Who Is The Protagonist In 'Big Sur' By Jack Kerouac?

The protagonist in 'Big Sur' is Jack Kerouac himself, but fictionalized under his own name. This semi-autobiographical novel captures his struggle with fame and alcoholism after the success of 'On the Road'. Kerouac retreats to a cabin in Big Sur to escape the chaos, but his inner demons follow him. The raw, unfiltered narration shows his mental breakdown—paranoia, hallucinations, and existential dread. It's less about plot and more about the visceral experience of a man crumbling under his own legend. The beauty of nature contrasts sharply with his turmoil, making it one of Kerouac's most haunting works.

In 'Big Sur', Kerouac blurs the line between fiction and memoir by casting himself as the protagonist. The book reads like a confessional diary, detailing his three-week stay in Lawrence Ferlinghetti's cabin. What fascinates me is how he portrays his descent into madness with such poetic precision. The Pacific Ocean becomes both a solace and a mirror of his fractured psyche.

His interactions with fellow Beat figures like Neal Cassady (here called Cody) reveal the toxicity of their relationships. Kerouac's dependency on alcohol and his fear of becoming a 'sellout' artist create a tragic arc. The prose alternates between breathtaking nature descriptions and frantic, stream-of-consciousness rants about mortality. Unlike his earlier works celebrating freedom, this is a stark portrait of burnout.

What makes it unique is its structure—part wilderness journal, part drunken rant, part spiritual reckoning. The protagonist isn't the young rebel of 'On the Road' but a middle-aged man horrified by his own myth. The scene where he screams at the waves encapsulates his existential crisis perfectly.

Kerouac's 'Big Sur' features himself as a protagonist, but this isn't the vibrant wanderer from his earlier books. Here, he's a broken idol, wrestling with the consequences of his fame. The novel's power comes from its brutal honesty—we see him vomiting from withdrawal, begging for mercy from visions, and clinging to Buddhist prayers like lifelines.

His portrayal isn't heroic; it's painfully human. The cabin becomes a prison where he confronts his failures as a friend, artist, and sober person. The arrival of his ex-lover and her son adds layers of guilt and tenderness to the narrative. Unlike typical Beat Generation tales of rebellion, this is a story of aftermath, showing what happens when the party never ends. The final scene, where he collapses on a beach, stays with you—it's salvation and surrender at once.