Reviews tagging 'Racism'

Kräftans vändkrets by Sven Lundgren, Henry Miller

8 reviews

challenging reflective medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: No
Loveable characters: No
Diverse cast of characters: Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

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challenging dark funny medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: A mix
Strong character development: Complicated
Loveable characters: Complicated
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

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dark fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: No
Loveable characters: No
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

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"She had a German mouth, French ears, Russian ass, cunt international."

Perhaps my least favorite thing I have ever read, Tropic of Cancer is an relentlessly pretentious, egotistical, perverse tale that has about as much artistic merit as a semen-stained mattress. Henry Miller's "prose" is so acrid and indigestible that it took me nearly two months to get fifty pages into this. I finally had to return it when my local library declared it "lost" because I had it out for so long- and to be honest, a great weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

I cannot fully express how much I hated every word, every sentence, and every paragraph I read of this novel. Not only is it self-serving (Miller never stops talking about how large his penis is), but it's uninteresting. Miller gets drunk, has sex with a friend's wife, eats their food, calls someone a slur, rinse and repeat. The book- for being edited by a woman- is incredibly sexist, and in addition to that, VERY anti-Semitic. I understand that this is from a vastly different time (in addition to Henry Miller just being an ass in general) but it is truly shocking. What Miller intended to be shocking, but comes off juvenile and stale, is his (over)use of four-letter-words like "fuck," "cock," and "cunt." Perhaps tantalizing back in the day, this aspect of Tropic of Cancer is perhaps the most abrasive of them all- is it possible for him to describe a female character without mentioning how sumptuous her cunt is? I don't think it is. 

The paragraphs are long and verbose, but rarely is a single idea expressed in them. It takes about two pages for him to talk about one of his friends, and then we literally never hear from that guy again. Perhaps we do, because I didn't finish the book. I hate putting down a book before that last page, but this was needed. The absolute worst, a John Cassavetes film on paper. 

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challenging reflective medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: Complicated
Loveable characters: Complicated
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Complicated

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slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: No
Loveable characters: No
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

This is the most racist, sexist, misogynistic, anti-sematic thing Ive ever read. Goes to show the classics aren't always great. The best part of this book is the guy talking about dry farts or saying hes an american that why he's "retarded" 

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challenging reflective slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: Complicated
Loveable characters: No
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Complicated

And when you show me a man who expresses himself [like Henry Miller] I will not say that he is not great, but I will say that I am unattracted…

Pardon my changes to Miller’s original quote, but when a book summarises my thoughts about it in its text, I must take the opportunity.
I’m not sure I like Tropic of Cancer, I definitely wouldn’t have picked it up if I knew what it was, but now that I’ve read it, I don’t regret it either. And I can’t deny its value. Unless you’re a fan of Bukowski (which I very much am not), this is the kind of book to pick up when you’re willing to challenge yourself and perhaps admit the greatness of something that is not attractive.

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way: Miller is a misogynist with no respect for anybody. Taking this book as a reflection of his true self, I can only say he must have been a truly awful person, and Tropic of Cancer is definitely a product of his reproachful mind. Having said that, I am not writing this review to rate the morality of Henry Miller; for as rotten as he might have been, I couldn’t help but appreciate the form that his rottenness took in Tropic of Cancer.

Tropic of Cancer is raw and polished, it is the product of someone who drank himself out of his mind and yet was awfully sober in his intent. More than a story, it is a manifesto for breaking with the canons of writing that we follow to this day, a manifesto for art and the artist.

A man who belongs to this race must stand up on the high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his entrails. It is right and just, because he must! And anything that falls short of this frightening spectacle, anything less shuddering, less terrifying, less mad, less intoxicated, less contaminating, is not art. The rest is counterfeit. The rest is human. The rest belongs to life and lifelessness.

Henry Miller did just that. He lived a frightening spectacle of a life and gave us glimpses of it via Tropic of Cancer. It is mad, frightening, shudder-provoking, disgusting and fascinating all at once.
This is the story of a man who lived destitute for his art, and though he and all other people in this book are individuals I would absolutely not want to interact with in real life, I can’t help but admire their willingness to fully throw themselves into the abyss of the unknown to simply follow their hearts’ wishes. It is the antithesis of the bourgeois life in which one carefully plans for the future and measures their steps to ensure safety. It is enthralling.

All of that madness is told through a mix of stream of consciousness and narration which comes across as raw and unfiltered, reflecting the events that take place and the attitudes of those involved. And yet, in this discombobulated mess of a book, ideas about art and artistry are conveyed mainly through “show”, and briefly through “tell”. Could one deny the merits of a manifesto which successfully demonstrates its own premises? I can’t, and that is why, despite despising Henry Miller’s attitude towards everything and everyone, I cannot help but say that this is a good book within the framework it resides in.

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adventurous challenging dark fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: No
Loveable characters: No
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

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