The road that leads nowhere.
I am not in the habit of criticizing books for the character of their characters, but in this case it is difficult not to do so since the book is practically autobiographical.

The inconsequence of the whole story, the improbable motivations of the characters to remain in constant movement and change and the glorification of poverty and suffering of those who cannot abandon their cycle of misery were by far the factors that bothered me the most and that made almost impossible to finish this book.
Certainly it's a book which marks a generation and that will have a special place in the heart of those who lived the beat movement, but personally I was unable to foster any compassion for any of the characters and the story seemed to me to be a diversion of rich boys, rebels without a cause.
The pseudo-neuroses of the poet Allen Ginsberg are practically impossible to digest.