this blog rather difficult. Fortunately, as of last week, I have purchased a new computer and once again have the internet at my fingertips. Actually, calling my new laptop a computer is a bit of stretch seeing as that it is no bigger than most hard back books and weighs less than Bernie Madoff’s wallet. Called a netbook, the new laptop is a significant downgrade from my beloved but now stolen Macbook but it is capable of the basic computer functions I need...
  • Speed Bump, Not a Road Block
    With everything going as well as it has been on my African adventure so far, I figured sooner or later I'd cross paths with some bad luck. Unfortunately the bad luck I was anticipating turned out to be really bad luck and now I am left without my laptop and the back pack I have had strapped to my shoulders since my junior year of high school. The story goes as follows:

    On Sunday, I had just got back from an Internet cafe and brushing up on the latest worldly current events. Since I no longer...
  • Mitchell's Plain
    After looking over my blog posts from the past two months I realize that I haven't talked at all about my internship in Cape Town at the South Africa Human Rights Commission. In fact, it struck me that anybody reading my posts would probably assume that all I have been doing so far is traveling around Southern Africa and having as much fun as humanly possible. Not that that is entirely inaccurate, but I have been spending a large part of my time in Cape Town with my internship and I would be remiss not to write about...

Twitter

Skype: stmcneil
Email: stmcneil@gmail.com