Henry Miller – Tropic of Capricorn (eight)

It took me a while to get through it, but I’ve finished “Tropic of Capricorn”. Since I didn’t really like “Tropic of Cancer”, my expectations on the Capricorn were low and I thought I would have to struggle through it. Quite correct. For the most part I was struggling through it. It’s a dense jungle of words, written without interruption or chapters, and I found myself several times praying for it to let up, to relent, to give me a chance to surface and breathe. But what it also is, is great. From the very first page its awesome in the true sense of the word. Only, the greatness is crammed, too tightly packed into the pages of the book. Whichever loose end you tug at it remains tangled with the rest of the words, and the meaning must only have been clear at the moment of dictation. Strangely, this doesn’t matter. It’s so immensely beautiful, clarity might only have killed me.
It is an unpredictable, intoxication mish-mash of visions, reveries and occasional mundane autobiography. A metaphor can suddenly, as if through play or distractedness, become the main path of the story. Henry turns a street corner and steps into a dream. It’s narcoleptic narrative. It is brim-filled with sex. The notorious beggar and professional sex-addict, roams the streets of New York and spreads America out on top of dirty bed sheets. He tells her lies and shows her the truth.

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Memorable quotes:
“For the first time I was talking to a man who got behind the meaning of words and went to the very essence of things.”
“I say I am thinking of her, but the truth is I am dying a stellar death. I am lying there like a sick star waiting for the light to go out.”
“What holds the world together, as I have learned from bitter experience, is sexual intercourse.”
“This is all a figurative way of speaking about what is unmentionable.”