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A review by jp6108a
Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin (1939-1947) by Anaïs Nin
5.0
"Only in fever do I feel life."
Nin is nothing without others-- a depressive shell of a soul-- but with others, she is beautifully, wonderfully, achingly everything. She cannot endure the mild temperament of simple love, of settling, of ennui. She is manic and wild and obsessed with her lovers, a chameleon-collage of them all. And I can't get enough.
To be in love with passion is to be absolutely mad, a manic enigma. Nin expresses it perfectly.
I have never related so deeply to another description of a vicarious life through passion. I am obsessed with Nin's writing. It brings me great peace to know I'm not alone in my love for love, and in the ensuing madness.
Nin is nothing without others-- a depressive shell of a soul-- but with others, she is beautifully, wonderfully, achingly everything. She cannot endure the mild temperament of simple love, of settling, of ennui. She is manic and wild and obsessed with her lovers, a chameleon-collage of them all. And I can't get enough.
To be in love with passion is to be absolutely mad, a manic enigma. Nin expresses it perfectly.
I have never related so deeply to another description of a vicarious life through passion. I am obsessed with Nin's writing. It brings me great peace to know I'm not alone in my love for love, and in the ensuing madness.