Racist, sexist. Not sexy. Not subversive. The fact that in this time so many people can read this and say this is good is sad. It's 2014 and not 1960.Treating women as "cunts" and shamelessly exhibiting racist slurs is not subversive or artistic.

Ледве пробралася через 10 сторінок. Це було пусто, грязно і дуже нудно.

Просто словесний понос героя - псевдо-філософські роздуми перемішані з огидною порнографією.

Навіщо це читати? Чому це входить до топів романів? Просто загадки для мене.

Нікому не раджу.

When I read this for the first time I thought the world was opening up and eating people.

I wanted to get drunk and go on a hooker spree, to move to Paris and generally debauch for the rest of my 20's....

Then I realized I kind of wanted to do all this anyways but with Miller's aid I could and even better I could disguise the whole thing as "literary."

I struggled through Capricorn, through The Books in My Life, through a number of Miller's personal letters and musings. I even made a pilgrimage to Big Sur.

Then I picked up Richard Brautigan or "Cannary Row" or something and I realized I could skip Paris. I could skip Europe entirely. I could just drink wine on a bench in my back yard, throw on an old Bill Broonzy CD and stare at the sun. I could even meet a nice girl and keep her around for a while. No need for crabs or lice or bed bugs at all. No sir, just soft northern california sunlight and grassy knolls.

That was it. The dirty big city Miller hangovers were gone.....

Still, for a few months there, Miller was really really doing it for me. At the time it was true life changing stuff.

5 stars.

For several months, I tried very hard to read and finish this book. The characters are unlikable, but that doesn't usually deter me. In this case, though, I just can't get through the story. Not only are the characters unpleasant, but their stories are just not that interesting. I kept thinking they should get jobs and stop sponging off their so-called friends. It all seemed like a bunch of self-inflicted nonsense and I just couldn't care less. I can't remember when, if ever, I bailed on a book. But I'm bailing on this one and I doubt that I'll ever revisit it. It's just not worth the aggro. (Abandoned December 18, 2016)

“I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.”

One of many quotes in this book that touched my soul.

I have long been attracted to books about American authors that moved to Paris. Their lives seemed so interesting and different from anything in the US. So that was my original draw to this book. Then there are all the things you hear - it's smut (it's not), it's pornographic (it's not) etc. Yes it talks a LOT about sex and in a language we aren't really used to reading in literature but there is so much else to this book than sex. As a woman, I almost feel like I "shouldn't" have liked this book. It is misogynistic, it uses the C-word (a lot), it's dirty and gross in places but it is also beautiful and brilliant and the writing moved me in ways books rarely do. So I don't care if I'm not supposed to like it because I LOVED it and am so very glad that I read it.

این گونه شرح حال نویسی ها که بیشتر بیانگر احساسات نویسنده بدون هیچ گونه داستان منسجم هستش رو نمی پسندم هم این کار هم اکثر کار های فلیپ راث پس رفت جزو رها شدگان !

This may be the greatest book ever written. This opening passage proves it:


"I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought I was an artist. I no longer think about it. I am. Everything that was literature has fallen from me. There are no more books to be written, thank God.
This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty ... what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse....
To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordian, or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing."

Honestly speaking, this felt like one of most difficult books I have ever read. Having started and stopped this book several times, I force fed myself Tropic of Cancer yet again, determined to get past page forty. So I read on, at times mired in the brilliance of Millers imagery and provocative prose (for the 1930s) yet frequently finding myself equally lost amidst his fragmented thoughts and misogynistic opinions.

An appreciation for creative explosive free thought is a must when reading this novel. Admittedly, I have grown accustomed to reading novels with linear story lines, character development, and more importantly... a point. All obviously vacant from this novel, but perhaps herein lies the beauty of Millers writing. The sooner you stop looking for a point the sooner you begin to enjoy the book. Approach the reading with curbed ideals and allow yourself to get mixed up in characters debauchery. It is an interesting and fuck-all perspective, which at times can be very relieving and exciting.

Unfortunately, I did not find the entire book that uniformly enthralling. The raucous beginning really grabs hold of you as you start to experience Millers style of writing. Fast, kinetic, beautiful, filthy, and random... which can last far too long in some sections. But around the midway point the novel begins to settle down and start coming together. The ride slows down just enough for you to look around, catch your breath, and regroup. Relationships start to develop (slightly) and you get to join in on several small chaotic journeys with Miller.

I found the second half of this novel to be a perfect blend of tattered brilliance and solid writing. Although slow on occasion, I have the utmost admiration for Miller as a wordsmith. Oddly enough, having enjoyed the second half so much I was annoyed with myself for glazing over parts of the beginning. I could definitely see myself rereading this down the road and perhaps heightening my appreciation.

I would recommend this to anyone who appreciates free thought writing and is looking for a little heavier read. Coinciding a lighter book may help to break up the monotony and enhance the appreciation of Millers unique offbeat style.

