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听说《在路上》很久了,喜欢它的名字,买到后,才知道是凯鲁亚克之作。看来是书以名贵、人以书贵了。近来心浮气躁,做什么都难有劲头,日子在虚而不实中匆匆流走,一场梦般醒来,已是六月,农家正张罗着在地里忙收获,我却两手空空,我是垮掉的一个人了。如此心境,读《在路上》,一样毛糙,走马观花,浮光掠影。遇上凯鲁亚克之类不讲究曲折有致的情节语言又过于简练浓缩的作品,于我极不适应,读着,犹如吞咽一杯白开水,寡淡无味。我终
I heard “on the road” for a long time, like its name, bought, did not know is Kerouac made. It seems that books are expensive, people are more expensive books. Recently impatient impatience, hard to do anything hard, days in a hurry to flee away in falsehood, a dream wake up, it is June, the farm is busy with the harvest in the ground, but I empty-handed, I It’s a collapsed person. So state of mind, read “on the road”, as rough, cursory, glamorous sketches. In the case of such as Kerouac did not pay attention to twists and turns of plot language is too concise condensed works, I very accustomed to, read, like swallowing a cup of boiled water, tasteless. I finally