I’ve
been reading Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller. It’s not the first time this
book has crossed my path. As a teenager, Henry’s work added something to my
meagre knowledge of life. I was introduced to his books by my elder brother,
(not unusual that he would lead me astray). He had a much thumbed copies of the
Tropics books as well as Sexus or was it Nexus or maybe solar plexus. I
couldn’t get into Miller's stream of consciousness, which spread across page
after page of rambling discourse, philosophy mixed with anecdotes from his
life. But the books would always fall open naturally at sections which covered
Miller’s sex life. He was forever tumbling women on to couches, sidewalks,
carseats and generally catching them unawares (but available) anywhere that was
handy. As an impressionable teenager at a catholic boys school I guess I gained
the impression that if you could string together pages of incoherent thought
and be in perpetual need of bus fare (one of Miller's ongoing concerns was to
find the ‘car’ fare for either himself or his paramours to exit from their
couplings) then women would be at your eternal beck and call.
Well
either Henry was exaggerating or I didn’t have the required technique. Perhaps
it was my work ethic that let me down as I usually managed to have enough
busfare. Either way Miller's work didn’t fit my view of the world. However this time around I have struggled
manfully with the stream of Miller's mind. I must admit that I havn’t read it
all word for word and some of his childhood recollections have been skimmed
pretty fast. But with sections in which he describes America as “a cesspool of the spirit” and “ the greatest
jamboree of wealth and happiness (where) I never met a man who was truly
wealthy or truly happy” I am beginning to get into his groove. Watch out for
tumbling couches ……… ouch.
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