Jack Kerouac (Jean-Louis Lebri de Kerouac, 1922–1969) is a writer of the era, a writer of paradox, who sowed the wind and did not have time to really know that he had reaped the storm, which has not subsided even in our times. Coming from an impoverished family of French aristocrats, he became the voice of protesting American youth and introduced Buddhism to young American intellectuals. Critics arrogantly did not notice him, nonconformist readers carried him in their arms. Whatever Jack the Rebel wrote about, he always talked - enthusiastically and passionately - about himself and his generation. A generation that was looking for opportunities by any means to break out of the usual, philistine, comfortable existence into the world of absolute and, as a result, unattainable freedom. And in this context, it is no longer so important what he will talk about this time - the story of his difficult relationship with the “night butterfly” from Mexico City or about the journey from Paris to Brittany, because all this is a chronicle (or, if you like, a chronicle ) beatnik generation. Brilliant underdogs who have challenged forces that cannot be defeated—and, of course, losers, but losers with such talent and brilliance that such defeat is worth another victory.