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3.56 AVERAGE
3.56 AVERAGE
Racist, misogynistic beat nonsense. Hated this book from start to finish. That I read it to its conclusion is a flaw in my character, but so be it.
I am going to rip this book up for recycling so no one else can read it.
I am going to rip this book up for recycling so no one else can read it.
There were parts of Henry Miller's "Tropic of Capricorn" that were absolutely brilliant (such as his detailed description of his days working for a telegram company) and parts that were extremely disturbing (particularly the rape of an Egyptian woman that Miller gleefully recalls as a great time.)
In this novel, Miller basically sets out to describe his early sexual escapades and his disillusionment with his marriage and American values, which eventually pushes him to become an ex-pat in Paris.
I can definitely see the influence this book had on other writers (especially in the Beatnik circle,) but it was a struggle to read as Miller treats nearly everyone in his world like garbage. I definitely thought "Tropic of Cancer" was the better novel of the pair.
In this novel, Miller basically sets out to describe his early sexual escapades and his disillusionment with his marriage and American values, which eventually pushes him to become an ex-pat in Paris.
I can definitely see the influence this book had on other writers (especially in the Beatnik circle,) but it was a struggle to read as Miller treats nearly everyone in his world like garbage. I definitely thought "Tropic of Cancer" was the better novel of the pair.
I vacillated a lot on this one, between thinking a sentence or a paragraph was beautifully written, and wanting to toss the whole thing into a wall due to racist and/or misogynistic comments. Overall, way too much of the latter.
George Orwell saying it feels like Henry Miller wrote specifically for him is so real
Henry Miller's narrative voice is more developed here than in 'Tropic Of Cancer,' this book's predecessor. Perhaps this is because he shows us himself at a younger age, more vulnerable and only beginning to discover the passions that would come to form the cornerstones of his philosophy of life. The tone shifts seemlessly from the simple and humorous to more abstract and ponderous, sometimes in the space of a single sentence.
The famous passages describing his sexual experiences are, arguably, the high points, and they are definitely phenomenal. My favorite excerpt (at least, right now): "I don't think I ever put my hand into such a juicy crotch in all my life. It was like paste running down her legs, and if there had been any billboards handy I could have plastered up a dozen or more...I had my whole four fingers inside her, whipping it up to a froth."
However, I was most struck by a reminiscence from Miller's childhood involving rye bread, which is some of the most eloquent and dead-on musings on the nature of youth I know of. He says: "The important thing about the sour rye discussions is that they always took place away from home, away from the eyes of the parents whom we feared but never respected. Left to ourselves there were no limits to what we might imagine. Facts had little importance for us; what we demanded of a subject was that it allow us opportunity to expand. What amazes me, when I look back on it, is how well we penetrated to the essential character of each and every one, young or old...The learning we received only tended to obscure our vision. From the day we went to school we learned nothing; on the contrary, we were made obtuse, we were wrapped in a fog of words and abstractions...What I am thinking of, with a certain amount of regret and longing, is that this thoroughly restricted life of early boyhood seems like a limitless universe and the life which followed upon it, the life of an adult, a constantly diminishing realm...The taste goes out of the bread as it goes out of life. Getting the bread becomes more important than the eating of it. Everything is calculated and everything has a price upon it."
This is kind of long-winded review, but I think it fits for this book, a true rambling epic in the American mode.
The famous passages describing his sexual experiences are, arguably, the high points, and they are definitely phenomenal. My favorite excerpt (at least, right now): "I don't think I ever put my hand into such a juicy crotch in all my life. It was like paste running down her legs, and if there had been any billboards handy I could have plastered up a dozen or more...I had my whole four fingers inside her, whipping it up to a froth."
However, I was most struck by a reminiscence from Miller's childhood involving rye bread, which is some of the most eloquent and dead-on musings on the nature of youth I know of. He says: "The important thing about the sour rye discussions is that they always took place away from home, away from the eyes of the parents whom we feared but never respected. Left to ourselves there were no limits to what we might imagine. Facts had little importance for us; what we demanded of a subject was that it allow us opportunity to expand. What amazes me, when I look back on it, is how well we penetrated to the essential character of each and every one, young or old...The learning we received only tended to obscure our vision. From the day we went to school we learned nothing; on the contrary, we were made obtuse, we were wrapped in a fog of words and abstractions...What I am thinking of, with a certain amount of regret and longing, is that this thoroughly restricted life of early boyhood seems like a limitless universe and the life which followed upon it, the life of an adult, a constantly diminishing realm...The taste goes out of the bread as it goes out of life. Getting the bread becomes more important than the eating of it. Everything is calculated and everything has a price upon it."
This is kind of long-winded review, but I think it fits for this book, a true rambling epic in the American mode.
Inspired me with all the possibilities. I'd read Tropic of Cancer and felt compelled to take on the sequel.
I don't do enough drugs to enjoy this brand of excessive stream of consciousness.
I tried so hard to appreciate the blinding moments of beautiful language when Miller is delving into the mystery of the self, but he was such a rancid human being that it over powered what was good about the text.
Not as good as Cancer but still Miller being very Miller-y. There were moments when I wondered why? and did he really have to go there? but in the end the whole experience of this book is just different.
And the way this man can put together a two page paragraph - just something special.
And the way this man can put together a two page paragraph - just something special.
