I have been reading Henry Miller recently – Tropic of Cancer. It’s a kind of journal – a fantasia of impressions and Ideas swirling around events. Once you get past some of the bluntness it begins to make sense. The life he lead in Paris was somewhat sordid: a longterm scrounger off his louche acquaintances, a drinker and a serial frequenter of women, his was a haphazard,unplanned existence, reflecting a cheerfully apocalyptic view of things. His depiction of the demi-monde of Paris and its haunts – the bars, brothels, apartments even the city itself – is chaotic in its focus but consistent. It’s the attitude that’s interesting. He really doesn’t seem to give a tuppeny whatsit about anything but there’s a sort of energy there, not apathy. I like the way it’s not “literary” in its style. It’s what my mum would call dirty. But he can write.
by ludd49.
Related articles
- Do these banned books surprise you? (blogs.abc.net.au)
- How Henry Miller’s anti-establishment rant liberated me from little England | John Vidal (theguardian.com)
majohar 