Be careful, you are not in Wonderland. I’ve heard the strange madness long growing in your soul, in your isolation but you fortunate in your ignorance. You who have suffered find where love hides, give, share, lose, lest we die unbloomed.


« In 1957, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac seemed to come from nowhere, though they had been writing their poetry and fiction underground since the beginning of the Fifties. It was just that no one had dared to publish them. They gave voice to the restlessness and spiritual discontent so many felt but had been unable to articulate. Powerful desires for a freer life were suddenly set loose by words with compelling, irresistible rhythms. The Beat writers found an audience grown so ripe that the impact was immediate. »

Minor characters : a beat memoir by Joyce JOHNSON