A satori, in Kerouac’s own words, is “the Japanese word for ‘sudden illumination,’ ‘sudden awakening,’ or simply ‘kick in the eye.’”
This is a story of philosophy, identity, and the powerful grip of travel, written by an iconic American author at the height of his fame, after spending ten days in France searching for his French heritage.
Was the satori handed to him by a taxi driver, a waiter, a monsieur with a dazzlingly beautiful secretary, or while feeling fearful in the foggy streets at 3:00 a.m.? Or was it when hearing a requiem by Mozart in an old church, seeing trees in the Tuileries Garden, or while walking on a bridge over the River Seine?
The author experienced all that and more, often spending time in seedy bars and caught up in all-night conversations, as revealed in this work that shows the range and versatility of Kerouac’s mature talent.
To Jean-Louis Lebris de Kérouac, “my search for this name in France” results in, according to his own words, “the tale that’s told for no other reason but companionship, which is another (and my favorite) definition of literature.”
