Reviews tagging 'Genocide'

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

1 review

levitatingnumeral's review against another edition

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challenging reflective slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? It's complicated
  • Loveable characters? No
  • Diverse cast of characters? No
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated

4.0

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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