“Neal is, of course, the very soul of the voyage into pure, abstract meaningless motion. He is The Mover, compulsive, dedicated, ready to sacrifice family, friends, even his very car itself to the necessity of moving from one place to another.” –William Burroughs, on Neal Cassady

Neal Cassady–legendary figure of inspiration for the Beat generation–embodied freedom, passion, and sheer vitality. Neal contained the darker aspects of that freedom as well: the inability (and lack of desire) to create permanent connections, an almost selfish quest for new experiences.

In the newest article on Literary Traveler, “Chasing a Phantom in San Miguel de Allende: Beat Inspiration Neal Cassady,” author Anthony Maulucci reflects on the complicated allure of Neal Cassady, and larger-than-life personalities in general.

Maulucci travels in Mexico to visit the site of Neal Cassady’s death. Many brilliant pieces from the Beat generation were penned in Mexico–Kerouac’s Tristessa and Mexico City Blues, William Burrough’s Junky, Gregory Corso’s masterpiece Gasoline. What is the ultimate cost of complete freedom? Follow Maulucci’s visit, and explore some of the same questions that inspired Kerouac, Ginsberg, and the other Beat generation writers.

In our newest feature article, Frances Calderon de la Barca: Life in Mexico, author Inka Piegsa-Quischotte ventures to Mexico for a wedding, following the footsteps of the tenacious Frances Calderon de la Barca.

When her husband was appointed ambassador to Mexico in 1842, the Scottish-born Frances followed, determined to vividly recreate her experiences in the foreign country for her friends and family. The compilation of her letters, Life in Mexico, was considered accurate enough to be used as a guide for American Officers during the Mexican War in 1847!

In Mexico, Inka finds that Frances’ words still ring true. In the same spirit as Frances, Inka journeys to Mexico with an open mind and a desire to share the sights, smells, and tastes of the country.

As a result, her adventures give us a little glimpse of “Life in Mexico” today!

The book recounts his early writing career and his subsequent travels across the globe. From the heights of Kilimanjaro and the Mayan pyramids, to the depths of the shark-filled waters of Tahiti, Crichton uses his copious talent for gripping narratives to recount the personal adventures of a man seeking new experiences. Crichton’s writing chronicles his inner travels as well, focusing on forays into mysticism, exorcism, channeling, and psychic events.

Though travel writing may seem like a unique and specialized genre, many authors well known in other genres have published their own travel accounts. At it’s core, travel writing is the art of communicating one’s experience of the world. Michael Crichton is just one of these “hidden travel writers,” who used his flair for the thrilling, dramatic, and other-worldly to translate his physical and mental journeys into engaging prose.

(Michael Crichton, Travels. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988.)

The most famous literary tribute to Savannah, now know by locals simply as “The Book,” undoubtedly is John Berendt’s 1994 nonfiction novel, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Later adapted into a film directed by Clint Eastwood, Berendt’s book traces his experiences in the city in the wake of a local murder. Berendt encounters a variety of eccentric characters, from the wealthy antique dealer Jim Williams, accused of murder, to local drag queen and entertainer the Lady Chablis. Berendt weaves these portraits of the disparate and vibrant residents of Savannah into not only an engrossing narrative, but also sense of the city itself.

In a much earlier literary appearance, Savannah serves as the death-site of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Captain J. Flint, “the bloodthirstiest buccaneer that ever lived.” In Treasure Island, Stevenson described the ruthless pirate on his deathbed in a tavern based on The Pirate House of Savannah. After shouting, “Fetch aft the rum Darby!” Captain Flint supposedly passes on the map to his buried treasure. The Pirate House was allegedly an actual inn that was frequented by pirates in the late 1700s.

A famous literary son of Savannah, the poet and author Conrad Aiken paid homage in his writing to the city that brought him comfort and pain. Aiken discovered the bodies of his parents after his father killed his mother and then committed suicide; Aiken would later move back to Savannah, into the house next door to the site of the tragedy. His highly autobiographical short story, “Strange Moonlight,” follows a young boy around the city, from Bonaventura Cemetery to Tybee beach. Conrad Aiken is buried in Bonaventura Cemetery, under a stone bench which reads, “Cosmos Mariner, Destination Unknown.”

Other well known books on Savannah and it’s literature include Chris Fuhrman’s memoir The Dangerous Lives of Alter Boys, as well as Only in Savannah, a collection of stories by writer Tom Coffey. Literary Savannah, by Patrick Allen, is an excellent anthology of fiction and nonfiction stories about Savannah.

In an article entitled, “Sip It Slow,” British journalist Nik Cohn describes his retreat to Savannah, inspired in part by John Berendt’s writing. Cohn pinpoints the peculiar attraction of the city: “Savannah has elaborate good manners, but a risky heart—a combination I’ve always found alluring.” Along with its flowered squares and hidden courtyards, stately mansions and mysterious superstitions, the slow indulgence of Savannah will always prey on the intellectual imagination. Cohn described Savannah’s magical effect well when he said, “Before I came to Savannah, I’d almost forgotten how good surrender can feel.”

A master of the Southern gothic style, Flannery O’Connor is one of Savannah’s literary icons. Famous for such profoundly disturbing stories as “A Good Man Is Hard To Find,” O’Connor spent most of her early life in Savannah. Literary Traveler journeyed to Savannah to trace some of the places this brilliant woman wrote and lived.

For more, check out this article on O’Connor, “A Good Writer Is Hard To Find.”

Edgar Allan Poe was born on Carver Street in Boston, Massachusetts, to actors Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins and David Poe. Though he moved to Virginia when he was only three years old, after his parents died, Poe returned to Boston after dropping out of the University of Virginia. Only 18, Poe faked his age and name to enlist in the Army, and was subsequently stationed briefly at Castle Island in the Boston harbor. Poe later moved back to the south, but he returned to Boston a year before he died.

Unlike Longfellow, Lowell, and the other Boston literati of his time, Poe scorned the city, insulting Boston with barbs that sting as only the gleefully clever can. In fact, a very public debate played out in contemporary newspapers following his appearance at the Boston Lyceum in 1845. After audience members took offense to Poe’s demeanor, a Boston editor published a critical review insulting his work. In response, Poe wrote:
We like Boston. We were born there–and perhaps it is just as well not to mention that we are heartily ashamed of the fact. The Bostonians are very well in their way. Their hotels are bad. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good. Their common is no common thing–and the duck-pond might answer–if its answer could be heard for the frogs. But with all these good qualities the Bostonians have no soul. …The Bostonians are well-bred–as very dull persons very generally are. (Poe, The Broadway Journal, Nov 1, 1845.)

Surprisingly, Poe’s first published work, an 1827 collection of poems entitled “Tamerlane,” was signed simply, “By a Bostonian.” Eighteen years later, Poe would vilify Bostonians, who he often referred to as Frogpondians: “The fact is, we despise them and defy them (the transcendental vagabonds!) and they may all go to the devil together.” (Poe, The Broadway Journal, Nov 22, 1845.)

And now, all these years later, the transcendental vagabonds have finally honored the great poet: although his birthplace is now occupied by a State Transportation Building, the corner of Boylston and Charles streets shall evermore be known as Poe Square.

Check out the newest article on LiteraryTraveler.com to learn about the “Poe Toaster,” a mysterious masked man who pays a tribute to Poe annually at the poet’s grave.