مدار السرطان – هنري ميللر

ما بين الرواية والسيرة الذاتية، تقدم مدار السرطان مزيجاً من الإيروتيكية والفلسفة والكوميديا السوداء.

أجواء باريسية عطنة

باريس مدينة الأنوار، هي كذلك مدينة الفن والإنحلال، الفقر والتطفل من أجل لقمة تسد الرمق. ثمة أزقة مظلمة وممرات تعج بالقمامة. نشاهد في مدار السرطان صوراً مختلفة لباريس حينما يقطنها شخص معدوم الدخل والهدف، ليست بالضبط مثل باريس همنجواي في مذكراته: وليمة متنقلة.

بوهيمية أمريكية

هذا هو الجيل التائه من الأدباء والفنانين الأمريكيين في الحقبة التي تلت الحرب العالمية الثانية. يبحثون كجماعات وأفراد عن الذات، عن بصيص من الإلهام والإبداع. في هذه الحالة، يصور لنا ميللر العبثية التي يعيش فيها البعض، والحياة بمستوى وضيع دون تفكير في الغد أو في قيمة الإنجاز أو السعي لإيجاد مغزى للوجود: "لا أملك أية نقود، لا موارد، لا آمال، أنا أسعد إنسانٍ على قيد الحياة."

بعيداً عن التقليدية

أما عن خط السرد فلا يسير في اتجاه واضح. يبدو النص كيوميات، مذكرات متناثرة. تعود بنا الأحداث أحياناً إلى الماضي فنتوقع أنه سيحيطنا علماً بتاريخ الشخصية/الشخصيات، غير أنه يحجم بعد قليل عن المضي في ذلك المنحى ويعود ليروى أحداثاً يومية عادية. وعلى صعيد الشخصيات، فالأمر سيان. تدخل هذه الشخصية بقوة وتغادر دون ضجيج، تأتي هذه لتعود فيما بعد، وتقبل الأخرى لتذهب دون رجعة.

المشهد دون تحسينات

كما يصور ميللر باريس بصفتها مدينة الأزقة والجوع والضياع، فهو أيضاً ينقل لنا كل شيء بنفس العدسة. الجنس ليس اتصالاُ جسدياً مشوباً بالعاطفة، بل رغبة حيوانية يتم إشباعها كيفما اتُفق. لا الطعام هنا نظيف ولا السكن ولا حتى البشر. الشعور بالاشمئزاز هو إحدى الآثار الجانبية -وربما الرئيسية- لقراءة هذا العمل.

في المنتصف

من وجهة نظرة شخصية، كان هذا الكتاب ممتعاً للغاية في بعض مقاطعه، ثمة شخصيات غريبة وأحد��ث عجيبة. تتمكن اللغة التي تمزج العبارات الجزلة بالكلمات النابية من الزحف عليك لتنقل لك مشاعر الشخصيات وطبيعة الأجواء. ومن ناحية أخرى، وجدت بعض الفصول مملاً لا تعدو عن كونها يوميات أو شذرات تأملية تستمر لصفحات وصفحات.

لا شك أنها رواية كانت خارقة للمألوف في زمنها، ولها مذاق ورائحة معينة، إلا أنها لم ترق لي طوال الوقت.

Ένα ακόμη βιβλίο που με δίχασε τρομερά. Ορισμένα κεφάλαια ήταν καταπληκτικά, άλλα με κούρασαν και με έκαναν να βαριέμαι. Το πρόβλημα του βιβλίου είναι ότι δεν έχει κάποια δομή, είναι "all over the place" και η ιστορία είναι γεμάτη με σκόρπιες σκέψεις του συγγραφέα. Παρά ταύτα, ο λόγος του Henry Miller είναι καλός (αν και χυδαίος και προκλητικός) και κατάφερα να το απολαύσω έστω και λίγο. 2,5/5

Rambling, rambunctious, aimless, vain, flawed, with no methodology, a diary of a living catastrophe, it has more heart and vulnerability than any book I have read. Miller's violent prose style pulses with a cascade of contradictory thoughts, feelings and observations. It is both brutal and beautiful in it's honesty of writing.

Banned in the USA in 1934 and not published in Britain until 1964 over 60 obscenity lawsuits in over 21 states were brought against booksellers that sold it.

Set in Paris in the 1930s, this story follows an American expatriate as he struggles with being down and out and with finishing his first novel. It is a fictionalised autobiography of Henry Miller’s own experiences during his time Paris.

My fiction addiction
Had lost all its friction
I needed raw meat but this new stuff was veggie
Predictable, safe, and not bold, tough and edgy
I thought Tropic of Cancer
Would be the answer
For years it was banned
Throughout every land
But five c words per page
Suppressed masculine rage
And tours of French pudenda
Was his only agenda
So reading Henry Miller
Just made me feel iller
And iller
And iller
And iller